The cold air hit me as soon I walked into the ice rink. Girls in sparkly dresses and costumes milled about; the air was full of franticness and nerves. Today was the day of the Christmas show. I had spent months preparing for today. Long cold practices were spent trying to figure out footwork or land a jump consistently, all for one performance. I felt like I was going to throw up.

“I’m going to go find some seats,” my mom said, interrupting my train of thought.
“Ok, I’ll head to the locker room and get my skates on,” I answered, trying to hide the anxiousness in my voice.

I walked into the locker room and was greeted with chaos. There were people trying to get their music arranged, get their skates on, and pulling on bright colored tutus. Everyone was chatting loudly to each other, and my isolation from the people around me only worsened my nerves. I tried to ignore them, and I found a spot on the bench that lined the walls and tied my skates with shaking hands. I looked around, unsure of what to do with my music or where to go. Finally, I spotted a coach I knew.

“What should I do with my music?” I asked her.
“Here, I can take it. Just wait in the locker room until your name is called for your warm up group. Coach Becky will come and get you,” she answered, a sense of relief filling me.
“Ok, will do,” I responded as I handed her my music and headed back into the locker room.

I tried to distract myself by playing on my phone, but nothing would make the pit in my stomach go away. Everyone around me seemed to be excited, but all I could feel was dread. I just wanted to go out and perform and get it over with. After what felt like hours, my warm up group was called. We all walked in line behind Coach Becky and jumped on the ice.

“You have five minutes to warm up,” the speaker announced.

After taking a lap or two, I tried to warm up some spins and jumps, but I kept feeling worse and worse. I could feel the eyes of everyone on the bleachers tracking what felt like my every move, and the pressure was getting to me. This was just the warm up!

“Your warm up is over. Will the first skater please take the ice,” the speaker said.

There were about three people to go before I performed. Every single one of them fell. I don’t know if it was the ice or the nerves, but everyone seemed to be struggling. This made me feel simultaneously better and worse. The rink filled with clapping as a small girl in a pretty dress bowed. It was my turn.

“Up next is Hannah C. skating to White Christmas by Michael Bublé!” The speaker said.
I took off the jacket that was covering my dress, and got onto the ice. My heart thudded in my ears as I took my starting position. I’m dreaming, of a white-e-e Christmas. Michael Bublé crooned as my program began. However, the music faded away, and all I could hear was the crunching of ice beneath my feet. People either crack or bloom under pressure, and I was cracking. I went through the motions of my program, just trying to get through it. My first spin was awful, even worse than the one during my warm up, and my first jump was even worse. As I continued, my body felt lighter and lighter, less grounded with every passing second, and I was incredibly unsteady. I fell. On backwards crossovers. Possibly the easiest thing in the entire program. I was ashamed, and the details of my program were lost. I couldn’t remember what was next! I continued on defeated and started making it up as I went. Finally, I hit my ending position unenthusiastically. Everyone clapped.

“Thank you Hannah!” The announcer said all-too cheerily.

I was relieved that it was over, but I was still far from happy. What upset me the most was not that I fell, but that I had given up on the program. I hadn’t fought until the very end to give the best performance. From this moment on, I decided that I would never make that mistake again. I never wanted to feel like I hadn’t given it my all.

My coach has told me many times since then that regardless of how a jump goes or feels, you should always fight for a perfect landing position. If you do that, the jump will always look and feel smoother, regardless of what happens in the air. Even if it isn’t perfect, at least you landed it; at least you gave it your best. The same thing applies to a program. Even if you fall on every single element, you must continue. The show must go on.

This is one of the most important lessons skating has taught me. No matter what life throws at you, what trials and tribulations, hardships or issues it brings, you must continue on. No matter how many times you fall, you must always get back up. You must fight for your landing position, for your next goal, for the resolution to your problem. Never give up.