Sliding the light blue glittery guards off my figure skates, I felt the rhythm of my heart beating in my throat. This was my chance to prove to the kindergartners surrounding me that I, a 4th grader, was good enough to advance into new territory. As I started to shakily stroke across the ice, my coach reminded me to practice my skills. My dread built. I not only had to represent an entire age group but also had to show off my very new, very daunting moves. I began with a bunny hop (the first jump you learn in figure skating), but as I leaped forward, disaster struck; it felt like I was moving in slow motion as I tripped over my toe pick and fell flat on my chest, my headband tumbling off and landing in front of me. As people skated past me, asking if I was alright, my mind slipped back to second grade.
I was staring blankly at a sheet of paper, supposedly a geometry test, but since talking wasn’t allowed, I couldn’t understand a single thing on the paper that rested before me. Normally, I would discreetly ask my friend to read me the words on the page, yet without a friend’s help, it felt like I had to create math problems out of abstract art. I continued to sit there until the last of my peers’ papers left my side. In my moment of despair, my teacher walked up behind me and asked me the question I dreaded most, “Are you ok?” Then the tears began to fall, creating little puddles on my paper.
Feeling the cold ice under my skin, I remembered those tears and the fear I had of being left behind. I refused to cry this time. I picked up my headband, slowly rose to my feet, and started my journey as the oldest and potentially worst skater there. In group lessons, I could barely do a one-foot spin, and in warmups, I was always at the back of the line. Week after week, I started to slowly climb, practicing more and caring less about others’ perceptions of me. I began to understand that to do my best, I had to stop comparing myself to others and focus on the steps I could take to achieve my goals.
That same realization from the ice helped me push through my struggles in school; losing the fear of embarrassment and shame allowed me to learn to read at my own pace. I got a tutor and put in double the time for every assignment. I started to enjoy school. And my perspective on what I could accomplish grew. This joy for learning spread into other subjects like math and science, and in skating, I began to feel ok with not being the best, allowing me to enjoy the process of learning rather than expecting to be perfect right off the bat.
These days, my tears don’t fall on the paper, but my smile brightens the page. Because I’m used to working long hours on assignments, I’ve been able to accomplish projects that exceed requirements. I’ve created multiple homemade children’s books for science class, taught myself Photoshop, and spent a whole semester painting a 2 x 4-foot acrylic portrait that won a Scholastic award. I’ve also pushed myself to explore college-level computer science courses at the University of Michigan through my high school’s CR program, and this year I’m a proud member of the Ann Arbor Figure Skating Club’s synchronized skating team. Being able to love a challenge even when I may not excel is an important lesson that has shaped how I view my education and how I persevere in my daily life. I want to continue to grow my love for school by staying dedicated, creative, and persistent, so even if I trip, I’ll catch myself.
