It was the night before the synchronized figure skating competition in Orlando, Florida. Teams from all over the East Coast had arrived to showcase their skills with a three- minute routine. Nearly a dozen team members would be judged for their ability to figure skate in sync. My teammates and I were exhausted from the flight. We had just landed a few hours before. Nonetheless, our team met with our coach in a hotel room and reviewed the schedule for the following day. Coach Tori ‘shushed’ everyone before saying, “Bring your dress in a protective bag, your makeup bag, your tights, your hair ties, your socks, your jackets, and your skates, obviously. You will need to be at the arena at 5:45 AM for a 15 minute practice.” This routine was predictable for our figure skating team. We always had to wake up early and carry what felt like our entire hotel rooms with us to every arena.

Despite having practiced our choreography for months at the local ice skating rink, our coaches, parents, and 15 teammates all anticipated that we weren’t going to win. Our team had moved up a division and was still getting used to the higher expectations. We all predicted that we would not place in the top three. We viewed this competition as more of a way to get accustomed to competing at this level and to establish our team’s reputation.  However, that didn’t stop anyone from getting nervous from the pressure of the upcoming competition.

Then, it was time to compete. We gathered just outside of the rink, ready to step on the ice. Before I knew it, we were moving and getting into formation. We heard our team name, “The New Jersey Black Diamonds,” announced over the sound system. The music started, and we began. However, within 30 seconds of starting the routine, one of our teammates fell. This skater was usually relaxed and didn’t seem to take competitions and figure skating, in general, as seriously as others thought she should. I could tell that her mother wanted her to figure skate more than she wanted to. Despite her fall, we continued and finished our routine. Yet, that fall solidified our place for last.  If we had been lucky and she hadn’t fallen, we might have placed fourth or fifth.

As soon as we left the ice, there was tension among the team members. In small groups, some whispered and glanced at the skater who had fallen. I stepped away and sat by myself. While I didn’t defend her, I decided not to get involved in the gossip either. Looking back, it probably would have meant a lot to her had I taken the initiative to make small talk, if even about her plans for later that day. I could have taken her mind off of skating and her mistake.

We had a few hours to get our scores as other teams performed, and the judges evaluated the routines. Our team broke off, and we went our separate ways. However, no one was relaxed. Parents engaged in heated discussions about the judges’ scores, and girls complained about their teammates. After witnessing the tension, I realized that no one was taking defeat gracefully. Even though we all anticipated that we weren’t going to win, everyone still seemed quarrelsome. While I couldn’t control how others reacted, I chose to accept the fact that we had lost. Yet, I was grateful for the experience and memories.

Overall, it was important for me--and for others--to learn that defeat, failures, and mistakes will happen. What really matters is how we handle these situations. It's essential to trust other people, whether it be family, friends, or teammates, to grow and learn from difficult life circumstances, instead of holding each other back with resentment and unnecessary negativity.

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