Twenty years ago, I was on the Olympic podium in Turin, Italy. Now, I’m back as a spectator, watching the figure skating events with both nostalgia and relief as I relive the highs and lows of my Olympic experience. I was keenly reminded of my own choice to pursue the Olympic dream at the expense of all else.
It stirred reflections on my skating career and all that has transpired since. Knowing what it took, I would still do it again in a heartbeat. At the same time, it’s hard to imagine my kids following in my footsteps — not only because of what I missed out on, but the weight of the hopes and expectations I carried.
I first fell in love with the feeling of gliding across the ice at age seven. The next 10 years were full of joyful growth, quickly mastering difficult jumps, and early competitive success. Early mornings in cold damp ice rinks were filled with possibility and promise. I couldn’t get enough and hated anything keeping me away from the ice.
But when I was just 12, I was forced to take months off when another skater collided with me, slicing my calf open. Then again at 15 I fractured my lower back, sidelined for another three months. The time away from the ice only strengthened my resolve and commitment to qualify for the 2002 Olympic Games in Salt Lake City. I made the games, but missed the podium and ended up a disappointing 4th place, determined to come back in 2006 and redeem myself.
