Chapter Thirty-Nine
My former coach Carol had always insisted that competition skating order could make or break you, so it took a couple of years
before I could shake the feeling that “the draw” would determine my outcome. It was a bizarre bit of theater on top of the
rest of the competition stress, a secretive lottery-like drawing late at night in a dark hallway to determine who skated when.
There was some validity to her claim, since the judges might score earlier skaters more conservatively before seeing the rest
of the contenders. But then again, a baller was a baller whether they went first or last.
I hated that Carol was in my head, on today of all days. My first competition, the short-program skate. I’d almost exorcised
her completely, but being back in the theater of the Games was enough to reawaken the demon. I tried to reframe my thoughts
of her as gasoline on a brush fire, like my anger about the way she’d treated me was a performance accelerant. Add in some
unwanted texting from my mom after she’d arrived in Milan and I had plenty of kindling for the inferno I was about to create
out on the ice.
It turned out that the top-secret closed draw with the officials the night before had graced me with what Zamboni Frank called the catbird seat; I was the second to last skater of the evening.
I would go out onto the ice knowing nearly everyone’s scores, with the energy in the arena at a fever pitch.
The drawback was that I’d also been forced to listen to audience reactions as my competition skated. No surprise, Ayumi’s
program had left the rafters shaking. Mel had made sure that I camped out in a quiet corner of the waiting space off ice,
far from the TVs broadcasting the performances. She divided her time between walking out to the rink to watch everyone else
and hanging out with me as I did visualizations, stretched, and tried to stay warmed up. Her descriptions of the other performances
were filled with adorably modest praise, like calling Yena’s flawless jumps “decent.”
As the night sped to a close we were left with unsurprising results: Ayumi was in the lead, with Yena close behind her in
a surprising upset, followed by Madeline. Erica’s performance had squeaked her into the free-skate portion of the Games—she
landed in the twenty-second position—and poor Kayla had wound up in a disappointing twenty-eighth position, which meant that
her journey was over.
So US figure skating only had two chances to podium. No pressure or anything.
Mel walked over to my little prep cave looking like a professor about to give a lecture, in a smart black blazer and black
turtleneck. I studied her face as she got closer. No visible stress, just a confident smile, like the event was over and I’d
already won.
“You should feel really good right now,” she said as she took my hands. “That’s all I’m saying.”
She’d watched everyone with the exception of Beatrix Kahn, who would skate last. It was Mel’s way of telling me that if I
could skate a flawless performance I’d wipe the rest of the competition off the ice.
So different from last time. I’d forced myself not to think about the trauma of Switzerland, but there were moments like this one that made it impossible.
“It’s time,” she said, squeezing my hands. “Let’s go do this.”
I bowed my head, closed my eyes, and pictured myself in my final pose of the performance. Chest rising and falling from the
exertion, with tears in my eyes again, but this time from gratitude.
I was ready.
I followed her out to the edge of the ice, past other skaters, staff, volunteers, and a million cameras. I took off my practice
jacket and guards and placed them on the boards, then turned back to Mel for one final pep talk.
We touched foreheads, and I tried to focus on what she was saying, not the cameras pushing closer to capture the moment.
“I believe in you,” she whispered. “No matter what, I’m so proud of you.”
A calm unlike anything I’d experienced washed over me, like she’d just injected me with a sedative. The jangly, coiled-spring
sensation I always battled prior to performances was replaced by a serenity. A knowing.
“Thank you for being you,” I whispered back.
We locked eyes for a few additional seconds, then she let go and I skated out to the center of the ice.
I could’ve sworn I felt the energy in the building shift as I got into position.
There’s no stillness quite like what a skater feels in the moments before the performance music begins.
Members of the audience could probably hear the rustling and coughing of their fellow spectators, but to me the packed rink was tomb silent.
I couldn’t see anything beyond the borders of the ice.
My breathing preemptively slowed to match the rhythm to come.
The first quiet notes of the song began and my focus narrowed even more. Now, I was a storyteller, not a skater.
I started off the performance graceful, like every other skater that night. I was soft, and poised, but a little reserved,
skating like I was the same delicate flower of the past. People who’d never seen the performance might assume that I’d maintain
the same level of doe-eyed wonder throughout the piece, but the pre-chorus tone shift and my corresponding spins signaled
that I’d been holding back.
Each move was stronger than the last as the music swelled and became more cinematic. Not a single wobble, just clean, blissful
skating that was so on target that I had to hold back from celebrating after every successful move. I still had a minute and
a half to go, with the most challenging jumps to come.
The familiar burning in my legs signaled that I was reaching the halfway point. I could track my performance not only by the
choreography I was performing, but also how my body felt as I moved through it.
I was now in a flow state so intense that it was like I was watching my own performance as it was happening. I saw myself
stepping into my strength right after the chorus and embodying the sensuality of the moves. There was no truer performance
for me than this one, no better depiction of how it felt to claim my power through my efforts, not as a by-product of someone else’s tutoring.
My spectator-eye view of my performance meant that I could turn off the jump math portion of my brain.
All I had to do was stick to the plan and keep skating cleanly and I’d dominate; there was no need for me to try to make up for on-ice mistakes by pushing my performance to be more challenging than it needed to be.
But I wanted to.
My only scheduled triple axel was in my “Bulletproof” free skate later in the week, but I’d played with adding one to “Movement”
as well during practice sessions. Mel aimed for being predictably successful, and normally I agreed, but I’d also never skated
quite like this before.
I felt untouchable.
I could do it. I’d never been more confident in my performance. I wanted to claim this moment once and for all as mine, and
an unexpected triple A would do it.
The launch point in the song was rapidly approaching. The tension of the music narrowed to just Hozier’s voice backed by a
choir, and I could almost feel the collected inhalation of a thousand breaths as the sound paused for a millisecond and I
launched myself into the air.
And hovered there, spinning without any concern for gravity.
I could visualize my landing before I’d even finished my final revolution, and when I actually touched down the reality of
it matched what I’d seen in my mind.
Flawless.
I’d been focused inward throughout the performance, but I finally allowed myself to listen to the cheers from the crowd as
I moved into the remaining components of the piece. It was the final section, where I fully stepped into my strength, and
it felt right to be beaming as I finished my triple lutz and toe loop combo.
I was flying. Second half jump bonus, here I come.
The instruments quieted again after the crescendo until all that was left was Hozier’s voice and the choir wailing behind
him. Lush, haunting, and underscored by the slice of my skates on the ice.
And then it was over.
I froze in my final pose, bent over backward at the waist like I didn’t have a spinal cord, with my arms outstretched. It
was both a welcome and a threat; I’d bared my soft soul to the audience, but now every one of them knew that there was steel
beneath the velvet.
When I stood up I felt like I’d just had an out-of-body experience. I couldn’t remember what I’d just done, all I knew was
that the entire arena was on their feet, applauding for me without any regard for the flags they clutched in their hands.
Tears flooded my eyes. I drank in the moment, alternating between covering my mouth in shock and waving to everyone in the
stands. The junior skaters flooded onto the ice to collect the stuffed animals raining down from the stands.
I skated to the exit, where Mel was waiting for me, and launched myself at her, laughing and crying at the same time.
“You were amazing,” she said as she squeezed me tightly.
The cameras crowded closer but I didn’t care. This time around I wanted the world to see my face, mascara streaks and all.
When we finally pulled apart I put my guards on and practically levitated to the kiss and cry.
I felt like I was in shock as I settled onto the bench next to Mel. I was still breathing heavily, and a little sweaty, but I dialed up my smile for the camera broadcasting my every move. It always felt like the wait for scores took forever, but this time around I didn’t care.
“That triple,” Mel breathed as she leaned closer to me. “Why did you add it?”
I laughed. “Because I could.”