A beautiful but vacant space trying to resurrect a God.
“This is the last lift that they’ve planned in their program and look at the amazing stretch she gets. They’ve just skated their hearts out tonight.”
“What do you think - is the gold medal within their reach?”
“Well as always, the judges will play a major role in the decision, but in my mind they were in a class by themselves. They really blew me away tonight, especially her. She’s the best I have ever seen in this sport - and she’s only eighteen.”
“So she’s just that good?”
“She’s just that good.”
“And now they glide into their closing pose and can you hear the reaction from the crowd? They’re going nuts!”
“Look at their reaction! They can’t believe it - she’s starting to cry right in the middle of center ice. Oh my god, just eighteen and twenty and they’ve brought the house down! The U.S. has never won the gold in ice dancing at the Olympics and these two young athletes just stuck it in the world’s face. A miracle happened here tonight!”
“And now the technical marks…5.7, 5.8, 5.8, 5.7, 5.9, 5.8, 5.9, 5.9, and 5.8. And here come the marks for presentation Oh My God would you look at that! Would you look at that?! 5.9, 6.0, 6.0, 6.0, 6.0, 6.0, 5.9, 6.0, and 6.0! They’ve done it!! They’ve captured the Gold Medal!!...”
And then my alarm clock begins to beep. I roll over and look at it as I turn it off. Four-thirty on a Friday morning.
I shiver as I make my bed quietly and grab the practice clothes I set out the night before. I go to the bathroom, take a shower, dry my hair, put on my clothes. I grab a yogurt and a cereal bar and throw them in my skating bag. I put on my backpack and grab my keys before heading out the door.
I open the garage. I groan - it’s snowing. I hate driving in the snow - especially in the early morning when no one else is on the road. I throw my stuff in my car anyway and head to the rink where I will skate for two hours before going to school.
I’m not skating seriously now, not really. I don’t have a partner, a program, a dream, a goal. There are no miracles anymore; no heroes. I’m just skating for no reason other than it’s what I’ve done my whole life. I don’t hate it, nor do I love it - I’m in a different state. One of indifference.
But on this Friday in February, something would change. I would come home from school and Mom would be in the kitchen making dinner. The TV would be on in the next room. Instead of continuing onto my room to do my homework as I normally would have done, I stopped. Something on the television had caught my eye. How could have I forgotten? The Olympics had begun this very day.
I clomped up the stairs, placed my book bag neatly by my desk, and then went back down to watch this thing that I thought I would never be able to. I had never been a strong person, and so it seemed strange to me that I was able to do this.
I had been able to completely detach myself from this world two years ago. It was like I had been in a dream; I had been living a dream. That’s what the sport world is, I thought, a dream that we put ourselves in because we want to believe in heroes and miracles, because we want to believe in a world without suffering or sorrow or hatred. It’s an escape - a place to run to when there are no heroes left; when there is no such thing as a miracle.
Watching the athletes marching in with the various degrees of joy on their faces, I began to think. It came to my attention that I was supposed to have been there, marching into the stadium, huge smile on my face - so big that it hurt.
I can’t even describe the way it feels to watch an Olympics that you knew you should have competed at. It’s not like “Oh, I had a shot at making it…so it might have been…” With me, I knew it. I knew I would have been there. It’s so hard to know that you had the talent, you had the right partner, you had the judges behind you, you had your federation behind you, you had everything - only to have your body betray you.
So I sat there. Watching. Discovering that those Olympics should have been my own. I could have gone - it wasn’t a question of talent or luck or fate. Instead it was something a whole lot deeper. Because I realized no matter how much talent I might have had, it was nowhere near enough to make up for the determination I lacked.
I appreciated too that Justin and I very well might have placed within the top ten at that Olympics. It became this overwhelming thought, one that completely consumed me. It seemed impossible to comprehend that right then, at the age of eighteen, I could have placed tenth at my first Olympics in dance after Justin and I had only been competing at the senior level for three seasons. That would be unheard of in dance - especially for an American couple.
And at the same time, the competitive world of skating all seemed so distant and far away. I felt like I had never really competed at the senior world championships or the US nationals in 2000. Like my life was just a book I had read a few years ago: one that I could no longer remember word for word, but one that had a deep impact on me.
There are moments in our life that define and change us - and this was one of mine.
In my dream, it always ends the same.
I’m at the top of the podium; I’m crying.
Crying tears of joy; tears of sadness.
He turns to me and says, “Tell me why you cry.”
“Oh, you couldn’t understand,” I say, “I’m crying because this is all just a dream I’m having and in a minute I’ll awaken and all of this will be gone and there will be no more medals and no more miracles and no more heroes.”
“But Jamie, don’t you see? This may not be real, but you are. You’re real, flesh and blood, a real person. Isn’t that enough?”
It’s always then I come to the realization that miracles and heroes are everywhere, in everyone. Our anthem begins to play and for the first time, I begin to believe: I believe in miracles and heroes and all the things that have saved me…
And then I wake up.
My alarm is beeping; I roll over and turn it off.
It’s four thirty on a Friday morning, and a miracle happens here.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
I wrote that over a year and a half ago, when the summer Olympics began. Though not my best piece of writing, it provided a temporary catharsis for me. It gave me a way out, a way not to think about it all. I built up my excuses and my walls, turned away. Went back to Cornell. Let it be.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
So Jamie Silverstein finally gets her Olympics. This is what someone said, on FSU, after the free dance. And I wanted to say to them that yes, yes I do. Finally. But at what price?
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
They became “Saints.” Instead of being perceived as whole persons, their bodies became shrines: What was thought to be their minds became temples suitable for worship. These crazy Saints stared out at the world, wildly, like lunatics - or quietly, like suicides; and the “God” that was in their gaze was as mute as a great stone.
Alice Walker
It is what I do best, to take excerpts and use them completely out of context. They named me a “Saint” back then. On the message boards they called me “St. Jamie.” The Jesus of Suburbia. But Walker’s writing I always felt told the more truthful description of the Sainthood I held.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
I look around my room - at the newspaper articles and trophies. My costumes lying out on my bed, waiting to be taken to get cleaned before I leave. I look at the books stacked up on my nightstand. The shoes lined up neatly in my closet.
I look in the mirror, stare back at myself. Exactly the same as before but not the same at all. I am thicker, I am healthy now. I am no longer proclaimed to be the Savior of US ice dance. Tanith and Ben saw to that in my absence. I am no longer the saint. Now I am able to do wrong.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
I didn’t mean this to seem melancholy, because really I am not. I found that journal entry and thought it would be fun to share. All this subsequent garbage means nothing. I am simply basking in the past I once had held, of my former and now amputated glory. I am a saint in exile, an overly dramatic way of putting it I suppose. I am no longer what I used to be, but instead am waiting to be transformed into what I will become.
~*Jammer*~
P.S. Brownie points to anyone who knows what piece of Alice Walker's I quoted from. Googling not allowed. :-P
[This has been unlocked for the 2006 Rings Awards. It will return to friends only once the voting has been completed.]
“What do you think - is the gold medal within their reach?”
“Well as always, the judges will play a major role in the decision, but in my mind they were in a class by themselves. They really blew me away tonight, especially her. She’s the best I have ever seen in this sport - and she’s only eighteen.”
“So she’s just that good?”
“She’s just that good.”
“And now they glide into their closing pose and can you hear the reaction from the crowd? They’re going nuts!”
“Look at their reaction! They can’t believe it - she’s starting to cry right in the middle of center ice. Oh my god, just eighteen and twenty and they’ve brought the house down! The U.S. has never won the gold in ice dancing at the Olympics and these two young athletes just stuck it in the world’s face. A miracle happened here tonight!”
“And now the technical marks…5.7, 5.8, 5.8, 5.7, 5.9, 5.8, 5.9, 5.9, and 5.8. And here come the marks for presentation Oh My God would you look at that! Would you look at that?! 5.9, 6.0, 6.0, 6.0, 6.0, 6.0, 5.9, 6.0, and 6.0! They’ve done it!! They’ve captured the Gold Medal!!...”
And then my alarm clock begins to beep. I roll over and look at it as I turn it off. Four-thirty on a Friday morning.
I shiver as I make my bed quietly and grab the practice clothes I set out the night before. I go to the bathroom, take a shower, dry my hair, put on my clothes. I grab a yogurt and a cereal bar and throw them in my skating bag. I put on my backpack and grab my keys before heading out the door.
I open the garage. I groan - it’s snowing. I hate driving in the snow - especially in the early morning when no one else is on the road. I throw my stuff in my car anyway and head to the rink where I will skate for two hours before going to school.
I’m not skating seriously now, not really. I don’t have a partner, a program, a dream, a goal. There are no miracles anymore; no heroes. I’m just skating for no reason other than it’s what I’ve done my whole life. I don’t hate it, nor do I love it - I’m in a different state. One of indifference.
But on this Friday in February, something would change. I would come home from school and Mom would be in the kitchen making dinner. The TV would be on in the next room. Instead of continuing onto my room to do my homework as I normally would have done, I stopped. Something on the television had caught my eye. How could have I forgotten? The Olympics had begun this very day.
I clomped up the stairs, placed my book bag neatly by my desk, and then went back down to watch this thing that I thought I would never be able to. I had never been a strong person, and so it seemed strange to me that I was able to do this.
I had been able to completely detach myself from this world two years ago. It was like I had been in a dream; I had been living a dream. That’s what the sport world is, I thought, a dream that we put ourselves in because we want to believe in heroes and miracles, because we want to believe in a world without suffering or sorrow or hatred. It’s an escape - a place to run to when there are no heroes left; when there is no such thing as a miracle.
Watching the athletes marching in with the various degrees of joy on their faces, I began to think. It came to my attention that I was supposed to have been there, marching into the stadium, huge smile on my face - so big that it hurt.
I can’t even describe the way it feels to watch an Olympics that you knew you should have competed at. It’s not like “Oh, I had a shot at making it…so it might have been…” With me, I knew it. I knew I would have been there. It’s so hard to know that you had the talent, you had the right partner, you had the judges behind you, you had your federation behind you, you had everything - only to have your body betray you.
So I sat there. Watching. Discovering that those Olympics should have been my own. I could have gone - it wasn’t a question of talent or luck or fate. Instead it was something a whole lot deeper. Because I realized no matter how much talent I might have had, it was nowhere near enough to make up for the determination I lacked.
I appreciated too that Justin and I very well might have placed within the top ten at that Olympics. It became this overwhelming thought, one that completely consumed me. It seemed impossible to comprehend that right then, at the age of eighteen, I could have placed tenth at my first Olympics in dance after Justin and I had only been competing at the senior level for three seasons. That would be unheard of in dance - especially for an American couple.
And at the same time, the competitive world of skating all seemed so distant and far away. I felt like I had never really competed at the senior world championships or the US nationals in 2000. Like my life was just a book I had read a few years ago: one that I could no longer remember word for word, but one that had a deep impact on me.
There are moments in our life that define and change us - and this was one of mine.
In my dream, it always ends the same.
I’m at the top of the podium; I’m crying.
Crying tears of joy; tears of sadness.
He turns to me and says, “Tell me why you cry.”
“Oh, you couldn’t understand,” I say, “I’m crying because this is all just a dream I’m having and in a minute I’ll awaken and all of this will be gone and there will be no more medals and no more miracles and no more heroes.”
“But Jamie, don’t you see? This may not be real, but you are. You’re real, flesh and blood, a real person. Isn’t that enough?”
It’s always then I come to the realization that miracles and heroes are everywhere, in everyone. Our anthem begins to play and for the first time, I begin to believe: I believe in miracles and heroes and all the things that have saved me…
And then I wake up.
My alarm is beeping; I roll over and turn it off.
It’s four thirty on a Friday morning, and a miracle happens here.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
I wrote that over a year and a half ago, when the summer Olympics began. Though not my best piece of writing, it provided a temporary catharsis for me. It gave me a way out, a way not to think about it all. I built up my excuses and my walls, turned away. Went back to Cornell. Let it be.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
So Jamie Silverstein finally gets her Olympics. This is what someone said, on FSU, after the free dance. And I wanted to say to them that yes, yes I do. Finally. But at what price?
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
They became “Saints.” Instead of being perceived as whole persons, their bodies became shrines: What was thought to be their minds became temples suitable for worship. These crazy Saints stared out at the world, wildly, like lunatics - or quietly, like suicides; and the “God” that was in their gaze was as mute as a great stone.
Alice Walker
It is what I do best, to take excerpts and use them completely out of context. They named me a “Saint” back then. On the message boards they called me “St. Jamie.” The Jesus of Suburbia. But Walker’s writing I always felt told the more truthful description of the Sainthood I held.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
I look around my room - at the newspaper articles and trophies. My costumes lying out on my bed, waiting to be taken to get cleaned before I leave. I look at the books stacked up on my nightstand. The shoes lined up neatly in my closet.
I look in the mirror, stare back at myself. Exactly the same as before but not the same at all. I am thicker, I am healthy now. I am no longer proclaimed to be the Savior of US ice dance. Tanith and Ben saw to that in my absence. I am no longer the saint. Now I am able to do wrong.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
I didn’t mean this to seem melancholy, because really I am not. I found that journal entry and thought it would be fun to share. All this subsequent garbage means nothing. I am simply basking in the past I once had held, of my former and now amputated glory. I am a saint in exile, an overly dramatic way of putting it I suppose. I am no longer what I used to be, but instead am waiting to be transformed into what I will become.
~*Jammer*~
P.S. Brownie points to anyone who knows what piece of Alice Walker's I quoted from. Googling not allowed. :-P
[This has been unlocked for the 2006 Rings Awards. It will return to friends only once the voting has been completed.]