Tierney giggles. “At least she’s nicer than Coach Bellamy was. Remember when she made us do MITF testing for an entire three-hour practice? Everyone else had dropped out, and we were the only two who survived all those turns, steps, and edges.”
I smile.
I could never forget.
We’re both from Florida, and we became fast friends as the youngest ones in our first skating class twenty years ago. After Grant was drafted by the Stars, I moved to DC with him. I knew the training in the area was significantly tougher than down South, and I had big dreams I wouldn’t be able to accomplish unless I broadened my horizons. There’s almost always a skater from the Atlantic region on the podium at the U.S. Figure Skating Championships, and since I’ve been here, I’ve kept that tradition alive.
When I told Tierney about the caliber of talent in my club, she moved to DC too. I quickly learned grueling training is more tolerable when your best friend is on the ice with you.
“The good ole days.” I skate to my bag on the bleachers. “She told us we were the only people she deemed worthy enough to continue training with her.”
“If she wasn’t good at her job, I would’ve stopped skating years ago.”
“Same. Now look at us: you’re one of the best skaters in the world, and I’m a has-been happy to cheer you on.”
“Stop.” She laughs and pinches my cheek. “That’s enough self-deprecation for today.”
“Fine. I’ll go back to being optimistic.” I smile and drop on the bench, stretching out my legs. I wipe the smudge away from the toe of my skates and slip soakers over the blades. “Where do you want to eat?”
“How about that Thai restaurant near your apartment? They make the best Tom Yum Goong in the city.”
“You’re speaking my love language. Did you drive today?”
“Yeah.” Tierney adjusts the bag slung over her shoulder. “Do you need a ride?”
“I drove too. Meet you there in twenty?”
“Last one there has to pay the bill,” she says, but I know she’s kidding.
Her brother, Jamal, is an NBA player who was traded to the DC Bullets two seasons ago. Having siblings who are professional athletes means they cover a lot of our expenses, even when we try to fight them on it. Every other week I have a Venmo notification letting me know Grant sent money I didn’t ask for.
Payback for all the nights you sat in that shitty college arena that smelled like death and cheered me on,he said when I refused the first check he handed me.I have more than enough money. Take it so I know you’re looking after yourself.
I do my best to think about the long-term instead of the things I want to buy right now. After paying my coaches, I put Grant’s contributions in a savings account where most of my earlier competition earnings sit. The content I create for social media performs well; the short clips I film of myself skating rake in a couple thousand dollars a month. The sponsorships with Edea and Gatorade bring in money too, but from a competitive standpoint, it’s been a rough stretch of time.
“You don’t stand a chance, T.” I grin, popping to my feet. “I’ve always been a sore loser.”
Thirty minutes later,I slide into the booth across from Tierney with a scowl.
“I had to park two blocks over because of constructionandI got catcalled by a group of douchebag finance bros. Today blows.”
“Men.” She shakes her head. “Always such a disappointment.”
“Cheers to that.” I reach for the water waiting for me and take a sip. “Thanks for giving up some of your afternoon so you can commiserate with me about my shitty skating skills.”
“I wasn’t going to bring it up, but since you did…” Tierney rests her elbows on the table. “Are you ready to tell me what’s really going on with you? And don’t try to bullshit me. I know when you’re lying.”
I hesitate. It would be easy to blame the way I’ve been out of sync on a sore ankle or a situation happening in my personal life, but Tierney is the most supportive person I know. She’s been there for me through everything; a friend before I made it big and a friend who sees me as someone she loves, not as her competition, and lying about how shitty I’ve felt lately isn’t fair.
“I’m going to tell you something that’s scary to admit, but the more I consider it, the more I think it might be true.”
“You’re freaking me out, Han.”
“I’m… I’m pretty sure I’m suffering from burnout.” I pause and rub my thumb across my bottom lip. “Skating has been my entire life for as long as I can remember. I love it more than I’ve ever loved anything else, but lately…” My exhale is heavy.There’s an ache behind my ribs that’s been persistent for weeks. Dread down in the brittle of my bones. “Lately, it feels like a chore. I don’t look forward to practice. I’m drained all the time. When Coach tells me the things that are wrong in my program, I’m overwhelmed by trying to figure out how to fix them. And honestly? I just don’tcarelike I used to.”
“Oh, sweetie.” Tierney stares at me. “How long has this been going on?”
“This time around? About four months.”
