I rose out of my warm comfy bed and gazed through the blinds of my windows. It was still pitch black outside. I went back to bed and rested some more. Only thirty minutes would remain until the buzzing of my alarm would chime through my ears. Soon I would awake and another typical Saturday morning on the ice would begin. Not every ten-year-old girl is happy to be up at 5:30 in the morning, but I knew I had to practice in order to get better. Skating was my life, and my life was skating.
Ever since my older sister started skating was when I showed interest to skate myself. Once I became old enough to start taking lessons, my parents immediately signed me up for classes and paid for a private coach. When I turned five in 1995, my parents decided I was old enough to start up. Each day after kindergarten, my mom would pick me up from school and off we drove to the ice center for practice. I still keep in mind the car rides to the rink. It seemed like yesterday that we made the McDonald stops in Palatine and colored in our coloring books for enjoyment.
Once we got to the rink, I would open my mom’s trunk to our massive black navigator and take out my bright yellow suitcase. I always remember my skating suitcases being extremely heavy and always bigger than me. Part of the reason was I kept my skates, clothes, towels, and snacks inside. Once I got inside the rink the fresh smell of ice, winter, and the cold streamed through the air. Another scent, of hotdogs, mozzarella sticks, and hot chocolate came from the concession stand. The rink was always chilly no matter what area you were in and that’s why parents were always wearing sweaters and coats. On the other hand, the skaters were always wearing short practice dresses and thin nylon tights. Our hair was also pinned back in a bun or a ponytail. Walking inside the rink I always looked for my friends to begin with. Once we all met up, we put our skates on, stretched out our leg muscles, and made our way inside the ice arena. Practice was never my favorite thing to do, but it was something you had to do stick through in order to advance in levels and improve.
Although practice was somewhat boring, the ice shows were always something I loved and looked forward to. I will never forget the first show I did back in the springtime of 1995. When my first show came about, my class at the rink was given the costume of Pebbles from the Flintstones. Until this day, I still recall what the costume looked like. It was made up of a leopard leotard, and came with a gold sequin headband attached with a big green leaf. Around my tiny neck, I wore a dinosaur claw necklace that was lined with big black beads through the string. As a five year old, I felt cool in the outfit and every time I’d put it on before the show I felt special.
Ice shows were always something that made my nerves act up. The nerves that came with skating were tremendous. Before going on for a performance, my palms would always sweat and my heart would always beat faster than usual. The thought of messing up or falling always worried me. On a better note, I was excited to perform and anxious to show the routine. During the shows the rink would set up curtains around the outside edges of the ice and that was where everyone would stay until they went on. Taking the ice for the shows was something I always will remember. Once you would take the ice the whole crowd became pitch black and all that was left was the beat of your song and the sound of your sharp blades gliding across the ice. The spotlight was always on you, and that was my most desired thing about the shows.
Until this day, skating has left great memories. The practices and shows are things I will never forget. Knowing all the hours I put into practice, and the money my parents put into coaching really makes me a thankful person. If it weren’t for them I wouldn’t have this sacred childhood memory that I loved. Skating will forever remain in my heart.