Life after Olympic dreams

People with many different stories build the Bruin community. Personal experiences that construct someone’s identity run the gamut from being the captain of the varsity football team to being the future Mozart. In my case, I was an aspiring Olympic figure skater.

While you were probably sleeping, I woke up at 5 a.m. to skate before school. This started when I was 8, after my parents enrolled me for group lessons as a winter hobby. At the end of my first lesson I said, “Mom, I want to be an Olympic champion in figure skating!”

Starting my days early six days a week was routine. And rather than practicing at the rink 15 minutes from home, my parents drove anywhere from 35 minutes to an hour twice a day to take me to a rink with superior facilities. The backseat of my Mom’s white Sienna became my second home: I did my homework, changed outfits, ate meals and napped there. Following bad practices, I even sat in front of the heater to dry my wet clothes from my numerous falls.

My life and my family’s life came to revolve around my skating.

Life was not easy. My brother accepted this situation with all the grace a young child could muster, but at times he cried at the unfairness of it all.

My family spent an unbelievable amount of money: upwards of $50,000 a year. On top of paying for the obvious lessons, skates and competition outfits, there are auxiliary costs, such as personal training sessions, competition fees and travel expenses.

I also had to deal with sacrifices. From a young age, I understood that my peers’ social lifestyles included luxuries that I could not afford. I could not hang out Friday nights, date boys or attend sleepovers whenever I pleased. Yet, understanding the demands of competitive figure skating, I willingly accepted.

Everything seemed worth it when my 2010 Olympic dream seemed attainable. In only two years, I accomplished what took my competitors at least five. Even more encouraging was when I finished third at the U.S. Juvenile Nationals and when I won the Novice Ladies short program at the U.S. Nationals.

Unfortunately, constant injuries plagued me, and because of the consequential setbacks, I ceased being the best in a few short months.

At that point, I decided to quit.

After quitting, my identity was gone; I was at a loss with what to do with my life. Nothing to set myself apart, everything I had worked for was in vain.

I derived much of my self-confidence from being the best ““ I was not just a competitor, but a skater expected to win every competition I entered. Without this, I lost faith in myself. It was impossibly difficult to regain a sense of self-worth that did not depend on the glorying praise of admirers.

Without a goal to work toward, I lost that competitive edge I was once known for. My once-ambitious life lacked direction, and I became a student.

Hence, the first two years of college were dark times for me. I was dumbfounded as to what I could offer now that I was not a figure skater. I missed the pressure of competing. Living the life of a student was onerous for me: It was just so boring and so normal.

For at least a year afterwards, my family relationships were rocky. At 15, I could not comprehend an appropriate way to simultaneously deal with their disappointment and anger, as well as my own.

Thankfully, my family and I were able to bounce back, and now, I believe skating is what built the close bonds my family and I share with each other. I finally appreciate and understand the full extent of their efforts. These efforts are what allow me to trust them without reservation.

In the past, I trained with Kelcie Lee, a first-year pre-business economics student, who shared my Olympic vision. Lee ““ whose skating record is complete with a national title under her belt ““ now wishes she had been more disciplined. She believes her family deserved her maximum effort, at the very least.

Lee stopped skating about a month before she came to UCLA. Leaving skating and deciding to attend UCLA was the hardest decision of her life. At first, like many other ex-skaters, she enjoyed the break until she concluded that life was just not very exciting without it.

I am sure many people wonder why we cannot just hang up our skates, move on and accept our losses. But skating was not just a hobby; it was our life. Whatever people choose to invest their lives in will inherently become part of their identity, and without it, people often lose their sense of self-distinction. Even now, I have a natural inclination to refer to myself as a competitive figure skater rather than a student; I have only been a student for three years while I was a figure skater for eight.

In retrospect, staying in school was wise. Although not a diligent high school student, I did enough to attend UCLA and receive a second chance at success. As for Lee, she wants into the entertainment and fashion business, working in management. In terms of skating, Kelcie hopes to pass her senior tests (the highest level in skating) and possibly return to competitive skating. I want to attend law school and work as an attorney. Now, skating is a reminder that I ““ and any other person ““ am capable of greatness.

There are so many different types of talents that every individual in the Bruin community possesses. Simply because one talent was not fully realized does not mean that there aren’t other means to finding your passions. Who knows? That student sitting next to you in class could be the next Anton Apolo Ohno.

If you have a similar story and want a sympathetic reader, e-mail Jessica Lee at jlee@media.ucla.edu. Send general comments to viewpoint@media.ucla.edu.

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