There’s a possibility Cyrus will not win a medal, but he’s come this far. I refuse to believe he won’t walk away with gold. As the last race in the quarterfinals starts, I pace in frontof the television screen. The winner of the fourth race will compete against Cyrus in the semifinals. And at the end of two runs, it’s an Italian man with the last name May who comes out the winner. Or in other words Cyrus’ next opponent.
There’s a small break in activity as the athletes get back in position and the officials get everything ready for the semifinals. The news reporters use thetime to play commercials and give updates on other sports happening today. Sports I have no interest in.
Happening at the same time but in a different arena are hockey, speed skating, curling, cross country skiing, and of course figure skating. My road to becoming a gold medal athlete is different than most. Sure, my mom is crazy, but she’d be this way if I was a figure skater, too. Trust me,I know.
In fact, that’s what she and my family would’ve preferred. I grew up with my grandmother making me watch hours and hours of figure skating each and every winter. Because, you see, even when there isn’t a Gold Medal event happening somewhere, somebody is figure skating.
There are the world championships and national championships, and…a bunch of other reasons people put on sparkly tightsand skate around an ice rink. I’d always been a tomboy, but at my grandmother’s insistence I took classes like ballet and learned to figure skate so one day I could be a professional athlete. She drove me insane. I see where my mother gets it from.
At seven years old, I didn’t want to take ballet or learn to use the three different pairs of ice skates she bought me. No, I wanted to snowboardwith the cool kids. I’ll never admit this to her or my mother, but my grandfather flipped the channel when she was out of the room so we could watch a different sport that spiked my interest.
Watching the athletes perform their cool tricks as they raced down the hill was one of the first times I remember being excited about sporting events. Sunday afternoon football had never elicited such anemotion from me. Then, a few years ago the snowboarding cross — my event — was added to the lineup. From that day forth I knew what I was working toward. Snowboard cross is the best event in the entire world. It’s kind of like snowboarding had a baby with the roller derby and then put that baby on top of the hill and rolled him down it.
Okay, so maybe that’s not the best visual, but it’s everythingI’d ever dreamed about wrapped up in one incredible sport.
The cell phone I put my pocket and completely forgot about vibrates. I know it’s not Cyrus but check it anyway.
MOM: are you watching Cyrus? Did you see his win?
Even when she is far away sitting in a regular spectator seat, my mother can find a way to annoy me. Of course I watched Cyrus compete. Of course I saw him win. I don’t evenknow why she would waste the finger motions to send me a text message.
But I’ve also learned over the years you can’t point it out to her. It never ends well for anyone.
I get a few letters started in my text message before my phone rings.
My mother.
Calling because apparently the text message wasn’t enough. I seriously don’t want to answer, but she’ll just keep calling if I don’t.
“Yes,Mom.”
“Did you see Cyrus, honey?” she yells into the phone forgetting even though we’re in another country our signal is good. They have cell service here.
I rub two fingers on my temple. Hopefully Cyrus will get quiet time. I’ll be talking to her until she’s gotten the whole conversation out.
