Olympic Conquest

Lainey - I'm Back

It's been a year since I've stepped foot into an ice rink. I long to return to the comfort of the ice – where everything gets clearer with each stroke of my skates. But I promised myself that I would only go back when I could walk through the door.

So right now, I'm standing in front of my hometown ice rink – the one in my neighborhood where I put on my first pair of skates and learned all of the basics of figure skating. The place where I forged lasting friendships with other girls just like me who had Olympic dreams.

I remember the first time I came to this rink. I was so excited, I literally felt like my heart was going to pump out of my chest. I begged and begged my mom to take me ice skating and when we arrived, she signed me up for group lessons that same day.

Memories of my first ice show and competition flood back. There was a lot of joy and pain back then – not that the roller coaster ever stopped but it was easier to handle as time went on. I grew up under the fluorescent lights of the rink as both a skater and a person. So many life lessons were learned in this building – how to deal with fear and losing. And also how to win and show humility. I had my first kiss in the bleachers with Mark. It's fitting that I start over where it all began.

I stare at the front of the rink, unsure how to enter the place that used to be my home away from home. The place where I learned to be unique and develop a style of my own. Here, the klutz in me turned graceful. I grab my skating bag close to my side hoping it will give me strength. And I put one foot in front of the other and I walk inside. Just like that.

The smell of the rink hits me like the best friend you haven't seen in ages. It's an addictive smell filled with pain and glory. Flashbacks to all the time I spent skating each week and the joy of learning new jumps and spins and the happiness I felt just gliding across the ice fill my mind. It calms my nerves immediately.

I close the door to the rink behind me and I head right for the ice. The relationship between a skater and the ice is a passionate one. I have an insatiable need to touch the ice before anything else. It's strange how you can develop a deep love for a huge slab of frozen water. And I do love it. It's like a family member who's always there for you through the good and the bad, always there to listen and share in your joy and ease your burden.

I pay the cashier and then open the interior doors that keep the cold air inside the rink. I run into a group of young girls who push their way past me. They're laughing and full of energy, like I used to be at their age. I remember how competitive we all were with each other. We'd be devastated if we couldn't pass a test together that would push us to the next level in our skating. They run by me, not recognizing me under my winter layers. A year ago, I would have been mobbed for autographs by these same girls.

But it has been a year and I've fallen out of everyone's minds. All eyes are on my rival Anna, and the fact that the up-and-coming U.S. skaters are not strong enough to be competitive with Russia's team. Anna is the World Champion and she will probably be the next Olympic champion too. But there is still time. The Olympics aren't for another couple of years. A lot can happen between now and then.

I get to the edge of the ice and I kneel down. My hip twitches slightly but it's getting stronger every day. Yoga and ballet have been helping with my recovery. Without thinking, I've started visualizing myself running through my past routines. My body is telling me that it's time to return to the ice.

I lean over and rest my hands on the cold surface of the rink. It feels like heaven. I feel the grooves in the ice from the skates that have run over it. I put my finger in one of the holes created by a toe pick, reminding myself of the joy of picking the ice and launching into a jump.

After a minute or so, I get up and watch all the skaters – a mix of hockey players and figure skaters with a few inexperienced skaters looking scared to death. I smile, sympathetic to their feelings of fear. The ice is pretty daunting unless you take the time to practice and learn that falling is part of the experience and usually doesn't hurt – too much.

Everyone seems to be enjoying the free skate session. The ice is pretty rough but the Zamboni should be out to smooth it out soon. Loud cheesy music blares and warms my heart. Good ole cheesy ice rink music. Nothing like it to take you back a few decades in time when you dreamt of the cute hockey guy asking to hold your hand while you skate around the ice together. I head to the bleachers where I pull out my skates for the first time since the accident. I remember the last time I wore skates. It was at the lodge in Vail. I felt so beautiful that day as Cory watched me skate.

Today, my skates feel heavy and stiff in my hands. I look at the blades, no rust. Good. I wonder if I should get them sharpened just in case but I decide against it. Let's just see how they feel first. I unlace one of the boots. I notice it's getting a slight bend in the ankle. It may be time for a new pair.

I put the skate down on the ground and I place my foot in the boot. It feels tight, as it should. I lace it up. My feet mold to the shape of the boot like a good memory. I pull out some tape that I always have in my bag and I wrap my skates for extra ankle support. I don't plan on doing any jumps but I want to make sure I'm prepared for anything.

I put some thin gloves on and step out on the ice. I don't normally wear gloves and usually by the end of a training session, I'm stripped down to a T-shirt and leggings but today, the rink feels cold.

I step out onto the ice and I push myself forward. I glide around the rink, letting my legs warm up. Each time around, I go faster – my body falling in step with my feet. I lower myself down at the corners and work in some crossovers. I go faster and faster and faster, weaving in and out of the slower skaters. Before I know it, I am racing at top speed and it feels like I'm flying. My legs give the impression that a year away may not have done too much damage to my technique.

I turn around and go backwards and slip into backward crossovers and on instinct I slow down and turn into a scratch spin. Faster, faster, faster I spin. I slam my toe pick into the ice – frozen ice chips go flying. I feel exhilarated. There are no crowds cheering me on, but the personal satisfaction that I'm back on the ice means so much more.

I spend the next two hours just skating in circles – getting used to the ice again. I'm in my own world where nothing matters but me gliding across this ice.

The music eventually ends and an announcement comes on that it's time to go. I'm not ready to leave. I skate as many more times around as I can before the last person steps off the ice. I have the rink to myself finally. I skate a couple more times around and without even thinking, I launch up into a double flip. Mid-air it occurs to me that I have to land on my newly restored hip.

I panic. Afraid that I will damage the progress I've made, I come down from the flip and make myself two foot the landing and I let my body fall to the ice in order to spread out the impact away from my hip. One of the first things you learn when you start skating is how to fall properly – because you will fall – a lot. It's just part of the sport. It's drilled into your head that you need to get up and keep going, no matter what.

Unfortunately, there are those few times when you injure yourself from falling on the ice, and those are the moments you never forget or ever want to repeat. I once had to do an entire long program with a broken wrist. I fell on the first jump and knew immediately, something was wrong. But I had to finish.

I lie on the ice, looking up at the ceiling. I know I'm fine. I can just pick myself back up and skate off the ice, no problem. But instead of getting up, I laugh. I laugh so hard, I can't stop.

The Zamboni driver pulls out onto the ice. He sees me and stops. He stands and yells, "Hey, are you okay?"

I laugh again. "Yeah, I'm fine. I'm just ... back. That's it. I'm back," I yell.

"I'm happy for you. Do you think you can leave the ice now so I can water it down? I've got a couple of hockey teams ready to go and a dozen hockey moms about to attack me."

I push myself up. "Yep, I'm going. Thanks!"

"Great jump by the way. I was sure you had the landing."

"Me too! Thanks! Have a great day!"

I make my way off the ice and I look back and drink it all in. This is my home. No matter what, I have to find a way to be here. Always.