It's a great day to be a former speedskater!
By now you probably know that I missed qualifying for the Torino Olympics by 0.08 second in the 1000 meters. Yeah, yeah, I know what you're thinking: Another heart-breaking speedskating sob story, right? So why did I have such a huge smile on my face after my last race at the trials?
As you go through this crazy journey of an elite athletic career, your perspectives and your goals become shaped by your experiences. Things can change so much over the course of a few months.
This fall and winter, I've watched my speedskating career die a drawn-out, painful death in front of and at the hands of people who made it their goal to weed me out, and who rejoiced at this goal's fulfillment. I have lived to see my competitive drive crawling on the floor, and my will to win snuffed out well before its time.
A successful ending to one's athletic career means being "ready to be done." But as the end approaches, you're never sure exactly when that feeling will come. It may not come at the best or most appropriate time. My time came a little too soon.
Though I do not regret the decision to leave coach Boris Leikin and the High 5 team back in September, in consideration of what was happening with my skating performance, it was still a very sad time for me. I lost a friend and a coach who believed in my potential. I also lost the sense of protection and belonging that I had when I was part of a team, and became more vulnerable to the negativity of "US Speedskating atmosphere."
By the time the Fall World Cups began, my skating technique had deteriorated and my legs did not feel strong. Still, I tried everything possible to turn my performance around. From the time we traveled to Milwaukee, Ryan Shimabukuro helped me with video analysis, and, one by one, we began to fix my technical issues. I tried to focus on the progress I was making, to stay focused on my goals, and to prevent myself from getting bogged down by negativity, but this World Cup trip just kept on pulling me down.
For the first time in my speedskating travels, I was homesick; I missed my dog and my friends; a certain teammate's thinly-veiled insults and blatant attitude of entitlement began to grate on my nerves...Not the sort of things I wanted to be thinking about, along with poor race performance, frustration with myself, threatening emails from "The Federation," nagging injuries and equipment problems.
What finally "Doused the Fire Within" was my 3 days of racing in Torino. My last World Cup competition basically felt like this:
Try to get motivated despite not feeling strong. Race poorly. Work yourself up to try again the next day, and get beaten down again. One last day: Give it all, for nothing, once again, and there you are, burnt to a crisp, standing on a road that leads nowhere, wondering where you are and how you got there.
Once I returned to Salt Lake City, I had two weeks to prepare for the Olympic Trials. First, I solved my skate problems by changing back to the boots I had used last season. Then, I spent about 4 days fixing my turn tecnhique. Finally, I started my pre-trials taper.
The first two days of Olympic Trials competition were a bit of a disappointment to me, but I felt the pressure lift before my 1500 on day 3 of competition. Finally, things came together, and I skated a good race, setting a personal best time in that event.
Before the 1000 meters on the last day of the trials, I knew that I was ready to retire from speedskating. Of course, I was still prepared to do my best, and if I had made the team in the 1000 that day, I would have continued skating for the next two months. But, in a way, I dreaded going to Europe on another trip with the team, so maybe, on a subconscious level, I sabotaged myself.
But when I arrived at the Oval on the 31st of December, I immediately signed an official retirement statement, which I planned to give to a US Speedskating official after the 1000 meter race. During the warmup, I went around collecting signatures of witnesses to my retirement -- not because this was required, but just because I wanted to.
In the second 1000 meter race, I was paired with Elli Ochowicz; she had the inner and I had the outer. In the first 1000 meter race, Elli had set the time to beat for the last qualifying position for the Olympics, and that time was 1:17.31. If I wanted to make the team, I knew that I had to skate faster than that, and to beat Elli head-to-head in the second 1000.
Before the race, I remembered something that my former coach Jan van de Roemer had said about the 1000: "If the paired skaters are evenly matched, the skater on the inner lane will almost always win." Well, Elli and I seemed to be far from evenly matched. Her personal best at that distance was a full second faster than mine, and she seemed to have just about every other possible advantage over me -- including the inner lane start and finish. But I knew I had a chance, if I skated the race right. All I had to do was stay close enough on the first lap of outers, then chase her down on the inner-lane lap, and hope I had enough left for a strong finish.
In a very close race, I won the pair, pulling ahead as I came out of the last outer turn. Though my finishing time of 1:17.39 wasn't fast enough to make the Olympic team, I was really happy that I was able to fight until the bitter end!
I couldn't have asked for a better ending. When I came back around in the warmup lane, I waved "good-bye" to the crowd with a big smile on my face. No, I wasn't sad that I would not be going to Torino. I honestly didn't want to spend another minute in the world of US Speedskating. I didn't want to travel with them, or to score one single World Cup point in their name, ever again.
I realized then, that for the past few months, all I had wanted from these Olympic Trials was to finish my speedskating career with guts and maturity. I've known for a long time that any other outcome was not within my reach, and that dragging my competitive career out for another two months was not something that I wanted.
A good friend of mine who also retired after the Trials said recently of his skating career, "I'm tired of rolling around in crap and pretending that it smells good." At some point, most of us realize that putting up with US Speedskating's crap is not worth it any more. This sport hurts enough as it is.
I love the sport of speedskating, but I've found that this sport is run by people who are not worthy of the honor of breaking my heart. I will no longer be surrendering my future to the control of "sleazy used-car salesmen." I am entering into a more civilized world; a world where my effort and contribution will be appreciated.
Good-bye, US Speedskating, and good fucking riddance.
By now you probably know that I missed qualifying for the Torino Olympics by 0.08 second in the 1000 meters. Yeah, yeah, I know what you're thinking: Another heart-breaking speedskating sob story, right? So why did I have such a huge smile on my face after my last race at the trials?
As you go through this crazy journey of an elite athletic career, your perspectives and your goals become shaped by your experiences. Things can change so much over the course of a few months.
This fall and winter, I've watched my speedskating career die a drawn-out, painful death in front of and at the hands of people who made it their goal to weed me out, and who rejoiced at this goal's fulfillment. I have lived to see my competitive drive crawling on the floor, and my will to win snuffed out well before its time.
A successful ending to one's athletic career means being "ready to be done." But as the end approaches, you're never sure exactly when that feeling will come. It may not come at the best or most appropriate time. My time came a little too soon.
Though I do not regret the decision to leave coach Boris Leikin and the High 5 team back in September, in consideration of what was happening with my skating performance, it was still a very sad time for me. I lost a friend and a coach who believed in my potential. I also lost the sense of protection and belonging that I had when I was part of a team, and became more vulnerable to the negativity of "US Speedskating atmosphere."
By the time the Fall World Cups began, my skating technique had deteriorated and my legs did not feel strong. Still, I tried everything possible to turn my performance around. From the time we traveled to Milwaukee, Ryan Shimabukuro helped me with video analysis, and, one by one, we began to fix my technical issues. I tried to focus on the progress I was making, to stay focused on my goals, and to prevent myself from getting bogged down by negativity, but this World Cup trip just kept on pulling me down.
For the first time in my speedskating travels, I was homesick; I missed my dog and my friends; a certain teammate's thinly-veiled insults and blatant attitude of entitlement began to grate on my nerves...Not the sort of things I wanted to be thinking about, along with poor race performance, frustration with myself, threatening emails from "The Federation," nagging injuries and equipment problems.
What finally "Doused the Fire Within" was my 3 days of racing in Torino. My last World Cup competition basically felt like this:
Try to get motivated despite not feeling strong. Race poorly. Work yourself up to try again the next day, and get beaten down again. One last day: Give it all, for nothing, once again, and there you are, burnt to a crisp, standing on a road that leads nowhere, wondering where you are and how you got there.
Once I returned to Salt Lake City, I had two weeks to prepare for the Olympic Trials. First, I solved my skate problems by changing back to the boots I had used last season. Then, I spent about 4 days fixing my turn tecnhique. Finally, I started my pre-trials taper.
The first two days of Olympic Trials competition were a bit of a disappointment to me, but I felt the pressure lift before my 1500 on day 3 of competition. Finally, things came together, and I skated a good race, setting a personal best time in that event.
Before the 1000 meters on the last day of the trials, I knew that I was ready to retire from speedskating. Of course, I was still prepared to do my best, and if I had made the team in the 1000 that day, I would have continued skating for the next two months. But, in a way, I dreaded going to Europe on another trip with the team, so maybe, on a subconscious level, I sabotaged myself.
But when I arrived at the Oval on the 31st of December, I immediately signed an official retirement statement, which I planned to give to a US Speedskating official after the 1000 meter race. During the warmup, I went around collecting signatures of witnesses to my retirement -- not because this was required, but just because I wanted to.
In the second 1000 meter race, I was paired with Elli Ochowicz; she had the inner and I had the outer. In the first 1000 meter race, Elli had set the time to beat for the last qualifying position for the Olympics, and that time was 1:17.31. If I wanted to make the team, I knew that I had to skate faster than that, and to beat Elli head-to-head in the second 1000.
Before the race, I remembered something that my former coach Jan van de Roemer had said about the 1000: "If the paired skaters are evenly matched, the skater on the inner lane will almost always win." Well, Elli and I seemed to be far from evenly matched. Her personal best at that distance was a full second faster than mine, and she seemed to have just about every other possible advantage over me -- including the inner lane start and finish. But I knew I had a chance, if I skated the race right. All I had to do was stay close enough on the first lap of outers, then chase her down on the inner-lane lap, and hope I had enough left for a strong finish.
In a very close race, I won the pair, pulling ahead as I came out of the last outer turn. Though my finishing time of 1:17.39 wasn't fast enough to make the Olympic team, I was really happy that I was able to fight until the bitter end!
I couldn't have asked for a better ending. When I came back around in the warmup lane, I waved "good-bye" to the crowd with a big smile on my face. No, I wasn't sad that I would not be going to Torino. I honestly didn't want to spend another minute in the world of US Speedskating. I didn't want to travel with them, or to score one single World Cup point in their name, ever again.
I realized then, that for the past few months, all I had wanted from these Olympic Trials was to finish my speedskating career with guts and maturity. I've known for a long time that any other outcome was not within my reach, and that dragging my competitive career out for another two months was not something that I wanted.
A good friend of mine who also retired after the Trials said recently of his skating career, "I'm tired of rolling around in crap and pretending that it smells good." At some point, most of us realize that putting up with US Speedskating's crap is not worth it any more. This sport hurts enough as it is.
I love the sport of speedskating, but I've found that this sport is run by people who are not worthy of the honor of breaking my heart. I will no longer be surrendering my future to the control of "sleazy used-car salesmen." I am entering into a more civilized world; a world where my effort and contribution will be appreciated.
Good-bye, US Speedskating, and good fucking riddance.
posted by Eva at 11:18 AM
<< Home