Page 46 of The Cutting Edge
“Is it just me, or are all these puppies named after characters in the original Gossip Girl?”
“You are correct. We namea lotof dogs, so… yeah, it happens. We did a Simpsons litter once – Bart, Lisa, Marge, Homer, Moe… ”
“That’s pretty funny,” I say, pulling the puppies inward with my arms so I can keep them from falling off the bed.
I have never ever been covered in a furry blanket of adorable, kissy, tail-wagging puppies before, but it’s pretty much the greatest thing I could imagine. In a matter of seconds, I can feel all my stress just melting away. They’re gnawing on my fingers, giving me kisses, and rolling and playing all over the bed. I didn’t know it was possible, but we’re at maximum cuteness here and I can’t remember having this much fun in ages. Logan has really outdone himself. And I will confess, this gift is so weird and so thoughtful, I can feel myself starting to thaw a bit. I mean, puppy delivery? Maybe the greatest gift ever.
Chuck is finally worn out from his many, many thwarted attempts to do a Superman (Superdog?) off the side of the bed. He climbs up on my lap next to Serena, scootches in close to her, and curls himself up into a little moon shape so he can spoon her.
Blair and Nate are still in a playful mood, and they keep up their adorable puppy hijinks before everybody is tuckered out and it’s time to go home.
“Thank you,” I say. “This might be the best afternoon I’ve spent in years.”
The gifts don't stop there. By late afternoon, a nail specialist named Tandy from the Spa at Sandpearl, one of the area’s fancy beach resorts, arrives to give me a pampering manicure and pedicure. The experience is a little different than the strip mall pedicures Marissa and I are used to, for sure. Tandy wraps my hands and feet in warm collagen mittens and socks, and gives me a firm and relaxing reflexology massage from my fingertips to my shoulders, and thighs to toes, that feels like she’s squeezing out every stressor in my life with each pressure point manipulation. I could definitely get used to this.
I started to get the clue that my bestie-slash-colluder Marissa might stealthily be playing at double agent when it turned out that the manicuristjust happenedto have my favorite shade of green nail polish, My Dogsled is a Hybrid. My hunch was pretty much proven true once Marissa arrived at the hospital to check on me during her lunch hour — and brought my favorite pillow from home. Almost as if she knew someone had already sent me insanely expensive and soft sheets to make my time in the hospital a little less awful.
“Traitor,” I say.
“I know you’re upset with Logan and you have every right to be. But also, I think you should keep in mind that this was an accident, not an attack. Be pissed at Logan if it helps you get through it. You don’t ever have to see or talk to him again if you don’t want to. But he clearly feels a lot of remorse for what he did and wants to make it up to you. Plus, let’s not forget he’s sexy as hell, he’s clearly got it bad for you, and as of last night, you were definitely falling for him too. I’ve known you a long time, and I have never, literally never, seen you as giddy over a guy as you were last night for Logan. He didn’t change. His responsibility for your injuries didn’t change. Yes, I get it that the consequences changed — but he’s doing everything he can to make up for it. And I’m not saying you have to forgive him — but at least let him help to make your time in the hospital a bit easier on you.”
“If I don’t get out of here and get re-qualified soon, I’m not going to be able to afford to compete. No Nationals, No Olympics. That’s my whole life! It’s unfair. I’m going to lose my shot because he took a bad one.”
“I agree completely, it’s absolutely unfair. But you’re also projecting a whole lot into the future. You don’t know how bad this will be, or what you can or can’t recover from until the extent of your injury is known, you get out of the hospital, and you start rebuilding. Don’t borrow trouble. This may not end up as bad as you think.”
She looks around the room — the fresh bouquets of stunning flowers covering every available surface, a half-massacred Twinkie bouquet (you haven’t lived until you’ve mainlined Twinkies while someone massages your feet), gift boxes stacked up in the corner, the iPad, the most beautiful and comfortable lingerie I’ve ever owned in my life, my gleaming nails and glowing skin.
“Who knows, maybe you’ll end up marrying a rich and famous hockey player and all your money troubles will be over. Do you think he’ll adopt me? I hear he’s good with kids."
"Funny. After what happened with my dad, there's no way I'd ever letanyguy support my skating career again. I will earn that gold medal in Milan, and I will get there entirely on my own.”
Almost immediately following my Olympics loss in Beijing, my father announced he was done paying for ice skating. My mother felt strongly that the two of them should continue to support me so that I might have a chance to win gold in Madrid.
He filed for divorce, and they split the loans they’d taken out to finance my dreams — for coaching, costumes, travel, the sports psychologist whose strategies ultimately failed me at the moment I needed the most, trainers, ballet, weight training, the nutritionist, ice time, tutoring while I was traveling for competitions, and a million other expenses that added up to almost $470,000 over my skating career, starting when I was just a kid.
I’ll never forget what I heard my Dad say to my mom the night after I lost the gold medal. Their hotel room was next to mine, and their yelling and arguing seeped through the wall. They tried to hide it, but there had been a lot of fights between them lately.
My dad said, "I can't believe I went almost half a million dollars into debt and wasted my life for nothing."
I heard my mother sobbing and sat frozen on my bed, listening to them fight, unsure of what to do. He filed for divorce a few months later. They split the loans they’d accrued to pay for my skating career, And my mother, who had given up her job in banking and had only worked part-time over the years so she could travel with me for competitions, found herself a 47-year-old divorcee with almost a quarter of a million dollars in debt who hadn’t held a full-time job in twenty years.
I was devastated and almost quit the sport when I found out about the money, and how my Dad felt about it all those years. But my mom encouraged me to keep following my dream. She, more than anyone other than me, has always believed in me. And while I couldn’t allow her to take on any more debt to help me achieve my dreams of Olympic gold, it did help get me hyper-focused on what skating meant to me, and that I’d be shortchanging myself if I didn’t give it all I had and try once more to win a gold medal at the Olympics.
So I sat down and figured out what expenses were a necessity for winning (like coaching, skates, and ice time) and which ones I could skimp on, like the aforementioned non-helpful sports psychologist, new costumes for all but major competitions, and the nutritionist.
I wish to God that my parents told me of the financial strain my skating career was putting on our family and their marriage. I knew money was tight near the end, but I had no idea to what extent. Maybe if I’d known, we could have cut back. I don’t know, maybe it wouldn’t have worked. Since I was three, that competitive skating life is all I’ve ever known.
My mom says that what happened between her and my father doesn't have anything to do with me at all, that I am just a convenient target for him to blame for his own inability to voice his frustrations until after the fact, when it's far too late to change anything. She says I shouldn't feel guilty because the choices they made about where and when to spend their money were outside of my control. She told me the explosion of emotion in Beijing after I lost the gold medal had been coming for a long time. That my Dad was resentful of the fact that our family life was all about me. That he’d spent all this money to make my mother happy, but they rarely saw each other because all of our lives revolved around my skating competitions, and whatever hurdle I needed to overcome next to get to the next step on my quest for a gold medal.
But what I realized was that it represented something that would become a pattern over and over again in my life — relationships can’t withstand the pressure of my ambition. It happened with my own father, and with every serious or semi-serious relationship I’ve ever had.
In the beginning, guys love the idea of being with an Olympic figure skater. What they don't love is the extraordinary time commitment for practice, coaching, training, and traveling. At some point in every relationship I've ever had comes the granddaddy of all arguments: “skating or me.” And every time, I choose skating.
Every time.
What's more, is that I know I will continue to make that choice, over and over again, for as long as I'm able to skate and have a viable shot at winning a gold medal. It’s who I am.
I don’t want to spend my life apologizing for single-mindedly pursuing my ambitions. Male athletes are revered for that. Why not women?
