Page 9 of Chasing Gold, Catching Her

Two years had passed since her grandmother had gone, and the loss still hit her like a shadow, but she skated for her grandmother now, more than even for herself, honoring the woman who had been everything in her life, her anchor, her support, her constant. How strange it felt, in contrast, to realize that for her grandmother Alisa had been only a part of a much larger life, while for Alisa, her grandmother had been everything. It was a strange, piercing thought.

Then memories swept over her so vividly that she sank into them headfirst. A tear slipped down her ruddy cheek, chilled by the ice and the morning air. For some reason, she was pulled back to the very first time she had stepped onto the rink, back to her earliest skating memories, or rather…

She remembered waking up extremely early, maybe even at 5 a.m., when it was still dark outside. The wind howled through the streets, and cold drafts seeped through the cracks in the windows, despite her grandmother’s careful attempts to seal them with thick cloths for the winter.

Alisa sat on the bed, still half-asleep, tugging uncomfortably at her tights, which she hated for their clingy fit and itchy prickling against her skin. But there was no escaping them; she had to dress warmly before going to the qualifiers at the SSOR, the School of Olympic Sports Reserve. It was the only place in the city for figure skating, right in the winter palace of sports, and the drive there would take nearly two hours, especially in winter when traffic crawled through the streets.

Sleepily, she dressed in simple, practical clothes and shuffled to the kitchen, where her grandmother was already cooking breakfast — fried eggs and bread with butter, “a champion’s breakfast,” she always said. Talia hummed softly while working at the stove, eyes flicking to the clock with her habitual precision, counting every minute of every day. She had been a disciplined woman all her life, once a gymnast herself, though in a different discipline, and years ago, she had decided that Alisa should leave gymnastics and take up figure skating instead—a choice that had turned out perfectly, for Alisa had loved it from the first glide.

Today was a special day: school selection. Every bit of Alisa’s preparation was meant to culminate here, the start of a path that could lead to the Olympics, a path that felt enormous and terrifying all at once.

Alisa bit her lip nervously. She didn’t feel like eating, but she knew she had to, because this day mattered too much to waste, and she wanted desperately to go to that particular school, where the best coaches in the city trained their athletes.

Rustling from the bedroom caught her attention, her mother was awake and heading toward the bathroom. Their apartment, a Stalinka acquired by her grandparents for years of factory work, was narrow and crowded, difficult for six people to share in only two rooms, but it had become home. Alisa looked up at her mother with a smile as she ruffled her hair, then turned back to her grandmother. “Why haven’t you braided her yet?” she asked.

Talia bared her teeth in mock ferocity as she slammed a plate of fried eggs down in front of Alisa, the sound so loud it could have woken the whole building. Glancing at Alexandra, that was Alisa’s mother’s name, with a glare, she said, “I’ve been cooking for everyone since morning, how could I braid her too? I don’t have four hands or something! You should have woken earlier in this case if you wanted that! Alisa has an important day today if you’ve forgotten.”

Alexandra shook her head, exhaling like she had a headache. “Oh, right, the qualifiers… already?” she said, her words trailing as Talia shoved her gently toward the bathroom. “Go already, hard worker!” Talia hissed, her tone a mix of humor and exasperation, and Alexandra smiled, resigned, and locked herself in, preparing for her work day.

While Alisa ate her breakfast, Talia got to work on her long, thick hair. Her hands gripped the strands tightly, pulling so hard that Alisa’s eyes narrowed to slits in silent protest. She squealed softly but continued eating, knowing there was no point in arguing. When Talia finally finished, she had fashioned Alisa’s hair into a crown of braids, secured with pins that pricked her scalp like tiny needles, a discomfort Alisa remembered vividly for the rest of her life. Even in that moment, she hated that part of the routine, but it was a necessary ritual, a part of the preparation that shaped her into the skater she would become.

Then, when her hair was braided and the eggs eaten, Alisa began on the bread and butter, and her grandmother pushed a small wooden sugar bowl toward her, lifting the lid. The characteristic smell of stale sugar immediately drifted out, but for some reason, it was oddly comforting, even pleasant. “Come on, dip it in sugar, it will taste better, and we really need the energy!” Talia said. Alisa nodded, buttering a piece of the small bread and pressing it lightly into the sugar. The grains stuck to the butter, and she lifted the makeshift sandwich to her mouth, savoring the mix of sugar, butter, and gray bread. Alisa smiled at her grandmother, Talia returned to her room, where she lived with her husband, Alisa’s grandfather, apparently gathering her things while sipping tea.

Alisa always thought about how early Talia had risen to cook breakfast for everyone in the family. Somehow, it didn’t seem to tire her grandmother; she moved with quiet efficiency, as if feeding the family was just simple and natural, requiring no effort at all. Various thoughts spun through Alisa’s mind, but the most important feeling was a trembling eagerness in her soul to step onto the ice, a joy that made her smile unconsciously.

A few minutes later, Talia returned, holding a dark red dress in her hands, glittering with sequins and rhinestones, specially made for Alisa. Her grandmother had always loved sewing for her, cutting and crafting with precision, and it filled Alisa with a quiet excitement. She hadn’t expected that her grandmother could make a whole dress in just a week, but in her golden hands, anything seemed possible. Talia sat at the worn white kitchen table and unfolded the dress, presenting it to Alisa. The girl’s eyes lit up with joy, and she whispered, “How beautiful!”

Talia nodded, smiling, “Well, let’s try it on. It should fit perfectly—no discomfort—and you will shine in it, just like a little princess on the ice! Come on, try it now.”

Just then, Alisa’s mother emerged from the bathroom, a towel wrapped around her head, and went to the kitchen to pour herself a cup of black coffee, no milk, no sugar. Alisa frowned at the smell. She couldn’t quite explain it, but a familiar irritation stirred in her chest, perhaps it was the way her mother was always distant, so preoccupied with work that Alisa had mostly been raised by her grandparents and left to her own wonderings. Well, just like her older sister, who was still peacefully sleeping in the parent’s room, their shared family room.

Alisa washed her hands in the bathroom, then picked up the dress and carefully put it on. It fit perfectly, every seam falling exactly right. She checked herself in the mirror in the bathroom, though it was too high to see herself fully. Stepping into the hallway, she found a longer mirror and turned on the light. Her grandmother appeared instantly by her side, hands clasped together tightly, watching Alisa with a mixture of pride, pure love and so much joy. Alisa’s chest tightened at the sight, and she approached the mirror, examining every stitch, every fold, ensuring the dress truly fit her like it had been made for a future Olympic figure skater.

“You’re beautiful, my little star!” Talia whispered, hugging her tightly. Alisa spun slowly in front of the mirror, taking in her reflection, feeling like she truly was a star on ice. She smiled, then slipped on a black Olympic sports shirt and fastened it securely. Talia, already ready to go, collected a bag full of everything Alisa might need for training at the qualifiers and helped her into a thick fur coat, a gift from distant relatives. Together, they made their way to the sports palace on public transport, Alisa’s heart thrumming with anticipation for one of the most important days in her life.

Fortunately, her grandmother had already changed Alisa into the right outfit at home, because as it turned out, for ordinary mortals—those who weren’t yet part of any sports league—there were no proper locker rooms, and everyone changed in a hurry right there in the hallway. Parents hovered aggressively over their children, rushing to get everything done, and many of the kids were already tense, stressed, and on the verge of panic. There wasn’t even room for a fly to land on the floor.

Alisa and Talia quickly made their way to the ice, found a small space on a bench, and Talia immediately sat Alisa down, pulling the skates from her bag. She handed Alisa the left skate first so she could lace it herself. Alisa had done this many times before; her movements were practical, threading each lace carefully. But as she glanced around, she couldn’t help noticing that most of the other children had brand-new skates, gleaming and clearly expensive, there was no doubt they cost thousands of rubles. And Alisa… well, she had old skates. They had belonged to her mother as a child, some twenty-five years ago, but there was no alternative.

Time was pressing. Many children were already stepping onto the ice. Talia checked Alisa’s laces and blades one last time, nodded, and gently patted her back, letting her go. Alisa stepped onto the ice, inhaling the sharp, cold air, feeling the glide of the blades beneath her feet, and slowly began to move her legs.

At first, she was terrified; her legs felt like soft cotton. But with each careful step, confidence began to build, and a tentative smile gradually spread across her face. The sounds of blades cutting through the ice grew louder, the rhythm of her heart faster, and excitement thrummed through her chest.

After a few minutes, groups of coaches began to enter the rink, about fifteen of them in total, but that didn’t matter to Alisa. She had to perform; Talia’s voice repeated like a mantra in her mind, echoing in her soul. Her grandmother crossed her arms over her chest, holding a bottle of water at her side, and watched Alisa with a mixture of pride and anxiety as the girl spun and glided across the ice, warming up with a series of steps and turns, trying to show calm and control, which was the most important thing. Talia’s eyes flicked occasionally to the coaches, silently trying to guess who was watching whom, knowing that today they were choosing the children who would be selected.

A young, striking girl emerged onto the ice, her uniform bearing the words “Olympic Team Coach” on the back. Blonde hair tightly braided into a high ponytail, she moved with confidence and authority, scanning the hundred or so children spread across the ice. Half of the coaches had already left while the kids warmed up, and soon two more coaches appeared, it was a woman in her fifties and a man in his thirties, both dressed in the same strict uniform. They began dividing the children into groups and demonstrating exercises, combinations that everyone had to repeat precisely.

Alisa found herself in the blonde coach’s group, which seemed to be composed of some of the stronger, more confident skaters. Talia watched her granddaughter carefully, nodding to the rhythm of her thoughts, silently rooting for her, while Alisa caught her grandmother’s eyes and smiled back, a quiet reassurance passing between them.

Alisa stood out in the group because when she fell, she never cried; instead, she diligently repeated every element after the coach, focused entirely on the process. Her grandmother watched her intently from the podium, a smile on her face, silently supporting her, occasionally offering a bottle of water as Alisa glided past. And yet, despite this warmth, a small shadow of sadness lingered inside Alisa. Her skates were old and worn, relics from her mother’s childhood, and no matter how gracefully she moved across the ice, she could see the other children with their newer, expensive skates and elegant costumes. Money didn’t define ability, but it was hard not to notice the contrast. Still, Alisa held her chin high, skating with all her heart, giving everything she had, determined to shine with her own skill.

They reached the most difficult part of the session, practicing light jumps and balance elements. It was tricky, because the rink was crowded with about thirty children, each moving in a circle, and Alisa had to constantly watch her surroundings to avoid collisions while keeping perfect form to impress the coaches. The music swelled, louder now, and the blonde coach demonstrated the approach for a flip jump. She took a Rittbergerstep, crossing her legs elegantly, and seemed to soar across the ice. Flip…

Alisa pursed her lips, focusing, and was among the first to perform the element. She perfectly copied the Rittbergerstep, setting the right direction, momentum, and rotation, then pushed off and twisted in the air, landing cleanly on the edge of her left skate while her right leg followed precisely. Every motion felt natural, as if the jump had been created for her alone. Talia, watching from the podium, saw some coaches exchanging approving nods, a silent confirmation that Alisa was doing well.

At the end of the session, the blonde coach approached Alisa first, took both of her hands, and praised her so sincerely that Alisa burst into tears, smiling through them. Talia remained on the podium, knowing immediately that her granddaughter had impressed the coach. Alisa rushed over to her grandmother, hanging onto her neck and crying with joy. “They chose me! They chose me! Can you imagine, Grandma?” she whispered, still trembling.

Talia patted her gently on the back, eyes shining. “I can imagine, little star. The best is ahead.”