Page 134 of Chasing Gold, Catching Her

She rotated fully, but the landing broke beneath her. She fell.

A sharp gasp swept through the arena, but Alisa did not stop. She snapped back up instantly, driven by adrenaline, mostly anger, and something dangerously close to defiance, before pushing backward into her next sequence.

She launched into her next element: a quadruple toe loop, landing solidly on one foot. Without hesitation, she flowed directly into another quad toe loop, the program turning into pure momentum with no time to think, just feel.

She rose into a spinning position next, centered and controlled, rotating into a Bielmann variation, perfectly aligned with the music’s darker pulse. The spin tightened, then softened, and then shifted again as she held control through exhaustion and emotion.

When she stopped, it felt like a break in reality.

She stepped out, breath heavy, and re-entered the choreography. This time her skating became more expressive with deeper edges, stronger lines, her arms rising above her head as if claiming the ice itself. Her gaze lifted toward the judges, serious and unflinching, as if declaring without words that she would not break here.

Then came the Axel.

Her least stable jump and her most feared one.

She entered it anyway. And instead of hesitation, there was only commitment, rotation snapping tight in the air, landing held under pressure, controlled through sheer force of will. She absorbed it and continued immediately, not allowing the moment to linger.

The program expanded once again into flowing movement with spirals and extensions. She spread her legs into a spread eagle, but instead of rising, she dropped into a deep back arch that skimmed the ice — a cantilever element, her back curved dramatically and her stretched fingertips almost brushing the surface as she glided across the arena.

Then spins returned, but faster now, more fragmented and more emotional. A camel variation into a seated spin, then back up into a high position, transitioning fluidly through difficult positions to a needle spin.

Step sequences followed, blades slicing precise patterns across the ice sharply with precision. She moved like she was trying to outrun something inside herself, the choreography becoming more urgent.

And then the final passage.

A final surge of jumps—quadruple elements stacked into exhaustion, each one landing under visible strain but still controlled enough to survive.

When the last movement arrived, tears were already on her face as she skated through the final phrase of the music.

She dropped to her knees on the ice, sliding forward, fists striking the surface once, so hard in release. Her back arched as she slowed, breath shaking, hands pressing into the ice like she was trying to hold herself together through it.

And then, slowly, she rose.

A smile appeared on her face.

And her program ended.

It was over…

The arena erupted into applause, and Alisa seemed to release some of her aggression through the performance, which was overall well-executed.

She rose from her knees and glided toward the center, bowing in all four directions. As she did, she brushed the ice particles from her legs, shaking them off quickly, trying to leave the moment behind.

As she stepped off the ice, Arkadiy immediately gave her the pink protectors for her blades and patted her firmly on the back.

“Not bad, not bad,” he said calmly, and together they walked toward the Kiss & Cry area to await her scores.

Alisa was shaking her leg slightly, trying to calm it down, but her heart refused to slow. Meanwhile, the judges were reviewing slow-motion replays of her elements, deciding where to deduct points and where—if anywhere—to give credit.

A minute passed. Then another. Or maybe three.

Why are they taking so long?

And then the announcer finally spoke: “So, the scores for Alisa Voronkova…”

A pause.

“85.42.”