“Leap of Faith”

A micro memoir by Anonymous (9).

I jolted out of flight with an earth-shattering shock. Crashing down hard onto the merciless, freezing surface of ice, I slid halfway down the rink, my tremendous collision coming to a stop as I finally bumped into the bleachers. My head flopped backwards, and I glared at my skates as the little voice in my head muttered, Will you ever be able to land this jump?

I’d woken up at the crack of dawn that morning, just as I had every day for the last 5 years. Following a routine ingrained into my body, I had stumbled through the daily motions of getting up and sleep-walking through the grimy glass doors of the ice rink. I’d plopped down onto one of the benches around the lobby, waiting until the clock turned exactly 5:30 to heave myself up and totter toward the ice. Practice had begun, and so had a new morning of misery.

Just a year ago, I had still loved ice skating. It was only when I had started learning the new jump – the double loop – did everything fall apart. Instead of the graceful leaps and elegant spins I usually mastered within weeks, the double loop had been taunting me for the past 6 months, breaking my confidence and tearing down all the grand dreams I’d built. Every morning, I wondered if this would be the day that I’d land it, and every morning, I’d fail. 

I collapsed onto the ground, lying flat down on my back. My legs grew numb as the ice seeped through my clothes, and sweat trickled into my eyes, blurring the ceiling lights above me. Is this ever going to end? I wondered. What makes you think you can actually accomplish anything?

You can do this. A little voice in my head suddenly piped out. You love this sport, and you’re not going to waste five years of effort just to give up over one jump, it said. Get up, try it again. 

I sighed. With what felt like Herculean strength, I peeled myself off the ground. The little voice was right. No matter how much I wanted to despair, that tiny part of me that still loved ice skating knew I wouldn’t give up. Digging out the last bits of determination in me, I looked for one last opportunity to jump. I pushed against the ice, gaining more and more speed, until a spot opened up, and I flew into the air, twisting - once, twice. Once again, time stopped as I hung suspended, pulled taught by an invisible string connected to the sky. 

From then on, the world changed for me. I knew, without a doubt, that I would land the double loop. Those few heartbeats blew aside the clouds covering my dreams, revealing the rays of what I now consider to be my biggest achievement - hundreds of times greater than anything I’d ever experienced before. For the first time in my life, I’d encountered an actual obstacle and overcame it. I’d fallen down a million times, had gotten up a million times, and on the millionth and one try, the doors to fulfillment had finally opened. I had learned what true resolution felt like, and from then on, whenever I confronted similar challenges, I looked back upon that moment to motivate me again. 

Just as suddenly as it had stopped, time started again. The string snapped, gravity dragged me back down, and I landed, back on one foot, arms spread out and steady. The scrape of my blades on the ice, the rush of exhilaration, the wide grin spreading across my face - everything was perfect.