Chapter 5
429words
Pairs skating demands perfect coordination—endless practice to build muscle memory.
Now all that work had been reset to zero.
But I still had another path.
Singles skating.
I'd trained in singles since childhood; pairs came later.
What doesn't kill me makes me stronger.
I scrawled this motto on the first page of my training journal and threw myself into brutal training.
The atmosphere at home grew increasingly suffocating.
After the club closed, my parents remained unemployed.
Dad spent his days slumped on the couch watching TV while Mom aggressively banged pots in the kitchen.
The local rink banned us after the club closed.
I searched for weeks before finding a rink that would take me—clear across the city.
Ninety minutes each way.
Up at 4 AM daily, catching the first subway, transferring to two buses, all to reach the rink by 6.
Three hours commuting, eight hours training, the rest for eating, sleeping, and studying competition footage.
Day after relentless day.
My old ankle injury flared up with a vengeance.
The skates created blood blisters that merged with my old injury, turning every jump and landing into pure agony.
I kept it from my parents.
Rehab costs money, and proper sports medicine treatment costs even more.
My family couldn't afford either anymore.
I learned to manage it myself.
Tight gauze wrapping, numbing spray, and two ibuprofen when the pain became unbearable.
Then back onto the ice.
Drilling triple jumps, combination spins, step sequences.
Once, ten times, a hundred times.
Fall down, get up, jump again.
Fresh bruises layered over old ones, painting my legs in a patchwork of blue and purple.
Thankfully, the work paid off.
After three months, I recaptured the feel of those difficult jumps.
I needed to prove myself to everyone.
Only by winning could I silence those who'd kicked me when I was down.
Only by winning could I give my parents' club a chance at resurrection.
The preliminaries arrived.
I skated like a woman possessed—highest score in the short program, flawless free skate, commanding lead in the total.
Reporters took notice.
"Sophia Shaw's Stunning Comeback: Dark Horse Emerges in Women's Singles!"
"From Pairs to Singles: Shaw Proves Her Mettle Through Raw Talent!"
Walking through the athletes' corridor, I felt all eyes on me.
Some surprised, some admiring, some… complicated.
Lucas Lane's fell into the last category.
He spotted me several times, his lips parting as if to speak, before thinking better of it.
I walked past him, eyes locked forward.
We had nothing to say to each other.
