“Phenomenal, Quinn,” Melanie called to me as I glided to where she was waiting in the players’ box, “but I wish we could hityour axelonemore time today. That leg was loose, right? I wonder if Frank would mind if we did another...”
She trailed off as the Zamboni slid onto the ice and the few remaining skaters hurried off.
“Okay, I guess we’re done,” she said, eyes still on the beast. “That’s a good place to end. You lookedreallystrong today. I’m pleased.”
Even after three years it was still a shock that I had a coach who praised me, freely and without hesitation. I never imagined that it was possible after a decade of Carol telling me that I was as massive as a linebacker, and “gravity’s bestie,” because my jumps weren’t high enough, and that my blood on the ice after a hard fall was “part of the deal, now go do it again.”
All when I was eleven years old.
“You okay?” Melanie asked.
I shook off the old dread and refocused on the now. “Yup.”
She studied me as she handed me my hard guards and black fleece. “Tell me.”
“Just in my head, as usual,” I said as I slipped the guards on. I was still too warm for the fleece. “We’re a little under a month and a half out. I feel like I need six.”
“Nope, I’m not letting you do this.” Melanie attempted her version of a glare. All the elements were present—narrowed eyes, furrowed brow—but there was something about her sweet face that prevented it from having the intended effect.
I was plenty used to glares from a coach, but in a “you suck and I’m ashamed to have my name associated with yours” kind of way, not a “quit the negative self-talk” way.
“We areexactlywhere we need to be,” she continued. She held up her phone. “You’ll see when you watch today’s videos. You’rethere. All we have to do is stay consistent, and polish. And nail those axels, right?”
I answered with a snort.
“But other than that, you’re on it. Trust me.”
I did trust her, more than anyone. The problem was I didn’t trust myself.
I’d already blown it once on the world’s stage; there was always a chance I could make it a twofer if I didn’t get my head game in order.
Four years later and all it took was a passing thought about my first Olympics to make my heart feel like it was trapped in a vise. I’d come a long way in the time since thanks to my new direction and team, but the blocks I had with certain jumps still popped up at the worst possible moments.
Andthatwas what kept me awake at night.
“I know that look, knock it off,” Melanie scolded me. “You’re stuck on the axel. Everything else was phenomenal, stop obsessing. That’s my job. Now park it for a minute, I have some stuff I want to go over with you.”
I sat down on the bench while Melanie swiped at her phone, squinting at the screen. She defiantly refused to buy readers because she claimed it was the first sign of giving up and getting old, which left her holding her phone as far away from her face as her arm would allow anytime she needed to read something. It wasn’t like she came across as just past forty, though. Her bob was jet black without even a whisper of gray, and the “wrinkles” on her face only existed in her imagination. She’d always been the tiniest skater on her team, and though she finally allowed herself to enjoy food, she was still a slip of a human. Sometimes I felt like a giant standing next to her, and I wasn’t exactly known for my height.
“Okay, here it is,” she said, holding her phone up triumphantly. “It’s really good news. I got an email out of the blue, from a producer at that streaming showThe Score. They’re interested in doing a feature on you, which, no-brainer.”
A chill ran through me. Yeah, I could command the attention of an arena filled with people and make them fall in love with me for four minutes, but sitting down one-on-one with a reporter and giving them access to my demons wasnotsomething I wanted to do. Especially because I could predict their angle.
Failed Olympic figure skater’s second chance at gold.
The Scorewas a great show and seemed fair to the athletes they featured, but I’d watched enough episodes to know how they’d spin my story. It didn’t take much to get me to cry when the Switzerland Games came up—especially when they rolled the footage—and that wasn’t the version of myself that I wanted to present to the world. No, this time around I was going to be a completely different Quinn Albright.
I was stronger and fiercer. Bulletproof, just like my long program song said.
“I don’t know...” I trailed off as Mel stared at me expectantly.
“Quinn, my darling, this ispricelesscoverage and a huge compliment. It’s a fantastic awareness campaign for you, and it’s a chance to talk about your new direction.”
Anyone who followed skating and had been watching my evolution unfold at various competitions already knew that I’d left the sparkly princess persona in Switzerland. All they had to do was look at me on the ice, before my blades even moved. No more pastel Easter egg costumes and classical music. The Swan had transformed into a dragon.
“When do they want to do it?” I asked Melanie.
She squinted at her phone again. “They said they can be flexible and work with your schedule but have lots they want to film and they’re hoping to get started within the next couple of weeks.”
