Falling

Recently, I watched TV for the first time in many years. The Winter Olympics was on. What made me sit was the breath-taking grace of the figure skaters.

The first performance I saw was flawless. I was in awe at the ease with which they seemed to dance in defiance of any laws of physics I learned.

I flashed back to when I first wore skates, a strange blend of thrill and trepidation.

The other beginners gripped the rail.

Pausing before my first step onto the ice, I thought, “Ok, why am I here?”

I launched towards the middle. Not too far in, my skates came out from under me. Ice is hard.

The next performance was starting. I thought I would watch one more. It also began with perfection. Not far into their routine, I saw something that, even with my untrained eye, looked like a slight mistake.

The moves after that were fine, but something subtle seemed to shift, like they went from flow to being conscious of their technique, to not make another mistake.

And then she fell.

She spun on her bum to an inelegant stop.

The ice did not crack, but in that moment, their dream shattered.

Without slowing, he reached his arm and raised her straight into the next phase.

There were other errors, but they did not stop.

The heartbreak on their faces showed only after the smile of their final bow.

It is not uncommon for me to spin in the air, but rare to land with grace on one blade and slide into the next manoeuvre.

I’ve fallen again. My head hit the wall. My mind is dazed. My knees are grazed.

But I did not come to this rink to limp around the wall.

So, I thank you for being that arm, lifting me into my next phase.