My Life As A Figure Skater

When I was six years old, I was watching figure skaters compete during the Olympics. I was mesmerized at their grace and strength, and told my parents I wanted to do it. So I did.

I started in group lessons twice a week and a private lesson once a week after school. Every Saturday I would wake up at 5 in the morning, make my way to the rink, and practice until 10 in the morning.

I competed three times at the same level because I kept winning, and my coach was nervous about moving me up a level (she didn’t think I would win). Eventually, with my mothers insistence, she moved me up, I competed, and I still won. Eventually I pleaded with my mom for a new skating coach because I felt like I was being held back.

By the time I was ten years old I was training with a team of coaches that either trained Olympians or won the Olympics themselves. I was practicing two days a week at one rink, and two days a week at another rink. There was off-ice training, work outs, and stretches that I also attended.

One coach, when I would fall during practicing a jump, she would make me do pushups on the ice, gloves off.

Another coach, one of my favorites, would slap me in the back anytime I had bad posture (She would also lecture me until I cried).

The last coach I had barely paid attention to me, he lacked the motivation himself.

By the time I was seventeen I made the decision to quit figure skating. I had too much on my plate and couldn’t give skating my all anymore. I was physically putting a toll on my body. There were multiple times I would walk off the ice with blood in my skates, a muscle pulled, or black and blues on an entire side of my body.

It was also mentally draining. I was always comparing my skating technique to the other girls. I was praised for having the perfect body for skating so I felt pressure to keep it. Everyone was always competing to be the best, and I couldn’t take it anymore.

Overall, did I love being a figure skater? Yes, of course I did. Every time I stepped on the ice I felt like I finally belonged. I felt like I could be myself and let all my frustrations out. Quitting was one of the hardest things I did, but I couldn’t keep living that type of lifestyle anymore.