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Alex
“You could just retire. It’s not like you wouldn’t have options. You could move into coaching, or choreography, for example.” My manager Kurt looks at me, and I shake my head.
“No.” I shift in my chair. It creaks beneath my weight, the sound loud in the quiet of Kurt’s tiny office. “I’m not retiring. That might be what’s right for Charlotte, but it’s not what’s right for me.” I’m only thirty-two. I’m not ready to retire. I don’t say this out loud, but I don’t need to. Everyone here knows how I feel.
Scott, one of my long-time coaches, nods, his eyes on me. “That’s what I was expecting you to say.”
Case in point.
Besides, if I retired, I wouldn’t know what to do with myself. I’m not ready to hang up my skates and become a coach or a choreographer. I’ve been skating since I was eight years old. The plan had been to learn to skate and then take up hockey. Instead, figure skating had grabbed a hold of me and never let go, and I’ve been competing for over twenty years.
Now I’m Alex McIntyre, three-time world champion and Olympic silver medalist— accolades achieved and accomplished with my pairs partner, Charlotte, who has decided to call it a career and start a family with her husband. And as much as losing her sucks, I don’t begrudge her the right to live her life. Skating at our level is consuming. It takes over your entire life—your time, your body, your mind. It’s an all or nothing game to compete against the best skaters in the world, and I could tell her heart wasn’t in it anymore last season. So, when she told me she was done, it’s not like I was shocked.
Debra, my other coach, tilts her head, clearing her throat softly to bring me back to the present moment. “You could take a season off, decide what you want to do. You don’t have to make any big decisions today.”
I shake my head again. “I’m not taking the season off.”
“That’s what I was expecting you to say,” Scott says again with a wry twist of his lips.
Of course it’s what he was expecting me to say, because he knows me. He knows that I’m driven and that competing fuels me. Winning is the cherry on the sundae, but the good stuff, the stuff that I live for is the grueling training sessions and the competitions and always striving to be better. Without that, I don’t know who I am.
So, no. I am not retiring, and I am not taking the season off. Fuck that.
Pushing a hand through my hair, I blow out a breath. It feels as though the office walls are closing in on me, that there’s not enough oxygen in this room for the four of us. The air is thick and close. I trace the toe of my sneaker over a small stain on the gray carpet.
“So, new partner it is,” says Kurt, long fingers moving across the keyboard in front of him. “Deb, Scott, and I have put together a short list of skaters we think might be a good fit for you. They all have pairs experience, so we won’t be starting from scratch, and they’re all either looking for a new partner, or open to switching if the chemistry is right.” His fingers move again, the keys clicking softly. I can feel a restless energy building inside me, and I rub a hand across the back of my neck, trying to dispel it.
“I’ve emailed you a list of links,” says Kurt, fingers clicking his mouse. “I’ve included two performances from each skater we’re considering. Watch them and see what you think.”
I nod. “Yeah. Okay.” I mean, what else can I say? What other choice do I have? More of that restless anxiety bubbles up inside me, and I stand, slipping my hands into the pockets of my sweatpants. It’s a good thing I’m already dressed for a workout, because I need to hit the gym. Badly.
“We need to make a decision soon,” says Deb softly. “It’s already May.” I fight back the urge to snap that I know what month it is. I’m well aware that summer is around the corner, and if I have any hope of competing this fall, I need to start training with a new partner now. Like, this week. Not only will we need time to find our rhythm, but we’ll need to learn our choreography and get competition ready for October. It’s not a lot of time.
“I know,” I say, nodding. I force myself to smile. These people are on my team. They’re not working against me. It’s not their fault Charlotte was ready to retire. “I’ll watch the videos tonight and let you know.”
It’s hard for me to imagine skating with anyone besides Charlotte. She and I were partners for ten years, and we had a closeness that can only come from years of hard work and mutual respect. She understood me, and I think of her as my sister. I wish she hadn’t retired, but I get it. I do.
Kurt’s office is only a block away from IceWorks, the rink where I spend nearly forty hours a week training both on the ice and off. It’s a state-of-the-art facility, and only the best of the best are invited to train here.
I head to the gym, jam my AirPods in my ears, and grind through a workout designed to shut my brain off. I lift weights until my muscles scream with exhaustion, run on the treadmill until my legs burn, stretch until I feel like a rubber band, about to snap.
It doesn’t work. All I can think about is the enormous fucking question mark that is my future in the sport I love.
After a quick shower, I head home to my apartment. I should watch the videos, but instead, I procrastinate. I make dinner. I fold some laundry. I try to watch a baseball game.
But as much as I want to, I can’t escape the reality of my situation.
“Fuck.” I push up from the couch and head into my bedroom to grab my laptop. “The only way out is through,” I say under my breath, something I’ve repeated to myself countless times when coming back from a bad short program, recovering from an injury, or dealing with any number of setbacks.
Losing my partner of a decade is definitely a setback.
I lower the volume on the baseball game and set my laptop on my thighs, my bare feet propped up on the coffee table in front of me.
I open Kurt’s email and click on the first link to watch a video of a skater named Cate Wilson. Never heard of her.
The video starts playing. It’s a clip of Cate and her former partner Danny Swanson stepping onto the ice at a Grand Prix competition two seasons ago. The camera pans around the ice before settling on the pair.
And everything inside me goes very, very still.
