On top of the world

Off Ice

The last 45 minutes dragged because of all the exercises my teammates and I had to do, but that time also flew by. Time is weird.

"Привіт Papa," I greeted my dad as his sedan pulled up in front of the rink entrance.

"How was training today?" Dad asked as he helped haul my skating gear into the trunk.

"My programs are ready for competition, but I still can't land my triples," I admitted. I bid farewell to Katya and my other friends. After hopping into the passenger seat, Dad gave me my dinner in a compartmentalized Tupperware: beef stew, potatoes, and veggies. I prayed and then wolfed the whole thing down as we drove home.

Dad doesn't understand much about figure skating, and he's much more into American football, but I still appreciate his everyday chauffering and financial support. Something annoying about him, however, is that he sometimes likes to pretend that before pursuing his degree in info tech (IT), he was training to be an elite figure skater. He also sometimes mentioned that he was self taught in vocals and could be good enough to get on American Idol or The Voice; then he would proceed to demonstrate his awful voice by singing along to the radio. This bragging of his non-existent skills was what I had to deal with every car ride home. Ah, c'est la vie.

Once we arrived home, I greeted my mom and my younger brother Yuri. My baby sister Masha was already sleeping. She is about to turn 1. I will turn 12 a few days after her birthday. Yuri turned 8 back in June. School was going to start up again in a week, and I was excited about reuniting with my school friends but less than thrilled about the late nights of homework I will be facing.

I then realized it's been almost a year since my big accident.

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I remember getting a lot of stares.

I walked into my middle school for the first time on open house day holding my mom's hand. I had a thick piece of gauze on my forehead covering a huge scar. On the first official day of class, someone in my math class asked me about the gauze. His name is Árni. I told him the story about it, but I refused to show him. He mentioned that he got injured when he went ice skating with his friends for fun back in Iceland (where he's from). We became friends that day, even though he turned out to be a little annoying sometimes, kind of like my dad. He and my other friends Bessie and her twin sister Jessie had come to see some of my local competitions and shows, and I always appreciated their support. Bessie was trying to get Árni and I to actually be a thing, but we both agreed to just stay friends for now (and my parents wouldn't allow me to date until I turn 18).

I later decided to cut bangs so they could cover the scar on my forehead. But I did not want to go for corrective surgery. At the time, I thought it would be unnecessary pain; I'd only want surgery for emergency reasons, not cosmetic ones. Now, I'm proud of the choice I've made because my scar tells a great story about me. I've become proud of my scar and the experience I went through.

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As I reminisced on the previous year, my mom and I were folding clothes while watching American Ninja Warrior. Yuri came down and asked to play on the Xbox.

"If you want to play on the Xbox, come fold clothes with us!" I told Yuri, who huffed and ran back up to his room.

"So just one more club competition before regionals, eh Lyubov?" Mom said.

"Yeah, Boston Open, and then Regionals are in Rhode Island this year." I was already registered for Boston Open, and the registration for regionals would open in September.