Sticks and Stones

When my sister and I were 11 and 12, we went to the Frog Pond skating rink in Boston almost weekly with our dad. Seemingly normal activity? It would be, except Erika and I disregarded the neat loops of the crowd to B-line it for the center of the ice. Upon our arrival, we became Kristi Yamaguchi and Nancy Kerrigan, performing triple lutzes and double axels worthy of the Gold. I couldn't help but relive what I suppose were my athletic glory days in light of the 2010 Olympics. I performed at Frog Pond when I was 11 as if I was in Vancouver at the Pacific Coliseum last week.Though we were decked out in our hideous Chicago Bulls and University of Michigan Starter jackets (teams of which we had no affiliation to, nor any explanation for the fashion misstep), we convinced ourselves that we were dazzled in the most ethereal, sparkling costumes rivaling even that of Vancouver. It wasn't really about the outfit (who am I kidding, it's always about the outfit), but more so it was the empowered feeling that nothing in the world could make me stop achieving my goals on that ice. Nothing. Except of course when the Zamboni had to resurface. Minor setback.

Although I was sure my spins were up to par with that of this year's gold medal winner, Kim Yu-Na, I had to woman-up and abandon my delusions in the end. I have neglected, thus far, to mention my inability to walk in a straight line and my habit of bumping into doorframes. I definitely had the heart, but not the raw talent to be a figure skating goddess. So as I watched the competition in Vancouver, I envied the competitors not for their natural grace, but more because their biggest goals are becoming a reality. The athletes have worked towards this for the better part of their lives and finally their tireless work is rewarded. Just as their tears in the opening ceremony indicated, all of their dreams are coming true.

As of yet, I'm dreamless. I mean, I think I am dreamless. I have goals, but standing on a podium with a flag around me is not one of them. I haven't been training one discipline for fifteen-plus years, and picking a major was as hard for me as landing an aerial jump was for Team USA's Scotty Bahrke. Once I achieve my goals, how will I even realize that I am having my Olympic moment?

I suppose it's a different experience for everyone, finding out what their gold medal is. It's unrealistic to assume that our whole lives will be defined by a 30 second slalom or a three minute short program. For me in this moment, it's just surviving midterms. Next week it might be getting a fabulous summer internship. For the seniors, I guess it's finding a job that doesn't beg the question "paper or plastic?" or getting an acceptance letter from the reach grad school.

Some people don't get their gold medal, though. The Olympic Games aren't without heartache. Speedskater Sven Kramer lost out on the top honor when his coach misdirected him. Others sacrifice their personal heartache for a moment of greatness. Canadian figure skater Joannie Rochette's mother died two days before she was set to compete. Life is a wide range of disappointments and heartbreak; what can you do but persevere through them? Rochette went on to perform at her best, winning the Bronze in her mother's memory.

It's really a matter of channeling the invincibility I felt at the Pond and translating it to a viable path in life. So I don't have one dream, but I do have a lot of them. I'll never be on a Wheaties box, and I can live with that. I can't skate. I really can't skip. I can write, though. Some people even find my clumsiness humorous (people assure that they are laughing with and not at).You probably can't bobsled, but I guarantee you're not half bad at math, or science, or drawing or even being a good listener. Can you sing? I bet Apolo Ohno can't.

So we're not all Olympic athletes, but a lot of the strength that drives them drives us too. I mean if curling is considered a sport, journalism can be too.

In our time at Frog Pond, I ate ice more than I'd care to admit, and Erika was left unable to sit properly for a couple years, but our pride remained unharmed. We learned that maybe figure skating wasn't our calling and perhaps we should invest our enthusiasm in a slightly more realistic dream. There was no podium or medal ceremony at Frog Pond, but on the ice we were unstoppable. We stumbled and fell more than we even knew how to land our toe loops. But, for now I'm OK with a few stumbles to get where I'm going.