Back Injuries, Broken Partnerships, and a Job at a Skating Rink — The Dark Years of Ryuichi Kihara

A few children wobbled along the boards, their skates scratching thin white lines into the frozen surface. Music drifted softly from an old speaker somewhere above the rink. Near the entrance, behind a small counter stacked with rental skates, a quiet man handed a pair of laces to a customer and smiled politely.

Most people walking past had no idea who he was.

To them, he was just another rink employee—someone selling tickets, checking sizes, tightening laces for beginners before they stepped onto the ice.

But the man behind that counter was Ryuichi Kihara.

And only a few years earlier, many in the skating world believed his career was already over.

For a long time, nothing seemed to go right for Kihara.

Pairs skating demands brutal physical endurance—especially for the male partner who must lift, twist, and launch another athlete into the air with perfect timing. Over the years, the strain began to take its toll on his body. A persistent back injury followed him from competition to competition, turning practices into battles against pain.

At the same time, his competitive partnerships kept falling apart.

In figure skating, chemistry between partners can mean everything. When partnerships dissolve—whether due to injuries, disagreements, or career changes—it can derail years of progress overnight.

For Kihara, it happened more than once.

Each time, the climb back became harder.

Each time, whispers around the sport grew louder: Maybe he’s too old. Maybe his window has passed.

Eventually, the pressure became too heavy.

Without a stable partner and with his back constantly reminding him of its limits, Kihara stepped away from the spotlight and returned home to Aichi Prefecture.

There, at a local skating rink, he took a quiet job.

Selling tickets.
Handing out rental skates.
Watching others glide across the ice he once dreamed of conquering.

For many athletes, that moment would have been the end.

A slow fade from competition into memory.

But something inside Kihara refused to disappear.

Even while working at the rink, he kept skating.

Sometimes early in the morning before the crowds arrived.

Sometimes late at night when the lights dimmed and the ice was nearly empty.

The pain in his back hadn’t vanished. The doubts hadn’t disappeared either. But the feeling of the blades cutting across fresh ice—the rhythm, the balance, the quiet focus—reminded him why he had started skating in the first place.

It wasn’t just about medals.

It was about refusing to give up on something that had shaped his entire life.

Then, in one of those rare twists that change everything, a new opportunity appeared.

Kihara began skating with Riku Miura, a young and fiercely determined partner whose energy matched his resilience. What started as a new experiment slowly turned into one of the most powerful partnerships in modern figure skating.

Together, they rebuilt everything from the ground up.

Programs.
Trust.
Confidence.

And as they returned to international competition, something surprising began to happen.

People started paying attention again.

The same skater who had once been written off as “too old” was suddenly performing with a renewed intensity. The lifts were stronger. The synchronization sharper. The chemistry undeniable.

Soon, the pair of Ryuichi Kihara and Riku Miura became one of the most exciting teams in the sport.

Audiences around the world watched as the duo climbed higher and higher in the rankings—until the moment arrived that few had imagined during those quiet days at the rink in Aichi.

They stood at the top of the podium.

World champions.

Looking back, the journey almost sounds impossible.

A skater battling injuries.

A career that seemed to collapse.

Years spent away from the spotlight.

And yet, that chapter—the one where Kihara sold tickets and rented skates—may have been the most important part of the story.

Because it proved something powerful.

Sometimes the greatest champions aren’t the ones who rise quickly.

They’re the ones who fall, disappear… and still find the strength to step back onto the ice.

And when Ryuichi Kihara did exactly that, the entire skating world was forced to watch in awe.