Perseverance

It took me two times to pass my Senior Freeskate test and the first time was miserable. When I say miserable, I mean it. The rink I practice in doesn't have regular test sessions; they are only about once every three-four months so my mom and I packed into the car and drove two hours to a rink where a test was being offered. I had skated there before, quite frequently actually. My coach has connections to the coaches, and the atmosphere of the rink there is much better than that of my home rink. My mom and I would drive out there at least once a month so I could get programs choreographed, fine tuned, or work on landing that darn double axel. It was to my disappointment that when my home coach and I decided I was ready to test my Senior Free for the first time there weren't any test sessions at my home rink. I decided instead that I would test at this rink 2 hours away since I had another coach there and it wouldn't be too different.

It wasn't the rink, my coach there or the two hour drive that caused me to have a wretched skate and I would be lying if I said they did. I was so shook up on the ice the night before my test that my coach had to call my dad to come to the rink because she was out of pep-talks to give me. I have always had a problem with nerves but this time I was almost catatonic. I was apathetic about working hard, wouldn't do a long program and was unresponsive to anything my coach had to say. I did nothing but stand on the boards with a far-away look on my face. I had given up and quit on myself even before the day of my test. What started out as a tiny seed of doubt had grown into an enormous bean stalk that smothered all of my self-confidence. It built on itself, and developed into a vicious cycle. Because I was so apathetic at the rink, I became more and more unprepared for my test. With every day I moped through, I lost a day of actual training. When the day of my test came, I was physically prepared, but only just enough.

Mentally however, I was a wreck. When I got to the rink the morning from the test I couldn't even bring myself to do off-ice to warm up. I just got out of the car, put my dress on and wandered around outside, wallowing in my emotions and acting as if I had already failed the test. My coach out there who had only seen the giggly bubbly side of me was totally freaked out, too shocked by my behavior to even scold me. I cried after the warm up, hyperventilated slightly and whined about how I just wanted it to be over with.

Well when I got off the ice it was over with all right, with not even an opportunity for a re-skate. I cried and cried and cried about how embarrassed I was, what a bad skater I was, and I beat myself up for hours after. I didn't even want to look at my test papers and I still have not. All of the pep talks in the world wouldn't have helped me through. 5 million dollars for the best sports psychologist wouldn't have helped me deal with my nerves because I had already made a choice in my head and I wasn't open to changing the way I was looking at things. The night before my test when my dad came to the rink he looked me in the eye and gave me a big motivational speech with a stern but supportive voice. But here's the thing, even Coach Brooks' 1980 Miracle speech would have done nothing to motivate a skater who had already decided not to listen, not to try, and had already told themselves they were not going to succeed. Motivational speeches don't get people up off the ground, they only lift up the people whose feet are already hovering. The decision to be motivated, to be confident can only come from within.

This is getting lengthy so I'm going to try to wrap it up. My second test, I was much more prepared. I had a mental breakthrough. I could land the jumps in my sleep, with my hands tied behind my back and my eyes closed, but the jumps were never the problem. This time I prepared mentally just as much as physically. I made a commitment to myself and dug down deep, kindled the spark that had ignited, and lit on fire with wild desire. The drive to pass my test the second time was like nothing I had ever experienced. Every time I skated I did an almost clean or clean program and I was by no means willing to give up on anything. The better I got, the better I got and just like before, this was cyclical too but in a positive way.  The four little words "I can do this" were my mantra and I said them over and over again both in my head and even out loud. Ever heard the phrase "fake it till you make it?" Well the first few "I can do this" repetitions were not very believable but the more I repeated it, the more I truly began to believe it. On the day of my test, I tested at home in my home rink with my home coach and kept my nerves at bay. With every jump I landed the smile on my face grew wider and when I struck my ending pose tears of joy were rolling down my cheeks, not because I had passed but because I was proud of my journey.

You can do it. You can do anything. And as corny as it sounds you really can do anything you set your mind to. In hindsight, I'm glad I failed my test the first time because if I had passed by the skin of my teeth I wouldn't have had to change my perspective. I am a better skater because of my experiences. I train harder, I believe in myself more often, and I try hard to persevere. My journey is by no means over, in fact I am just beginning to discover who I am as a skater. The whole world is out there waiting for you, believe in yourself and you will do great things. In my case, I was my own worst enemy. Skating, I like to think, is 20% physical ability, and 80% mental perspective. Either way, you are 100% in control. I tell myself before every performance, competition or practice that this is my body, my mind and I am in control of my skating. Nerves do not control me anymore, nor should they control you. Through perseverance and determination I have been allowed the chance to discover myself.

I am just starting out on my journey, and I am so excited to see where this road leads me.
Best of Luck!!