From the ages of two to 13, I spent nearly every waking moment of my life figure skating, thinking about figure skating, or training for figure skating. I competed at a national level twice, performed in singles and team events, and earned countless medals in those 11 years. Figure skating was my entire life.
When I turned 13, a combination of disability and the COVID-19 pandemic forced me to step away from the sport. I had started to lose my love for it at that point, and by the time I stepped away, I started to hate it more than I enjoyed it.Ā
Then, at 16, I started getting an āitchā. I wanted to do something, anything, but I had no ideas on how to fill the hole made by leaving figure skating in the past, so I tried every possible activity I could. Name any hobby and I probably tried it, from painting to sculpting, journaling to walking, running to yoga. Nothing filled the void.
At 18, I became obsessed with hockey and, as a result, at 19, I decided to try skating again. My mom bought me a pair of skates someone had sitting in a closet for a decade from Facebook Marketplace for $10, since rentals are not the best and my old ones were now far too small. I spent a few weeks looking at them every time I came home from college, waiting for the day break would come and I could finally get back to skating.
The first time I got onto the ice in January, I made it precisely one lap before I burst into tears.
I had forgotten how badly it hurt. My feet burned, my knees ached and I truly wanted nothing more than to get off, and I did. I gave up one lap in. My mom and sister-in-law spent the next thirty minutes talking me down while I sobbed on the bleachers. I thought that stepping onto the ice would make my love come rushing back, but instead, all I felt was frustration.Ā
I went to a different rink five days later, and this time, I managed to actually make it around a few times, but I still left early with tears in my eyes.
A few days later, my mom surprised me with good skates, And by good skates, I mean good skates: the $400 Jackson EVO skates that I had always wanted because they had pretty rhinestones on the back. Someone was selling them online for half the price in the city, and when I tried them on, they were perfect. Unlike the other pair, my feet felt snug, not suffocated, and I actually felt in control. This gave me hope that maybe, if I tried hard enough and kept pushing, I would be able to get back to it.
Itās been four and a half months since I stepped onto the ice for the first time in seven years. I wonāt say Iām good, and Iāll even say Iām far from that, but personally, I donāt think thatās what matters. Sure, I canāt jump or spin yet, but I can move without the help of the wall. I can lift my right leg and do a one-foot glide without falling flat on my face. I can stay on the ice for longer than one lap before I get off to take a break, and I can even take my three-year-old niece out with me.Ā
I would not say these past few months have been easy. Honestly, I would say that this has been one of the hardest things Iāve ever done. Every time I step onto the ice, I am confronted with every single emotion I have felt about skating. All of the anger, the fear and the sadness come rushing back, but all of the excitement and love do, too. Iāve learned that I have to keep myself centered. Frustration is my biggest motivator, but itās my biggest dejector, too. I hate not making progress, and I struggle knowing that a decade ago, I was jumping and spinning without a care in the world and now I canāt do a one-foot glide on my right foot without stumbling, but I also have to recognize that I have started over. The person on the ice now is a completely different person from the one who was on the ice in 2011, and as my therapist says, I have to practice āradical acceptanceā: just say āoh well, shameā and move on.Ā
At the beginning, the failure sent me into a spiral. I struggled a lot with my mentality for a few months and nearly gave up far more times than Iām willing to admit simply because I am not who I used to be.Ā
Oh well. Shame.