The winter of 1997, a mother glides around and round an ice rink. Back aching, knees sore, arm muscles screaming under the dead weight of the small, giggling two year old girl she keeps balanced in front of her. It's cold and they are bundled to the extreme. She wouldn't mind a break, a hot chocolate, but those giggles make it worth the shivers and aches. Fast forward to 2016 and that little girl is now 21. She has competed in numerous competitions, spent thousands of hours practicing, earned three nationally ranked gold medal level credentials, is working on a fourth and coaches students of her own. But she does not and has not "played a sport."

I am that little girl. I have been skating, now, for over 19 years - an accomplishment most people, most adults, cannot relate to. The majority of my life has been spent in a cold, stark white place that very few of my peers have ever ventured for more than a fleeting public ice session or two. Much like dancers, cheerleaders, gymnasts - my hard work has not been witnessed by more than my family, coaches, and the most supportive of close friends. However, that is not a complaint. My sport is hard to understand. We make the difficult look effortless, even graceful. This fact, alone, works against us. When you make something look so beautiful that you don't even seem to be trying, you have become successful, you have also become all the more difficult to understand for those who do not know what it is they are truly looking at. When you watch my high-speed, balanced, silent sit spin (one of those twirly spins we do, balanced on one leg with the other extended in front of us, our butts close to the ice but never falling) it may seem effortless but what you are really seeing is the culmination of hundreds of falls, knicks, and bruises. My fast turns are not easy, I risk falling flat on my face each time I do them - and I most likely HAVE fallen on my face at one point or another.

Despite my constant practice, the 2 hour round trips to three different rinks, my bruises, slices, stitches, and countless run-throughs of countless programs... I have been told I "do not play a sport." I have a "hobby." I have a "talent." I was constantly picked last in gym class for not having "athletic ability." My peers did not see me in the weight room or running suicides down the field. They did not see me swimming lap after lap in the school pool. No one saw the hours on the ice, the reason for twelve stitches across my shin where a blade cut to the bone (yes, we essentially have large knives on the bottoms of our boots and YES they are sharp), the pain in my knees and hips and ankles from repetitive/strenuous movement. My friends did not understand why I wasn't able to always hang out or go to dances or the movies. My friends didn't know why I hardly had them come over. I was hardly home. I was balancing school and teams and individual practices. I was competing. I was earning national credentials so that someday, I could teach the kids of the kids I grew up with how to ice skate, how to stand on 1/8th of an inch of cold steel and still feel rock solid.

I was the girl who many believed did not play a sport. I had to fight to be recognized as an athlete - and still do. I had to take gym classes in high school because I did not play a sport my high school approved of - my national gold medal credentials meant nothing as long as I did not also give time to soccer or tennis or swimming. "Not playing a sport" was one of the hardest things I have ever and will ever do. To have the strength to fight for everything you love, to sacrifice when no one sees or understands, to be able to pass on that confidence and grace, I have gladly "not played a sport" my entire life. And of course, when you come to me in the future and ask for this very qualified coach to teach your child to ice skate, to play hockey, I will smile and say "yes," because I know it will do wonders for your child "not to play a sport."