Her

I went ice skating on Sunday with my friends. As I struggled to stand up on the wobbly metal blades beneath me I saw a young girl doing spins and jumps in the middle of the ice. I was fascinated how a girl half my age could be so talented. One of my friends saw her do an effortless leap through the air and then suggested, “I’m not naturally talented as her!’’, justifying her inability to balance on the slick ice. 

I noticed the seriousness of the girl's facial expression and the fear in her eyes as she beautifully danced across the ice. 

Me

I went back to the rink after quitting almost a year ago. The shivers and the cool air of the rink gave me the same goosebumps that I hadn’t felt in months. My brain couldn’t decide if I missed that feeling or not. Although it seemed like I could have been born at an ice rink because of the unbelievable young age I was on the ice, I wasn’t. When I first stepped on the ice I couldn't stand. I had no supernatural ability giving me the talent to skate. As long as I remember I was training. Rather than playing outside like their kids my age, I was pushing my weak 6 year old body to its limits.

 I was tiny, my growth stunted by years of hard falls on 6 inches of ice that felt like concrete. After three hours of repeatedly throwing my weak body through the air I would go to school after waking up at 5:00 with bruises covering my legs. 

My coach saw something inside the shy 6 year old girl that no one else saw. She saw too much. Unbeknownst to me at the time she was torturing me. I grew up thinking that her pushing my body into a split despite my ear-piercing screams pleading for her to stop was normal. Hitting my legs till they bruised if my knee were even a degree bent or forcing my body into stretching positions as I cried and yelled. Nightmarish realities made up my childhood while I was on the ice.

Only when I moved away did my parents realize what was wrong. My passion for skating was ruined. Everyday before skating practices I would wish to get injured, so I would have to quit. I couldn’t get on the ice without having flashbacks of pain and anguish inflicted by my childhood coach that “wanted the best for me”. 

I had to quit. It was the only way I could regain the childhood I missed out on. I was 12 trapped in a 5 feet tall 80 pound little girl’s body. The guilt of quitting sat in my chest as if I had just committed a cold-blooded murder. After months of trying to forget what happened I went back to the rink to take back the sport I loved from the traumatized memories from my childhood.