The following is a short story from Olympic coach
Audrey Weisiger.
She asked me to put it up here at iCoachSkating.com so all coaches could
read it. As coaches we make a huge impact on the lives of the
skaters we teach. |
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Audrey wrote the following about the story:
I have been searching for this... it has been lost in computerland, but I
finally located it and wanted to share it. Some of you might have read it
in PSA magazine. It is a tribute to Jerry Renaud, my coach and I sat down
and wrote it the day I found out he had died. I did not think, I just
wrote.
On a side note, before he passed, I called the hospital that he was in
and they said he was virtually comatose and would not be able to hear me or
respond, but I yakked away into the phone, told him I loved him and thanked
him for being my coach. They had me on speakerphone and about a minute into
me stammering on I heard a gasp, it was the nurse and she said, "I think he
is trying to talk" and sure enough, he said clear as a bell, "Is that you?"
Needless to say the rest was a blur for me, but the last thing I remember
him saying to me was that he loved me and then a pause and he whispered, "do
a good job"..."I will" I choked out.
A Tribute To My Coach
Feb. 21, 2005
He taught me how to be myself. I was a fairly talented
skater, had done reasonably well even at the National level, and so it would
make sense that I would go on and win more medals, continue to progress
technically and artistically, and maybe, someday, become a world-class skater. I
was 13 at the time with all this hope in my future.
Somewhere along the way I became an awkward teenager with
very little desire to be myself and relied heavily on the approval of others for
self-esteem. This made me difficult to coach because I was always wondering if
the other cool skaters were laughing at me. My coach was a genius when it came
to choreography; his taste in music and design was exquisite. He saw in me the
opportunity to create a skating masterpiece, painstakingly selected and edited
the music and began to show me what he wanted me to perform. The movement was
perfectly envisioned, every note of Puccini’s Madama Butterfly received
attention and the choreography was innovative and elegant. The only obstacle in
the way of making a legendary work was the stubborn, self-conscious,
perfectionist who often threw temper tantrums after missing a jump or a poor
performance. The obstacle was me.
Now I am not going to attempt to deflect blame here, it was
both of us. He was as determined to see his work come to life as I was to stifle
it. What a spectacle we must have been. I did my best to stone-face my mentor,
the other skaters were merciless with their finger pointing and giggles and my
coach ranted and raved relentlessly, making me do the choreography over and over
and over. I never did get it right, and over the entire 6 week summer camp, I
must have spent 3-4 hrs daily being berated by my coach for having no affinity
for his creation. I was ruining his vision and I was supposed to be his muse.
Once, after another of our daily battles, I collapsed on
the ice as the Zamboni was coming on. The drama was self-inflicted, as I was
hoping if I pretended to wither, he might take pity and allow me respite from
the horrible program sessions we were having. Not so. “Leave her there”, he
screamed as the Zamboni driver came running over to help me up. “Don’t let her
Camille routine fool you!”
Now I had no idea who Camille was, but I was pretty sure
whoever she was, she was still going to have to work on the program and my coach
was not buying my performance, so I decided to get off the ice. My coach was at
one doorway and my mother, who was fuming, was at the other. I opted for the
door by my mom who grabbed me by my ear and spanked me. In front of the cool
skaters no less!
It became apparent to me that I was doomed to have to skate
this program and I am not sure how or why it suddenly became my own, but by the
time qualifying competition started in the fall, I had transformed into a
performer, completely unaware of others, so self absorbed in the music and
movement that I often did my programs and had no idea if there was even an
audience. In fact, I was best when I only had myself to please. All the
passion and emotion that had been force fed to me all summer began to pour out
every time I skated to Madama Butterfly. I went to the US National
Championships that year and received a prolonged standing ovation which was
quite unusual for a Junior level competitor. The applause seemed to last
forever and people were gesturing to me to stand up and take a bow, which I
declined to do, but I was well aware that I had, ok, my coach had created a
moment not only for myself, but for all the spectators and finally, for
himself. He told me some 30 years later that performance was the only program
that he had ever seen performed the way it had appeared to him as a vision. He
reminded me that people were clapping for me as I flowed through the delicate
movements of his choreography, almost afraid to disturb the moment, but wanting
to acknowledge to artistry. Years later I would encourage my own pupils to
bring the audience along with them and see if they could garner applause for
emotion and expression; I would sigh when my pupils would look at me and wonder
how they would get people to clap if it wasn’t for a triple jump. I had the
coaches’ curse put on me. “I hope you get a pupil just as difficult as you
were”.
Jerry Renaud passed away today. He was an unsung genius,
most recently specializing in spins and a mentor for other young talented
coaches that had the wisdom to listen to him. I spoke with him 6 days before he
died and told him that I loved him and thanked him for all his hard work and his
passion. He told me that he loved me and reminded me to do a better job, still
coaching to the very end. I have had the opportunity to work with many great
coaches, but when asked by a colleague who was my favorite, it was easy to
reply, Jerry. My coach insisted that I would find my life’s passion through the
freeing quality of self-expression.
It is because of him that I became me.
Audrey Weisiger
Please leave a comment for Audrey.
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