When I was growing up, playing organized sports taught me a lot about life and being a good person. Through wins and losses, and teamwork and team separations, I learned a great deal about how to interact with people and what you should care about in your life- what you can control. Thanks to my parents, I was always involved in sports as a kid. I tried soccer, lacrosse, field hockey, dance, gymnastics… you name it, I did it!
I had amazing opportunities that gave me the chance to figure out what I truly enjoyed being involved in. I ending up sticking with lacrosse, figure skating, and cheerleading when I reached high school. I loved being a dancer, but stopped to pursue figure skating. I would train with Olympic coaches and would travel 45 minutes away about 4 times a week (Thank you Mom and Dad!). However, it is said that “all good things come to an end” like my figure skating career did in high school. But, as I tried to figure out who I was as a person, I never took for granted what I learned in that sport… accept failure and persevere.
Let me tell you a little story...
When I was 14 years old, I never thought this one skating competition would change the way I looked at things in life. What do I mean? When you think you got the gold in the bag, but you end up being disqualified without explanation… yeah, that’s what I mean. I never knew my perfect tango routine could be not-so-perfect. All I knew was that I had to perform my routine that I’ve been practicing consistently for multiple times a week and hours at a time. After I performed my routine, I stepped off of the ice knowing that was the best routine I have ever performed.
I thought it was perfect. Landing every jump, executing every spin, I performed my heart out. Or so I thought. I watched the other skaters humbly, but I knew I had extreme potential to be first place! Why did I think that? I was the only one who got a standing ovation for the first time ever (and no not just from my family!) I was so excited to see the results, but when I stared at the sheet, my heart sank into confusion. I was in last place. How could that be? My family and coaches all were shocked. I was dead last. My coach decided to ask the judges.
“We all had her in first place by far,” the judge stated. “The referee overruled us because she had an ‘illegal move’ and was ‘26 seconds over’.” My coach was befuddled and told us the news. How did I do anything illegal or how was I 26 seconds over when I competed this routine numerous times in other competitions and practice! We had to speak to the referee to get closure.
This older woman approached us and my coach respectfully asked her about the ruling. “She was 26 seconds over and had an illegal salchow at the end of her axel,” the referee blatantly stated. “The rule book says she is allowed to add that on. Her CD is exactly 1:40 seconds! We practice this all the time and completed this routine before. Can you at least play the CD again?” My coach insisted. “No. I never make mistakes and am always right. Sorry.”
We thought we were handcuffed and couldn’t do anything at that point. We walked away from the referee with grace and class. As a 14-year-old, it was hard to see an adult, unwilling to admit a potential mistake, but on the other hand, I saw how respectfully my coach had acted. She knew it was not worth hurting our reputations in the skating world. Why was it me when I performed my best? That afternoon, I timed the exact CD the judges used and what do you know… it was exactly 1:40 seconds. Nothing over.
What is the point of this story? Sure, I could just stop competing because of what happened that day, but I didn’t. Going into future competitions, I learned that all I can control is how I perform, regardless of the outcome. I have to do my best and stay positive to be the real winner. The referee awarded me an invisible gold medal.
After that day, when I compete in games or skating competitions, I know the only thing I can control is myself. I carry an optimistic perspective every day and find the best in people and situations. I thank the referee for allowing me to understand how to handle situations like that one. Maybe the referee didn’t mean any harm, and I may not have been on that podium, but that invisible gold medal hangs from my neck every day.
