2I began ice skating when I was very young. It's not surprising, really, considering my background. Both my parents were skaters, and my mum still coaches. Ironically, my mum was a hockey player, and my dad a figure skater. They were both teased about it when they were younger, and when they were dating. My dad only skates at weekends now, but my mum coaches the senior girls hockey team.
I'm a figure skater, though, like my dad. I began young, when I was three or four, but it became serious when I was ten. I won't go into the details of my training program. Suffice to say, it was hectic.
Like all athletes, there is something about my sport that is almost a drug, something I can't do without. For me, it was- and still is- jumps. I love gliding, spinning, but jumping is more than both.
And, like any athlete, there is one moment in my career so far that stands out above all others. It was my first serious competition, I was 13, I think, or nearly 13 at any rate. I didn't win anything, though I classed within the top ten, which was quite an achievement in itself. But my long program, that stands out.
I woke early that morning, wanting to practise once more before I skated in front of a crowd. We had done the short programs the day before, and I had classed alright. Short programs are different, though. It's had to really get into the music when you're only on the ice for two and a half minutes. A short program is a display of technical ability. A long one is more about emotion, artisticness. If that's even a word.
I was starting in the second to last group that afternoon, and that alone was enough to make me doubly nervous. Once I had finished my practise, I milled around for most of the morning getting steadily more nervous, until my coach caught me just after lunch and chased me into the changing room to get my dress on.
Funnily enough, I don't really remember what my dress was like, though I know my parents have pictures somewhere. It was dark green, I think, with a fairly long skirt, bordering on the too long. The dress was supposed to match the music, a piece of Gaelic dance music, and I thought it was quite appropriate. I had had little choice in the music, but my coach did listen to my preferences occasionally, and I was pleased with her choice.
Once I had finished dressing, the first groups had already started going. There were six groups of six competitors, a total of 36, and they went in sets of two, with the ice being smoothed in between. By the time the third to last group was finishing, I had a severe case of butterflies-on-the- stomach. It felt to me as if, should I stumble even once on the ice, the butterflies would take the opportunity to escape through my mouth. Probably not the best way to impress the judges.
The group before mine finished, and the ice was smoothed. We were called out onto the ice, me and five other competitors. I was the second in the group to go, so I took the warm up seriously. Actually, that's probably a silly comment. Everyone takes the warm up seriously. They'd be nuts not to.
I managed a couple of practise jumps and spins, then found myself leaving the ice. Five minutes later, I was back on the ice, getting ready to perform my program.
I must have presented myself to the crowd, as tradition requires, but I don't remember it. I found myself in the centre, in my starting position. From there, I stood slowly as the music began, and started my program. I was off for four minutes of skating.
The first minute or so was torture. My stomach seemed to be dragging on the floor behind me. All my movements were brusque, uncomfortable. My coach and my parents must have been watching in desperation. I was making a mess of the whole thing. Then I reached my double flip, one of the most difficult things in my program.
Let me explain about flips first. A lot of people don't really like them, because they feel as if you're jumping into nothing. Its true, they do feel like that, more than any other jumps. Maybe its because the action of pulling yourself back after tapping your toe on the ice means that you are leaning slightly in the jump, maybe its just because you go so high. Whatever the reason, lot's of people don't like them. Me, they're my favourite jumps. Here's something magic about that one second when you hang in the air. I guess it's the same sort of kick diver get out of executing a pike in midair, or gymnasts get out of doing flips. I wouldn't know, I'm neither a diver, nor a gymnast. All I know is that, when I'm doing a flip, if it's done right, I'm doing what I like best.
I skated the entrance fine, did my three- a turn that leaves a three-shaped mark on the ice, hence the name- and my toe hit the ice. In an instant, I was in the air, turning, my arms folded across my chest. As soon as the blade of my skate hit the ice again, I knew I had done it right. How, I don't really know, but my instincts told me it was good, and I believed them. It was as if that one perfect jump had broken the ice- no pun intended- and I could skate without worrying about it anymore.
The rest of the program passed in a blur. Jumps, spins, foot patterns. I couldn't tell you exactly what I did after that. I'm pretty sure I did a couple of layback spins- spins leaning backwards- and maybe even a flying spin, a spin which starts as a jump. There were probably a couple of combination jumps, and , I couldn't say. It's been a long time.
The next thing I was really conscious of was ending. One final spin, layback, reaching up to the ceiling, then down onto one knee, hands still in the air. The music ended a couple of seconds after I did, meaning I hadn't kept in time as well as I could have, but it didn't matter anymore. People were clapping, and, a little unsure, I stood up and took the required bows, then skated to the edge.
Now that the program was over, I felt a little confused. The butterflies of earlier had disappeared, thankfully, and were replaced by a sort of befuddled numbness. My coach led me to a seat, I got my scores. I learnt later that I had classed eighth, a very good place, and both my parents were pleased, and hugged me heartily, my mother more so than my father (her hugs always scared me. I often think the term 'bear hug' was coined especially for her).
That program, though, the jump in particular, it was just. Sometimes, when things are getting to much for me, if I'm tired, stressed or angry, I close my eyes and skate that program again. Usually, admittedly not always, but usually, it calms me down.
Since then, I've skated lots more competitions. I won't say I'm a rising star, so there's no point trying to look out for my name, but I do alright. Maybe, one day, I'll give it up and concentrate on something a little more down to earth, but for the moment, ice skating is a part of me, a big part of me. Its something I love, and that won't ever change.
AN: there, hope you liked it. My next story is likely to be a more substantial one, but I wrote this after my skating class the other day, and I felt I had to do something with it. Well, that's all for now, Eleri