Next weekend…we’re heading to an adorable bed and breakfast just outside of the city. I figure it’s easier to celebrate Valentine’s on the weekend because on Tuesday, I’ll probably be gearing up for our next show.
We go live on Superbowl Sunday. My show launches the next day. We’ve been rehearsing every day this week, plus weekends. I think I’m almost used to my 11 PM to 7 AM schedule. And Mark has been amazing with his support.
I’m nervous. I’m excited. I can’t wait.
It’s stressful. There are times when I feel like screaming…and all I can do to let out steam is toss a pen or notepad on my desk. At the same time…I’m not going to lose it. Hell, if I let this stress get to me now, during rehersals…imagine what I’ll be like when our show is live.
There are times when I can feel people under-estimate me. I’m no stranger to low expectations and I’m ready to prove them wrong.
Besides, I’ve been through more demading situations. I remember the times when I went through my jumps for that five minute warm-up during skating competitions. If you’re lucky, you can hear your family and friends cheer for you as you stroke around the rink. My heart often felt like it was jumping out of my chest. I wanted blinders on my head to block out the sight of other skaters going through elements of their programs. Five minutes - how the hell was anybody suppose to warm-up their bodies for a physically and mentally demanding long program? Somehow we did. Somehow we hit those jumps. Somehow I focused on my coach. Wendy had a way of lowering her voice so that I had to strain to hear her…and somehow I ended-up ignoring the other girls blowing their noses, slurping water and gasping on inhalators.
And then there was the time after warm-up…the long wait. I suppose I could have calculated how much time I had before taking the ice by multiplying 4 minutes by the number of girls ahead of me. Sometimes I watched the other girls. Other times I yearned to go back to the arcade and work Galaga or Ms. Pacman. Yeah, I had some messed-up priorities at the time.
It was a pysch out time…sometimes you could see the girls fall apart inside their minds….despite their talent and despite how much better they were…somehow they lost that nerve and edge. Sometimes we could talk and catch-up on school. We wished each other well, even though I wanted to do better.
Sometimes my coach would have me pop-on a walkman and close my eyes. I’d visualize my routine with my music playing. But then I had have to stop myself from imagining myself falling. We stopped the whole visulaziation bit after a while.
Then it was my turn. I felt high on adrenaline as I worked out the frozen kinks in my body. I wanted to hear my name and I wanted my music. I wanted to fly and I didn’t want to screw-up. And depsite being scared of falling and making a fool out of myself, there was no other place on earth I wanted to be than on the ice.
I feel that way now in Kansas.
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