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For the first time in his life, a devastated Johnny Weir feared his figure skating career options had been whittled down to just one: quit the sport. It wasn’t as if hitting near-bottom was uncharted territory for this gifted athlete who came late to the sport. He was as quick with a quip as he was with his blades, and was blessed — and cursed — with a powder-keg ability to spark controversy.
The normally resilient star, a three-time U.S. champion and 2001 World junior champion, thought he had seen it all, survived it all, and could bounce back the way he always had when knocked down by defeat in years past.
There were the 2003 U.S. Championships when an injured Weir’s withdrawal mid-free skate unleashed a torrent of negative scrutiny and overwrought predictions of future failure.
Then came the 2006 Olympic Winter Games when Weir, at the top of his game, entered the long program in second place, trailing only Russian superstar Evgeni Plushenko. Weir floundered a bit, and finished a respectable fifth place overall, but the American media, fueled by grander expectations, turned a few off-the-cuff remarks by Weir into a crucifixion by wire service.
E-mails to the skater’s inbox followed by the thousands. Among the kind words of support from some were harsh letters of hate from others and, most disturbing of all, death threats.
Weir, then 21 years old, managed to rebound and regroup. Just weeks after the Olympic Games, he faced competing in the 2006 World Championships in Calgary, where he hoped for a shot at redemption. He finished seventh but the resilient Weir approached the 2006-07 season with characteristic wisecracking humor and optimism.
He also approached it with career-long coach Priscilla Hill by his side. Hill had guided Weir to U.S. titles from 2004 through 2006. At the 2007 U.S. Championships Weir suffered the most crushing blow of his career. He fell to third place, buried by more than 30 points under rival and new champion Evan Lysacek.
“That was the worst,” Weir said. “I went in knowing that I wasn’t going to deliver like I had the last three times. I wasn’t in shape, wasn’t prepared, and a huge rivalry had built up around me and Evan. There was a lot of pressure to perform, and I was being torn apart by other skaters, the media and even skating officials.”
Weir soon lost his drive. “I was in limbo,” he said. “It was as if I was trying to make things fit, but everything was just too far gone.”
The defining moment for Weir came when he was driving home from a training session for the 2007 World Champion-ships. He realized he had hit absolute bottom. Weir recalled, “I said to myself, ‘Either change, dig deep, and decide what I want from skating ... or quit.”
By then Weir felt the woman he called his second mom, Hill, had stopped believing in him. “Even if she did think I could turn things around, I wasn’t getting that impression. I felt her support waning,” Weir said.
When the two arrived in Japan, tensions were high. “I knew by then I had to switch coaches,” Weir said. “We were arguing down to 10 minutes before I went onto the ice for the free skate.” Weir finished eighth, his lowest finish in four trips to Worlds.
After spending his entire eligible career under Hill’s guidance, Weir decided it was time to make a change and find a coach he felt would believe in him, and more importantly, make him once again believe in himself.
“Galina Zmievskaya definitely wasn’t at the top of my list,” Weir said. “The last American skater she worked with was Scott Davis, and that was on the back side of his career. I hadn’t seen from her,  beyond Oksana (Baiul) and Viktor (Petrenko), any success at making top skaters.”
Yet Weir had overlooked that Zmievskaya’s results with Baiul and Petrenko were stellar. Baiul’s 1994 Olympic ladies gold medal performance captured the hearts of a worldwide audience, catapulting her to international fame. Petrenko’s 1992 Olympic men’s gold paved the way for a hot streak of Olympic dominance by former Soviet and Russian men’s champions that continued through the 2006 Winter Games in Torino.
Legendary coach Tatiana Tarasova was Weir’s first choice. Weir is known for his knowledge and fondness of all things Russian and he had trained with her during a few summers. “When I looked into how expensive and difficult it would be for an American to live solo in Moscow, so far from home, I realized I would be utterly alone,” Weir said. “I knew I had to train in the U.S. and I couldn’t consider another American coach, because I’d already had the best one — Priscilla (Hill).”
Next on the eight-time Grand Prix medalist’s short list was the Hackensack, N.J.-based coach and choreographer Nikolai Morozov. A former assistant to Tarasova, Morozov’s dance card was already full. “Nikolai (Morozov) had Daisuke Takahashi, Miki Ando and was doing tons of programs for other skaters and dance teams,” Weir explained. “I knew I needed something exclusive.”
On a spring afternoon at the Ice Vault in Wayne, N.J., Weir and his mother Patti had an appointment to meet with the strict Ukrainian Zmievskaya. “The day didn’t start well,” Weir said. “There were huge rainstorms, and when it pours in New Jersey, everything floods. We arrived about two and a half hours late, which didn’t exactly put us on the right foot.”
“My first impression of Johnny was that he was a very talented boy, but also very inconsistent,” Zmievskaya recalled. “He was extremely polite, looked me in the eye, and said that he wanted to work hard and that he wanted to win. I told him to make sure he remembers the ‘I want to work hard’ part because everyone says that, but few will do it.”
Accompanying Zmievskaya was daughter and choreographer Nina Petrenko and former student (now son-in-law) Viktor Petrenko. As a technical specialist for the ISU, Viktor Petrenko came uniquely qualified to analyze and tweak programs that could maximize points under the new judging  system. Coincidentally, Petrenko acted as the official caller during Weir’s 2006 Olympic programs.
“When I found out that Johnny did not start skating until he was 12 years old it shocked me,” Viktor Petrenko said. “I had never heard of anyone starting that late and then going on to become one of the best competitors in the world. He lacked only one thing: real work. He needed the discipline to train beyond what he thought he was capable of.”
At the conclusion of Weir’s summit with the Ukrainian troika, Zmievskaya stated bluntly, “You’re welcome to join, but you’ll be here to work. We won’t babysit.”
Weir was insulted. “There I was, leaving my coach of forever, and [Zmievskaya] chastised me as if I were a child. I knew enough,” Weir said laughing, “not to talk back to this lady.”
Although it took more than three months before Weir had his initial practice session with Zmievskaya, it took only seconds to experience just how demanding her particular style of discipline would be. “The first time I stepped onto the ice, I was informed that I was one minute late. Then I was reprimanded for wasting precious ice time doing stretching exercises. It was a very strict first date,” said Weir with a smile. “It was also a glimpse of what was to come.
“I knew I had a lot to learn regarding the Russian way of controlling their athletes. I was never allowed to skate alone. Even while stretching in the ballet room, I was not allowed to work alone. Having a team of three people working with me most of the time, and always at least one, was something I had to get used to.”
One surprising talent Weir kept up his sleeve was a self-taught knowledge of conversational Russian. “At that first sit-down meeting, Galina spoke Russian while Nina translated for her, even though Galina can easily converse in English,” Weir explained. “What they didn’t know was that I spoke Russian pretty well, and knew what was going on.”
When the training began, any language pretense was quickly dropped and within two days Zmievskaya was directing Weir in rapid-fire Russian.
Weir said when training started he was feeling cocky and confident. Zmievskaya snapped him out of that comfort zone. “Right away she pointed out all the technical mistakes I was making in my jumps,” Weir said. “Generally, my jumps worked and people really praised them. Galina dug into me hard and listed all of the deficiencies that needed to be fixed and I got nervous. I tried to charm her, but she seemed uncharmable.”
Slowly, awkwardly, the coach from the former Soviet Union and the kid from Coatesville, Pennsylvania began to find their rhythm and progress emerged.
Six weeks into the program, Weir heard Zmievskaya bark the word he dreaded most of all: run-throughs. “I always hated run-throughs and never held them in high regard. My heart sank the day she said, ‘Let’s do the whole program.’”
Weir fell on three jumps, and almost crashed to the ice when he tripped on a step sequence. “I thought it was terrible,” Weir recalled. “But I did it her way, and at the end Galina said, ‘Great job!’ It took some pressure off to realize I didn’t need to be perfect. I simply needed to trust that her way was the right way, because she did, after all, create two Olympic champions.”
Beneath the stern exterior, Zmievskaya has praise for Weir: “What is special about Johnny is that he has his own style. He does not look like anybody else, he does not want to copy anybody else, and it’s very hard to copy Johnny because of his unique talent,” she said. “As much as I can give him, he takes — that’s the best a coach can ask for.”
On the days when tough love was too much to handle, choreographer and program polisher Nina Petrenko acted as the go-between. “If Johnny was having a hard time but couldn’t say it directly to my mother, he’d talk with me,” Nina Petrenko said. “I was the bumper.”
Nina Petrenko stayed behind and lit prayer candles as Weir took the ice at his first Grand Prix event of the season, Cup of China, in a field that included Lysacek. “I did not want to lose to Evan again, but I did want to make a big splash with my new coach,” Weir said. “Performing my ‘Love is War’ long program, I could see Galina moving around; she was in the performance with me! She was so happy in the kiss and cry she was radiant.”
Zmievskaya’s approach seemed to be working. When Weir left China, a gold medal was tucked in his carry-on.
For the next 10 days Weir trained in Moscow for the Russian stop of the Grand Prix circuit. “It was the best I felt all season, completely prepared,” Weir said.
His focus shifted to include his coach. “Galina was nervous for her friends and colleagues to see our work together,” he explained. “She hadn’t coached a competitor in Russia for some time.” Weir became the first-ever U.S. singles skater to win Cup of Russia.
At the end of 2007, Weir’s tank was almost running on empty and he finished fourth at his first Grand Prix Final appearance.
In January came the decisive U.S. Championships in St. Paul. Without a medal, Weir wouldn’t make the World team. “Days before nationals I woke up with a painful spasm under my left shoulder blade,” Weir said. “I couldn’t turn my head, and just sneezing hurt like someone was ripping my spine out.”
Fearing criticism, a determined Weir kept the injury secret from all but his closest circle and miraculously was in first place after his “Yunona i Avos” short program.
What happened next would go down in U.S. figure skating history as the men’s event ended in a numerical tie. “The free skate was magical for me,” Weir recalled. “Galina saw me start to choke up and cry during the final step sequence and was yelling, ‘Focus, focus — get the points!’ Literally, I wasn’t even thinking about the spins and the steps. Flashing through my head were images of our home in Delaware, my old rink, New Jersey. I saw Russia, I saw China, I saw it all. When the program ended I burst into tears, the audience was screaming and I thought, ‘I’m back!’”
In a flash of confusion, Weir saw the number one next to both his name and rival Lysacek’s on the kiss and cry TV screen. To a hundredth of a point, each had the same total final score.  As the winner of the free skate, though, it was Lysacek who took home the gold. Weir has never watched his or Lysacek’s performances. “It’s a lose-lose if I watch them,” Weir explained. “Tatiana Tarasova commentated the U.S. nationals for Russian TV. She said she thought I won, and that’s enough for me.”
To acclimate in a nearby time zone for the 2008 World Championships in Gothenburg, Sweden, Weir returned to Moscow to train. By then he sometimes bristled against Zmievskaya’s firm control over every aspect of his life and said he recalled that period as the only time the two butted heads all season.
After what Weir deemed a flawless short program, it was time for the free skate, the four minutes that would determine if Weir would finally get a World medal. Without one, the U.S. team would return home empty-handed for the first time since 1994.
When the three men’s medalists stood on the World Championship podium, it was the Canadian anthem that rang through the arena. Standing to one side of newly crowned World champion Jeffrey Buttle was silver medalist Brian Joubert of France. On the other side was Johnny Weir, beaming with bronze. “It took a whole team to get me on the podium, and to believe in myself again,” Weir said.
Viktor Petrenko, who has stood atop both World and Olympic podiums, made this prediction for Vancouver 2010: “If Johnny gives it the maximum, he can be the next Olympic champion.”
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Archive > Johnny Weir: Act Two
