I watched a documentary not that long ago called The Iron Cowboy. It’s about a triathlete that decides to do 50 Ironman distances, in 50 days, in 50 states. He calls it the 50/50/50; I call it insanity. The amount of physical and mental fortitude that was required of him was remarkable, and this endeavor pushed his body and emotional drive to the absolute limit. While this may seem like an impossible feat for many of us, he never dwells on the difficulty of this project, but that for him, this was the ultimate level of “hard”. He discusses further that everyone’s idea of hard is different, and is no less challenging for each unique person. It got me thinking, “What could I do that would be hard?” Sure, an Ironman would be really hard, but I would also hate it too (because running sucks). For me, it would have to be a labor of love.

If you know me, you may know that I call skating my first love. I smile as I write this, thinking of boyfriends in the past who couldn’t quite grasp this idea, of how there could be a sport, with associated people and places, that I could have possibly loved before *them.* But alas, I did, and still do. Like all long-term loves, skating and I have gone through our waves of intensity, passion, annoyance, and disappointment. Since I stopped coaching at the end of 2017, my relationship with skating as been nonexistent, outside of being an official. I brought my skates out to California during my internship, just to find myself wandering around aimlessly on the ice, neither secure nor bold enough to push myself to do anything remarkable. I felt completely lost on the ice. Since I turned 18 and stopped competing, I had only been on the ice to serve the wishes of others, my students, and aside from a few scattered tests, had never carved out any time for me to skate for myself. And here I was, with ample time, and no drive.

As soon as I watched that documentary though, I knew what my hard would be- I have never taken my Senior Free Dance test. Over the years this test has warped into a convoluted ball of emotions, with quite a bit of my own personal regret and baggage attached to it. I waxed and waned between “just get it done with before you’re too old” to “you should really do this justice.” It’s hard sometimes for me to remain in a sport that has brought me so much joy, yet I am continually surrounded by people who have competed far longer and more successfully than me, a sharp reminder that I stopped way before so many others. My life has gone on so many twists and turns since competitive skating, I am no longer in a place where I can say, “If only I had kept skating…” It’s been too long for that. Yet oddly enough, when I look back on old videos of myself is when I feel the most regret. The world of ice dancing is so vastly different now that I can’t even watch myself. It’s like when you were in grade school and you thought you drew something great in art class, and then in high school you realize how amateur it was. While I haven’t competed in over 10 years, there is a very real part of me that believes I am a better skater now than I ever was before, but I have no evidence to show that. This test could be the way I could prove it to myself. It’s an opportunity to create something I can be proud of now.

Though previous attempts to find a willing man to take on this challenge had been futile, the timing finally lined up with my dear friend Colin. That first day we skated we lapped around the ice for a while and I just laid out all my emotional crap about this test, skating, regret, all of it. It *may* have been more than what he bargained for. Yet, he just let me have my space and I knew from the start that he was willing to buy into the importance of this project for me and would help me do it justice. Of course as soon as I started skating, I started adding on more months to this journey, because skating is FREAKING HARD. But, I was really happy to get started. I got into the car after those first sessions and I cried. In just 80 minutes, I had been happier on the ice than I had been in probably a decade. It felt so good to just skate, and to skate for my own reasons.

By no means is this project all rainbows and butterflies. I’ve learned quickly that this will take significant time, patience, and practice. It will force me to come to terms with my own shortcomings, and push me outside my comfort zone. That is in fact, the whole purpose. Poor Colin has already seen my inner psyche, bless his heart, and my insane need for perfectionism (a post for another day). However, he has accepted my insanity wholeheartedly, and I can’t thank him enough. None of this would have started without his unconditional acceptance of my quirks. I hope that he can find satisfaction and happiness through this project too. Each of our relationships with skating, though very different, share deep and complicated emotions which tie to our identities, our sense of worth, and still shape who we are today. It’s been a long journey to allow skating to evolve in my life, and I think we both continue to mindfully navigate this as coaches, officials, and lovers of the sport.

Despite it all, somehow, I realized that I could love skating again. I’m not sure what changed for me, or where the shift occurred. Maybe I needed time, maybe I needed someone to support me, maybe I needed to talk through all of the crap, regret, and sadness. Maybe I needed to grow up. Or maybe I needed to remember why I had started so many years ago- not to be competitive, or to skate for Team USA, or to win medals. I started because I couldn’t stop thinking about skating, because I begged my mom everyday for a year to take me, and when they did, I just TOOK OFF. I started because I liked to go fast, because I could dance on ice, and because I could just be me out there. At the end of the day, something brought me back to the beginning, to the WHY, to that 8 year-old Adrienne. Sometimes our childhood self really does know best.

So now it’s time- to take off, to fly, to push myself, and to create something I’m proud of. Maybe this isn’t just limited to skating, but to my career, my marriage, and my relationships. Perhaps, this is why these have all timed themselves to start over, together. I’ve started to love skating, but I think, perhaps, I’ve really started to love living.

WTF can you love again?