Page 17 of My Rival for Christmas

And every day, I leave disappointed. But maybe not this time.

New environments can inspire new outcomes. At least, that’s what I’m telling myself as I skate around, with nothing but the Christmas lights strung above me to light my path thanks to the absurdly early hour.

The rink technically isn’t even open yet. The official time is a respectful eight or nine in the morning for the people that actually know how to enjoy their vacation, but I was able to get special permission from one of the higher-ups at the resort. Hadley, I think her name was. She had a shade of hair similar to mine and a friendly smile.

Sometimes being an Olympian has its perks, like landing me special ice time. But it’s a perk I rarely acknowledge, let alone take advantage of.

Not when the title holds such a tarnished memory for me.

I don’t even have the iconic rings tattooed on me, and my gold medal…

That precious gold medal I used to dream about when my body felt like giving up, the very thing I sacrificed so much of my life for, losing pieces of myself along the way—pieces I’ve never been able to find again—now sits in a box, collecting dust in the back of what New York real estate calls a closet.

Untouched and forgotten.

Tainted.

A memory that haunts me even now as I’m trying not to think about how fucking cold it is.

It’s even chillier this morning than when I arrived yesterday, my breath a curtain of fog before me, as I fight to keep my teeth from chattering and my legs moving. The black leggings, gray leg warmers, white athletic long sleeve top with holes for my thumbs, and black sweater I’m wearing aren’t really cutting it right now.

But anything else would be too constricting or too hot the longer I skated. I’ll be fine in a bit. It’s mind over matter more than anything. So I’m going to pretend I don’t mind until it doesn’t matter.

I hope.

I loop around the rink a couple more times, just to make sure my body is loose and feeling good, before I pick up speed.

My gliding becomes faster, kicking up the ends of my high ponytail, as I leap from the ice, and spin around and around and around, before landing on one leg, my other extended behind me, parallel to the ice.

Wrong.

I don’t need Vytas here to tell me how ugly that looked. I can feel it. It’s not even a hard jump, but like so many things, I’m struggling to connect with the movement right now.

With gritted teeth, I try again, and again, the music from my headphones now a forgotten sound, despite the songs that keep playing. I barely hear the lyrics over my frustration.

I set up for the jump again, sliding my skates across the ice with enough speed to get into the air when I hear it.

A snap of some kind. Like a door closing in the distance, or a fallen stick snapping.

I’m not sure what exactly, just that my quiet, almost sleeping surroundings suddenly have a visitor.

I falter, looking around. A sense of apprehension claws at my chest, realizing for the first time since I came out here that skating alone this early in the morning might not have been the smartest idea.

What kind of animals does Canada have again? Bears? Cougars? Moose? Are moose friendly?

Something tells me no as my stomach drops. Not even wanting to entertain what else it could be.

I take a deep breath. The sharp winter air is enough to stun my paranoia. Pausing my music, I hear nothing. Not even the howl of the temperate wind.

I’m just being paranoid. Still, I do one more scan around.

Not seeing anything, I decide I’m just making something out of nothing and go back to my jump.

This time when I land, I almost trip.

I catch myself at the last second, throwing my body at the closet board to keep myself from eating shit.

“Gaaaah!” Fingers wrapped around the ledge, I struggle to catch my breath, my irritation growing. “What am I doing wrong?”

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