My Sergei (27 page)

Sergei, in Lillehammer, at the opening procession.

Sergei and I said goodbye to our parents, goodbye to Daria, and flew to Oslo with the rest of the team. I had to smile when
they passed out our team uniforms—dark purple and white, not at all tasteful—since these ugly outfits didn’t fit me any
better than they had six years earlier in Calgary. The boots for the opening ceremonies came up over my knees. Only huge women
should compete for Russia in the Olympics.

We took a bus to Hamar, a town near Lillehammer, where the skating competitions were held. There was so much snow, everything
pristine and white. The town where we were staying looked like a village. I liked it right away. I liked the little sleds
that the women pushed along the icy streets, holding their groceries. Some women walked their dogs this way, tying the leash
to the handle of the sled. I liked the way the people all wore the same red, white, and blue sweaters. They were so friendly
and welcoming to us. It felt like a real celebration of winter.

The pairs skaters were always the first team members to arrive, so Sergei and I were allowed to move into the nicest room.
We were staying in a wood house with a living room, four bedrooms, two bathrooms, and even a washer and dryer. It was more
like a winter weekend cottage than an Olympic Village. Two of the rooms had double beds, so Sergei and I took one of those.
Ice dancers Maia Usova and Alexander Zhulin, who were married at the time—they’ve since divorced—had the other double
room. And the two single rooms were taken by our chief competition, Artur Dmitriev and Natalia Mishkutenok.

We were friendly with them, however. Artur and Sergei were particularly good friends. Artur is a very funny storyteller, and
he likes to tell tales about his army days, which Sergei never believed. Artur is very big and strong, and his stories always
seemed to involve him lifting huge objects. Sergei would shake his head and say something like, “Here we go again, Artur the
superman.” They were always kidding each other in the manner of men. Artur is married to a famous rhythmic gymnast, and on
tours he was always the first person to host room parties. He liked very much to entertain. And of course he’s a very creative
and artistic skater, frequently adding little embellishments to his program on the spur of the moment.

Natalia was much more quiet, more reserved. She never talked, even in dressing rooms or at parties. We weren’t close friends,
but we never had any bad feelings toward each other, and I think we respected each other’s skating. I remember she loved to
go very fast, whether in cars or on snow skis. She was a terrific skier. She also worked out all the time in the gym, because
it was difficult for her to keep her weight down. She tried hard, but this was always a problem.

I was more nervous before the short program than I ever remember being in my life. Far more nervous than I’d been in Calgary.
In the morning practice, I hadn’t skated well, and then I had the rest of the day to think about it. All the time I was looking
at Sergei.

He was, as ever, so calm. I just smiled at him every once in a while, and he could see in my smile how nervous I was, so he
kept holding my hand. All afternoon, I kept thanking God I had someone to hold onto. It feels so much more secure when you’re
holding your partner’s hand. Marina had told me not to worry, that I’d be fine. And I kept telling myself I should relax,
I shouldn’t be so serious. By the evening, when it was time to skate, I’d at last started to calm down.

Like all the returning professionals, we were skating early in the draw. The seedings were always done according to the previous
World Championships. Knowing that Daria and my parents were watching on television was a big comfort to me. When you first
skate onto the ice and see all those blinding, bright lights, all those people who are too far away to make eye contact with,
you can’t help feeling scared of them. It’s weird. You feel as though there are thousands of eyes on you waiting to see what
you can or can’t do. At least I always felt that way, especially in Lillehammer, where it was a huge building and the spectators
were high above us and seemingly quite far away.

I remember thinking that the fans were primarily there to see an interesting competition, something unusual, out of the ordinary
—to see which pair would miss the critical element. This was sport, right? It wasn’t like one of the exhibition tours, where
the audience is just there to enjoy the music, the costumes, and everyone’s skating. This was the Olympics, and the fans all
had their own favorites. Rightly or wrongly, I was afraid that for most people sitting out there, we were not their favorites.

That’s why Father Nikolai’s reminder about remembering Daria and my parents, who were watching at home, was such a comfort.
It brought me back into myself. It shielded me from these crazy thoughts racing through me, calmed me, and gave me a focus.
And always, the last thing going through my head before taking the ice was something Marina had said: Forget about everyone
else. Skate for Sergei.

So I did, and in the short program, our flamenco number, we made it through without any mistakes. We finished a little bit
early, just ahead of the music, but we always skated faster in the competition than we did in practice because of the adrenaline.
Sergei, who had to consciously shorten his strides so they matched mine in length, sometimes complained that he couldn’t keep
up.

Afterwards we watched Natalia and Artur, and they were very good. Artur was so excited when he finished that when he got down
on his knee for his final pose, he fell. But he improvised something to make it look okay, as only Artur could do. At the
end of the night, we were scored first, with Artur and Natalia in second.

That night we didn’t talk at the house about skating, except to mention the positions we drew for the final. We were the third
to skate in the final grouping, and Artur and Natalia were just before us. I didn’t like to skate third. I always preferred
the second spot, because you can have a good warm-up, take a short rest, then skate. When you’re third, you’re already cooled
off before the time comes to skate. Also, I can’t stand for fifteen minutes in my skates when they’re laced up. Sergei could,
but not me. So I’d have to untie them, then do them up again.

The next day, the day of the long program, I had a good appetite, which surprised me. Sergei, on the other hand, didn’t have
an appetite, which was very unusual for him. He hadn’t slept well, either. It was the most nervous I’d ever seen him, although
he didn’t say anything about it.

We always went for some sort of walk before a competition, so at about five o’clock we went to look at a cute little church.
They were preparing it for a concert of some kind. I don’t remember what we talked about. Probably nothing. When I was nervous
before a competition, the important thing was always just to get outside. If I stayed indoors, I felt as if I couldn’t get
enough air to breathe. I’d be in the arena, going here and there, trying to find a good spot to stand, and it wasn’t until
I stepped outside that I suddenly felt better, felt I could fill my lungs with air.

Later, we went through our usual stretching and off-ice warm-ups. But I didn’t say very much to Sergei while we waited to
skate. Sergei was in the men’s dressing room, and I was in the ladies’ dressing room putting on my makeup. I do remember asking
him to tell Marina not to hover. She had this habit of hovering over me as I prepared, coming up to me all the time and asking
if I needed help. Sergei must have said something to her, too, because this time she refrained.

The warm-up on the ice is the worst. You can’t really feel your legs yet. You have to watch out for the other skaters, and
also watch the time on the clock. Even when you see the time, you’re so nervous you don’t know what it means. The warm-up
lasts six minutes, the clock reads five minutes, and you wonder, Five minutes have gone, or five minutes remain? Your mind
is a blank, and all you know is which elements are still left to try.

Then you must get off the ice and wait. Isabelle Brasseur and Lloyd Eisler were the first to skate the long program, then
Natalia and Artur. Sergei still had his boots laced up; mine were untied. I was looking at a picture of Daria, whom we called
Dasha, and trying to think of my parents, as Father Nikolai had advised. Marina came up and told us that Lloyd Eisler and
Isabelle Brasseur skated perfectly. Then, a little later, she reported that Natalia and Artur, too, were perfect. I don’t
know why she kept telling us these things. As we headed out to the ice, I could see that Tamara Moskvina, the coach of Natalia
and Artur, was happy, and I tried to listen to their marks when they were announced, reminding myself, Katia, don’t forget,
you wanted to remember everything about these Olympics.

Heinz Kluetmeier

In the “kiss and cry” area before winning our second Olympic gold medal.

The spectators were still settling back down in their seats after giving Natalia and Artur a standing ovation. The hall finally
quieted, and I could feel that everyone was waiting for us to do something very special. It was an intimidating feeling. So
I tried to forget about the audience. You can go crazy if you think about them too much. You’ll melt out there. Even if people
want to help you, they can’t. Very seldom does this crowd bring you energy.

I’ve always said that the Olympics are a celebration of nerves, and never are they more on edge than in the moments before
you begin, when every eye is on you, every light is on you. Before I came out on the ice, I’d been thinking about Daria and
my parents. But now that I was out there, all I thought about was Sergei. We must skate for each other. I’ve wanted this for
such a long time, and now we’re here. He’s probably so nervous, but I looked at him and thought, No, he’s strong and calm
like always. He’s okay.

And suddenly, all the nervousness went away. Finally, with nothing left to wait for, I asked my body, Please, do what you
can do. We took our pose at the center of the ice, waiting for the opening notes of the
Moonlight
Sonata, and I happened to be looking toward the “kiss and cry” area. I saw Natalia and Artur stand up to go after their marks
had been read, and I saw them hug Tamara. And I was thinking: You’re alert, Katia. You’re very aware of everything going on
around you. They’re finished, and now it is our turn to skate. And all of a sudden, the music was already playing.

It’s nice when you’re thinking when you skate, when you’re not just doing things automatically, like a robot. It’s nice for
the audience, too. I enjoyed skating the
Moonlight
Sonata in Lillehammer. I remember everything. You cannot describe these four minutes of skating in words, but I was aware
of every movement that I was making, conscious of the meaning behind these movements and conscious of what Sergei was doing.
It is a clarity that one so seldom finds elsewhere in life, a clarity any athlete can relate to, moments in time that we remember
the rest of our lives. I believe it is why we compete.

I was not sure, however, if Sergei made a single or double salchow. Something seemed wrong, and afterward, as we were hugging
each other, I asked him. He never liked to tell me bad things, so he didn’t answer. Then I asked him more simply. “Double?”
He shook his head. It was the first mistake I could remember him ever making. He was very upset, but unless you knew him well,
you wouldn’t have known.

Marina was with us in the kiss and cry area, and before the scores went up, she told us everything was all right. Her eyes
were bright red, which is what always happened when she tried to control her emotions. After the scores were recorded, no
one told us right away that we’d won. It was close, but eight of the nine judges scored us first. Then Tracy Wilson, my roommate
from our first North American tour, did an interview with us for CBS, and when she congratulated us, we finally knew.

The first thing I thought of as we stood on the podium listening to the Russian anthem play, watching the Russian flag be
raised, was, It’s over now. It’s what you wanted, and now it’s over.