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Cheers,
Alyshia

Recess: the ultimate time to strategize

This week is the second week of March Break for many kids here in BC. Yes, you read that correctly. March break here is more of an extended holiday than a five-day hiatus from classes.

And to think years ago, I just wanted to be grown up.

Today’s daily trigger from Triggering Memories got me thinking about school and inspired me to revisit a time during the school day where the most important conversations took place: recess.

In the spring and fall, it was spent playing endless games of Red Rover, mastering the impossibly hard double-Dutch skipping game and playing man hunt on the playground. Those were came back to the classroom with gravel embedded in their palms from falling during an intense game of hide and seek were looked upon as playground heroes. 

In the winter, recess meant building snowmen, catching snowflakes on our tongues and going down the slide at turbo speed because the snow added extra horsepower.

If we were feeling brave enough, or perhaps just stupid enough, we’d stick our tongues to the soccer goal post to see if they would stick. On the days it didn’t, I was internally happy although I’d never say so to my friends. Half the fun was trying to figure out a way to get it unstuck without losing a few layers of skin. (We, like most fearless kids, did this more than once.)

Our playground at elementary school was massive and was rotated between several grades, depending on the day of the week. When it wasn’t our turn, we made use of the soccer fields, picnic tables, and baseball diamond, even if we were just playing imaginary ball. Homeruns were scored and grand slams were achieved that would have rivaled any Major League Baseball game – or so we believed.

On the days it was our turn to use the playground, we went down the slide with such speed, we could have flown across the entire school yard. We embraced our inner monkeys and scaled back and forth across the monkey bars until our palms bled from the blisters. When we couldn’t make it across anymore, we looped our feet through the bars and hung upside down until all the blood rushed to our cheeks and we were forced to sit up again.

Recesses were also a time to strategize with friends: which boy looked the cutest today? Whose house were we going to sleepover at this weekend? What did we have for lunch?

For most of us, our problems were non-existent outside of what we were going to wear to school that morning and whether Mom and Dad would let us stay out just a little bit later tonight playing with friends. We were naïve and innocent enough to think everyone had it as good as we did all the while not truly understanding just how fortunate we were. 

When I got to grade eight, I couldn’t wait to get to high school – at 14-years-old, recesses seemed juvenile. Something for little kids who still believed in Santa Clause and still had the benefit of youthful ignorance.

Recesses became cliquey and awkward for those whose intellect outgrew the pace of their friends, whose physical appearance made them stand out for one reason or another and whose wardrobes wore loved by someone else before they donned them.

For these kids, the 15-minute breaks started to drag on instead of flying by like they once had.
There were always a group of kids who had an opinion and, with the support of their friends standing behind them, would make comments to try and solidify their place in the playground hierarchy.

Oftentimes, the sub-zero temperatures were a warm comfort to the outliers next to the cold shoulder of their opinionated classmates.

While the school yard dynamics could be as unpredictable as the weather in the suburbs of Ontario, recess holds fond memories for my inner double-Dutching, hop-skotching, monkey bar-scaling playground star.

What does courage mean, anyway?

Courage is a word that we often hear associated with people who save lives or are taking risks to change the world. It’s not a word you normally use to describe people who voluntarily turn their lives upside-down. A year and a half ago, my girlfriend used it in this different context.

We were sitting on her couch catching up after I moved into my sister’s place. My marriage had ended, my ex and I had sold our house and divided all our property. It was the loneliest and saddest and lost I had ever felt - and it was entirely my doing.

She carefully asked how I was coping. We sipped wine as I told her I was scared and had no idea what I was doing but deep down, something told me it might be the right thing. I said I felt felt horribly guilty for hurting someone I cared about.

“It took a lot of courage to do what you did.”

Pardon? 

There’s nothing courageous about breaking someone’s heart or choosing to walk away from a life that by all accounts, was relatively comfortable and happy by most people’s standards.

The definition of courage is the ability to do something you know is difficult or dangerous.

I’ve started to realize that perhaps she didn’t mean it took courage to break someone’s heart, or sell my house or eventually move out west later that summer – what really took courage was being true to myself. It just manifested itself in those actions.

There is courage in having the gonads to chase what you truly want. I was scared beyond belief when my marriage ended, when I sold my house and when I moved out west. I had no idea where I was going, what I was doing or where I’d end up. I just knew I needed to try. 

I also had to accept that happy by most people’s standards doesn’t necessarily equate to happiness for me. We each are responsible for defining and living our own happiness – whether what means a nomadic life of travelling around the world solo, settling down with kids mid-20s, climbing the corporate ladder at any expense or having a family later on.

A wise friend recently said he’d rather regret doing something than wake up one morning and
realized he hadn’t done anything at all. It's a great way to look at things.

Too many people do what other people think is the right thing to do or don’t follow what they truly want for fear of rejection or perhaps hurting other people. I know this firsthand. The only thing more painful than hurting someone you care about it is lying to yourself.

A nurse studied and wrote about the top regrets of the dying a few years ago and the main sense of remorse was not having the courage to live a true life and not pursuing what made them happy. So, it appears I’m in good company, although thankfully I’m not dying - just yet anyway.

The difference between those folks on their death bed and me is that I’m chasing what I want to do now while I still have the time. I’ll learn from their mistakes and make the life happen that I want to live, instead of living the life everyone else thinks I should. 

If that makes me courageous, then so be it. Let's be honest, I've been called way worse.

Was there a time you felt scared to make a big change? What inspired you to do it?

A (motivational) kick in the derrière

Sometimes we just need a swift kick in the ass to get motivated again.

For me, that proverbial kick came from a meeting with my memoir/writing coach Patti Hall.

She’s here on the west coast for a trip and we had the chance to meet up for a drink and brunch while I was visiting Whistler for the night. (By the way, if you haven’t stayed at the Chateau Fairmont, I highly recommend it.)

Let’s back track: about three years ago, I decided I want to become an author. Yes, just like that. After receiving a positive response to a query from a publisher, I started writing. I was connected to Patti through a colleague and we began working together. I’d write, she’d provide feedback and help me make my writing more meaningful for the reader.

I had a lofty goal of finishing my manuscript in six months. In reality, I had a better chance of becoming a brain surgeon than I did finishing nearly 80,000 words in 180 days, but I tried nonetheless.

Somewhere along the way, I got distracted. School picked up, my marriage ended, I moved across the country and worst of all, I started doubting my story.

My memoir is about my Dad’s death and how I coped…. Or, well, didn’t. When I first found out he was in a car accident, I was optimistic we’d be taking him home. My Dad was a survivor – surely a single-vehicle car accident wasn’t going to be it for him.

Sadly, it was.

‘Taking him home’ took on another meaning – a year and eight months to the day after he died, my sister and I stood on the river bank in beautiful Loch Lomond Scotland and scattered his ashes where his parents’ remains were also laid to rest. Born in that beautiful country, he always said it was his true home and that one day, he wanted to return there for good.

My Dad's final resting place

In that year-and-a-half from his accident to when we went to Scotland, my life was in constant chaos. I was 24 when he died and thrust into the position of making decisions about whether he was going to live or die when all I wanted to do was go shopping with my friends. I wanted the innocence and ignorance that came with being a young adult but in a split second, it was taken away from me with a single phone call. I grew up in an instant and also took on the role of protecting my younger siblings in the absence of my father.

I ended up taking care of them and completely ignoring myself, which resulted in my catapulting into depression and trying to find solace at the bottom of many bottles. I spent months drinking, crying, going through his things and torturing myself with AC/DC – one of his favourite bands. I’d bawl the entire way to work each day and end up pulling over on the side of the road more than once on the drive home because I was crying so hard I couldn’t see. At one point, I just wanted to die – I couldn’t imagine it ever getting any better.

During this same time, I got engaged and was trying to plan a wedding, my grandfather’s health was declining most certainly because his heart was broken after burying his only son and I was in the process of changing jobs.

Then five months to the day he passed, I received something thatchanged everything -  letters from my Dad’s double lung recipient and family members. They spoke of the incredible impact my Dad’s gift of organ donation had on their lives. While they reiterated how my Dad saved their family member's life, they had no way of knowing their letters had also saved mine.

Over the next 18 months, I got my demons under control, became an advocate for organ and tissue donation, sharing my Dad’s story – a way of free therapy, I suppose – in hopes of encouraging others to make the same choice he did. His story was shared in three countries, entered into a film festival in the states and appeared in several major papers. During the same time, I got engaged, I got married, I enrolled in university to finish my degree and I was finally able to take my Dad home…. in a nutshell.

Fast forward two years to Sunday when Patti sat across from me on a patio in Whistler and listened to me talk about how I didn’t think my experience was good enough or would mean anything. My Dad’s been gone four-and-a-half years now, although it feels like yesterday most days, and so much has happened – my ex separated and sold our house, I moved in with my sister, I moved across the country, I got my first place, I met someone new…. All things I would have never imagined happening a mere two years ago.

I shared with her that I was terrified I’d spend all this time writing something that no one would give a shit about, especially since so much time had passed.

“Alyshia, your story deserves to be shared.”

I’m not sure what about those seven words motivated me, but I suddenly feel like I can tackle it again. Maybe it’s my impending visit to Scotland to “visit” my Dad this summer, maybe I’ve just gotten to a place where I feel relatively stable for the first time in a long time, maybe it’s just because I want to – need to – write.  

So, with Patti’s support, I’m going to try this again. It may not be the greatest story ever told and it may never make it to the desk of a publisher, but it’s my story and damn it, I owe it to myself to write it... one page at a time.

60 days to a new body - or higher wine tolerance

Ever have one of those moments where you catch your reflection in a store window or mirror in a store and you do a double-take, but not  in a good way?

That was me on Thursday. I caught a glimpse of myself in a suit I used to love to wear that made me feel like I could take on the world. But instead of taking on the world, I felt like my ass was taking it over.

I know we are our own worst critics – I think my ass is the size of Texas most days, although my boyfriend insists it’s never exceeded a small town. (Thanks, love.)

Since I’ve moved out, I’ve slowly let go of my work out routine. I have more responsibility. I live further from the gym now. The summer came and it was too nice to spend time inside working out. I could make every excuse in the book but the reality is, I just didn’t make exercising a priority. Going out with friends, sleeping in, wine nights and House of Cards happened instead of boot camp, regular seawall runs and lunchtime salads.

So, after crying for 20 minutes in my car in The Bay parkade, I pulled myself together and did what any normal person would do when they need to change something: I consoled myself in wine, crummy food, and over-priced vodka all weekend. Hey, it was my birthday.

I made myself a promise that I’d start something, although I wasn’t sure what.

Now, don’t get me wrong – I’m not suggesting I need to lose 100 pounds or become some body building babe, I just want to feel and look healthy.

Gone are the days when I can run a 5K on a Wednesday and Thursday, still eat pop tarts for breakfast and manage to lose a few pounds for a Friday night party. Now, if I even so much as look at a slice of cheesecake, I feel my pants getting tight.

 So, when times get tough and age wreaks havoc on your metabolism, it’s time to find a workout that’s tougher. I’m calling on Shaun T and Insanity to kick my butt into shape. He did it once two years ago and I know he’ll do it again.

The program is 60 days and to say its crazy intense is as much of an understatement as Vancouver is kind of a nice place to live. It’s seriously hard. You sweat buckets. Your muscles ache day after day. 

But it’s worth it. 

Right now, my behind has more dimples than a golf ball and I couldn’t do more than four push ups if my life depended on it. No, really – I’m that weak. But everyone has to start somewhere.

My goal is in 60 days, my booty will rival a smooth bowling ball and I will lift my own body weight without moaning like an amateur female tennis player. Or, at the very least, I will just feel stronger.

I can see this going one of two ways: either I'll become a workout demon and stick to the plan, or I'll start to see results, let workouts slide and become more committed to drinking wine than doing squats.

I suppose either way I'll have built up a tolerance - either for strength or wine. I'm inclined to argue they're both equally important.

29 years, 29 lessons

Anyone who has spent more than five minutes with me knows I’m a bit of a birthday diva. One night of drinks or celebrating isn’t enough – I generally extend the party over the entire month of February. Although it’s the shortest month of the year, for my friends and family, it probably feels like the longest.

This year, it’s my last 20-something birthday…. Or my first (of many) 29th birthdays – however you want to look at it.

To celebrate, I’m going out with friends (again) and sharing some of the most important things I’ve learned over the past nearly three decades. Whoa.

1. Getting old is a privilege denied to many. I’ve lost enough people in my life and wished I had more time with them. Instead of wishing away my birthdays or whining about getting “old” I truly celebrate it. All. Month. Long.
   
   
2. Loyal friends are hard to come by – hang onto them. In our professional and personal lives, we’re constantly meeting people. It’s not hard to find folks who share similar interests, or who will grab a drink after work or go for a walk on the weekends with you. Loyal friends are harder to come by – they’re the friends who defend you behind your back instead of stabbing it and will check in on you instead of simply saying ‘let me know if you need anything’ because they know you need help but won’t ask for it. Cherish these friends – they’re few and far between.
   


3. Time is a great healer for a lot of things… except my paralyzing fear of spiders. That only seems to have gotten worse.
   


4. Family is forever, but they won’t be around forever. Sometimes we get so caught up in our lives we let weekly phone calls slip and emails go unanswered. Since losing my Dad, I’ve made a valiant effort to try and stay in better touch with my family. No one on their death bed said they wished they stayed in less frequent contact with those who love them.
   


5. Changing how other people feel or think is about as plausible as me giving up wine – it’ll never happen. Learning I have no control over what other people think of me or how they feel towards me has been a hard but important lesson. I can’t make someone like me just like someone can’t make me feel a certain way towards them. It’s shitty, but it’s true.


6. Having a passion is as important as oxygen – we need it to feel alive. Getting back the ice after a 10-year hiatus was one of the best choices I ever made for myself. I didn’t realize how much I loved it – or missed it – until I laced up my skates and just did it. I may not be the best skater in the world, but I love being on the ice and have a hell of a lot of fun making an idiot of myself doing it. It gives me purpose outside of work and adds another layer to the complex, hormonal monster that is Alyshia.
7. Giving back is essential. If you’re reading this, you have access to either a computer or mobile device – you’re miles ahead of more than half the people we share the world with. We sometimes get caught up in our own miniscule problems like shitty Wi-Fi connections or not having enough money to go out with friends with the fourth time in a week that we forget there are people who are fighting for their life every day. Some of my most satisfying and memorable experiences have come from giving back – it’s an amazing feeling to know that in some small way, you can help make life a little easier for another person be it through donating time, money or other resources.


8. Health, like time, can’t be bought. All the money in the world means absolutely SFA when you don’t have your health. You can only drink to excess, smoke, eat chocolate for dinner and not exercise for so long before it starts to catch up with you.


9. Fear is great motivation. I made a lot of choices over the past couple of years that scared the shit out of me. I made them because I knew they were the right choice without knowing where my next step would be. For a compulsive planner like me, it was terrifying but so far, it hasn’t killed me. And I’ve learned a few things along the way. So, embrace the fear and go for it. You’ll get there, I promise.


10. No one is going to do your dirty work for you. I wouldn’t have moved to Vancouver if I hadn’t applied for the job I now work at. I wouldn’t have joined a skating team if I didn’t email the coach. I wouldn’t have landed that media story if I hadn’t had the balls to call the bulldog reporter and pitch it in the first place. Point is, if you want something, roll up your sleeves, take off your heels and make it happen for yourself.


11. Saying ‘no’ without offering any explanation is incredibly liberating. I’m kind of a ‘yes’ gal. I say yes to coworkers, to friends, to family and commit to things I know I probably shouldn’t take on but do anyway. It’s caused me stress, tears and heartache. I was always worried if I said no once, it meant no forever. Now, I’ve realized it’s OK to say no and not feel bad or feel obligated offer an explanation.  Sometimes, the answer is just no – end of story. And trust me, people will ask you again – especially if you work in public service.


12. Never underestimate the healing powers of a good cry and a tub of Luna and Larry’s chocolate peanut butter ice cream.


13. My body doesn’t bounce back after a night out on the town quite as quickly as it did when I was a teenager. A round of shots when I was 19 meant the party was just getting started.  At 29, it’s a punishment – it’s a sure fire way to guarantee I’ll be hugging the porcelain god later and dragging my ass around the entire weekend trying to recover. And partying on weeknights? I’d rather get a Brazilian than deal with a hangover at work.


14. There's no shame in having a night in, even if it's a weekend. Spending a night in on the couch binge watching Orange Is The New Black in my Winnie The Pooh onsie doesn’t mean I’m necessarily missing out on anything spectacular if my girlfriends are on the town… except maybe a wicked, weekend long hangover (see above).


15. Crosswords are nearly impossible to complete without cheating a little bit. Sometimes, you just have to turn to your trusted friend Google for the answer. Yes, I’m a communications professional but I’m a terrible thesaurus. I mean, how many ways are there to say fight, seriously?


16. Confidence goes a long way to helping you get what you want, be it landing a job, getting asked on a second date or just being approached by someone who needs help. If you’re not confident on the inside, fake it til’ you make it.


17. Learning to cook more than three meals is key to surviving living on your own and not becoming the size of a house… Especially if one of those meals is KD. Plus, it impresses dinner guests when you can whip up a signature dish that doesn't come from a box and has more than two ingredients.


18. Cheap wine is not always bad wine and expensive wine is not always good wine. Sometimes it takes trial and error to differentiate between the two. Accidently picked up a bottle of sub-par vino? Pair it with some cheese and girlfriends – they’ll help it make it bearable.


19. On that note, a good, trustworthy, reliable girlfriend is worth her weight in gold. I’m fortunate to have a great group of gals I can call on when I want to go out, need to vent, or just be brought back down to reality. I wouldn’t be where I am without the ladies in my life and I’m eternally grateful for their friendship…. And their wardrobes, which I occasionally borrow.


20. Before you can truly enjoy the company of others, you have to appreciate your own (Thanks Auntie Sandra.) If you can’t stand being around you, how can you expect other people to? I was 25 before I took myself out to the movies solo and 27 before I went to a restaurant to eat by myself without a book or phone to distract me. I wish I’d done it sooner. Escaping daily distracting to spend a bit of time your own and inside your own head is a gift too many people deny themselves. Without distraction, you can think, you can process, you can reflect, you can just be you without having to worry about everything else around you.


21. Trying to keep up with The Jones’ is like trying to roll a boulder up a mountain. It’s hard, it’s exhausting and if you keep at it long enough, it’ll eventually destroy you – and your bank account. Family and true friends don’t give a shit if you’re wearing Prada or second hand, as long as you’re happy and being true to yourself.


22. You only have one pair of feet – take care of them and they’ll continue to carry you where you need to go. Crappy shoes make for angry feet, hideous bunions and painful blisters. I learned this lesson the hard (and sore) way. 


23. Just because something has always been a certain way, doesn’t mean it has to stay that way. Variety is the spice of life, or so they say. Sometimes changing things up leads to better things. And if it doesn’t, at least you’ll got a good story out of it.


24. A relationship has to go both ways. When one person gives more effort, passion or understanding most of the time, they’ll eventually start to feel taken advantage of. You may not agree with or like everything your partner does, but at the end of the day, they’re still human and they’re choosing to be with you as much as you are with them. Reciprocate efforts, be respectful, show affection and be empathetic – or you’ll risk losing them.


25. Worrying about things or situations that may or may not happen is a bigger waste of time than watching Glitter. Anxiety is something I’ve battled my entire life and have only just gotten control over the past few years. I’ve worried about what other people may or may not think, I’ve worried what they’ll do, I’ve “what if’d” every god damn situation in my life, right down to what would happen if I sent a particular work email, which resulted in me thinking I’d lose my job, be sued by someone who didn’t even know I existed and end up on the streets. Seriously. All of the energy I’ve wasted worrying about shit that never happened or was something I had no control over could power the city of Beijing for a year. If you can’t control the outcome, let it go. Things will happen as they’re supposed to, both good and bad.


26. Sudoku is impossible to master.


27. Your outlook is a choice. There are some things beyond our control - whether we're 6'1 or 5'2 or whether we inherited Aunt Jean's crooked nose. But how we look at things is something we are definitely in power of. Being positive and focusing on moving forward and improving instead of dwelling on nonsense issues speaks volumes about who you are as a person. Positive people attract positive relationships, situations and experience.


28. Forgive yourself as easily as you forgive others. You wouldn’t hold a grudge for the rest of your life against someone for making an innocent mistake, so grant yourself the same courtesy. Mistakes are part of being human. And, sometimes, they’re kinda fun to make on purpose.


29. Coming up with 29 things that I’ve learned was really freaking hard. 

What’s the most important or meaningful lesson you’ve learned?

The end of another (synchro) era

You ever wish for a day to come and when it finally does, you wish you hadn’t wanted it to arrive so quickly? Yesterday was that day for me.

February 21 – the West Coast Challenge Cup – marked the end of another great synchro season. Now that it’s come and gone, I’m really sad it’s over.

The past five months, I’ve had the opportunity to skate with a new team in a new category with a new coach – to say it’s been an interesting experience would be an understatement - but not in a bad way.

We managed to collect some new hardware – two golds and a silver – and a respectable fourth place finish in Ontario against some of the best teams in the country. Although, a medal would have been the icing on the cake….

We pulled together this season to skate a fun, upbeat, Saturday night 90s throwback routine. And we had a hell of a lot of fun doing it.  

Not uncommon with any team, there were moments where the practices felt long and our patience ran thin. Muttered comments were occasionally made and dynamics were tested. We’re women, we have hormones and a lot on our respective plates outside the rink - we can’t help it.

A few gals experienced life changes, some planned, some not; others had hectic work schedules; some fell ill; others just had an opinion, myself included.

Yet, despite all of this, it’s moments like yesterday that matter. Moments where the differences and BS are put aside and we just skate. We skate for ourselves, we skate for each other, we skate for the sport – because we truly friggin’ love it.

Yesterday, we laid it all out and the results were reflective. We achieved our first 50-plus point score of the season and had more energy than any of our previous skates. We stepped off the ice feeling confident, powerful and united – like we had all achieved something great together because, well, we did. We topped the podium the same day we organized and ran the competition.

We all deserve to take great pride in our achievements. It’s something we may not have been able to pull off individually, but as a team, as Ice Evolution, we’ve proven ourselves to be unstoppable.

At the end of the day, we’re different gals from different walks of life and although we may not always agree on everything, we do share the same love for one thing: synchro.

It unites us in our passion, it’s the reason we get up at 4 a.m. with a smile on our face and head to the rink (coffee in hand, of course) and it’s the reason we return to the ice year after year, despite saying just months before that it may be time to take a “break”.

Having only been back on the ice for two seasons after a nearly 10-year hiatus, I can say that the past two years have really ignited a passion for this sport I thought I’d long lost.

I’m grateful to the two coaches who took a chance on me, allowed me to join their rosters here in BC and came up with fun and challenging routines for us to skate to. 

I’m grateful to the two managers who busted their asses, took time away from their families and made sure the team showed up where they needed to and on time, with a back up bag of extra essentials just in case. 

I’m grateful to the other gals on the ice who made me feel welcome and who have befriended me despite my quirks, sarcasm and propensity to swear. I’ve made some friendships on the ice that have further been strengthened off the ice and I’m truly appreciative to have met these awesome gals.

Although I don’t plan to skate next year (no, seriously), I know this won’t be my last season. It’s not a matter of if I’ll skate again, just when.

In the meantime, I’ll keep my three new shiny bits of hardware polished, my memories close and my skates sharpened and ready to go.... just in case.

Synchronized skating: Passion or obsession?

It’s great to have a passion for something, be it volunteering, binge watching Orange is the new Black on Netflix, cooking or knitting. For me, it’s synchronized skating. (What?)

For those of you who don’t know, synchronized skating is a team of gals (and sometimes guys) who perform a routine together. Teams can be as small as eight and as large as 20.

Over the course of 13 or so seasons as a synchronized skater, I’ve had the privilege of skating with many different gals from all different walks of life.And while we are all very different, we share a love of skating.

For us, it’s not just a fun thing to do – it’s a passion, it’s a way to embrace our inner competitive beast without feeling like a complete Neanderthal. A way to bring our inner goddess through carnival make up. A way to deliver a performance worthy of an Oscar without making the millions that usually comes with being an actress. Some might call it obsessed but for us, it’s merely dedication.

So, just how far does this obsession go? If you’ve dated a synchronized skater, have one in your family or you are one, you might recognize some of these behaviours.   

We love talking about synchro. Nonstop.

Whether it’s a colleague asking about a weekend competition or a new friend asking what the hell the sport is all about, we love to talk about it. I, for one, love when people don’t know what it is and I get the opportunity to explain it to them. I’ve mastered the art of telling them it’s like synchronized swimming, but on the ice and without the high cut bathing suits, nose plugs and gelatin.

We also love watching synchro, over and over again.

Whether we’re at a competition or sitting at home in our pjs drinking wine searching YouTube, we love watching synchro videos. Programs from previous years are constantly brought up at practice, we post videos to our Facebook of other teams and share videos of our competitors amongst team members on the regular. To the untrained, un-synchro-obsessed eye, the programs may all look the same but to us, they couldn’t be more different.

We love playing detective and researching steps, moves, lifts, arm holds and transitions. For the parts we really love, don’t be surprised if we pause, restart or screen shot the video just so we can make sure we fully understand how something was executed. It’s a beautiful competitive sport, we can’t help ourselves.

We’re really, really committed to practicing our moves.

 When we hear our program music at a grocery store, friend’s party or a club, we’re not afraid to bust out our moves – arms, heads, chassés  and spirals included. Because, the program looks just as good off the ice as on, right?

A bit of advice: if your friend is a synchronized skater and begins doing program moves at a party, be sure to give her a few feet of space either way or you may end up with her foot in your face while she stumbles across the floor practicing her 135.

When it comes to our old program, we’re like elephants – we never forget.

You think we’ve got good memories for practicing our current routines? You should see us bust out the moves from our juvenile years when our skirts were shorter than Rebecca Black’s career, our scrunchies were the accessory of the decade and  we were thrilled to leave grade three gym class early on a Friday to head to a competition.

I doubt I’d find a synchronized skater on the planet who hasn’t skated to either a disco routine, Sweet Caroline or Pirates of the Caribbean who can’t recite, at the very least, circle steps or an intersection move.

We secretly love competition hair and make-up.

Back in the day as young synchro stars, it took hours to wash the craft sparkles from our hair. We’d complain and whine about finding them for days after yet happily put them in again the following weekend for the next competition.

As adults, layering on sparkly make up, adding fake eyelashes, cheap earrings and offensively bright lipstick is all par for the course. While we may half-kid about the number of showers or bottles of shampoo it’ll take to scrub ourselves clean of the competition evidence, we secretly love it.

And don’t forget the helmet hair. If we all knew then what we knew now, I’m sure many of us would have been more diligent in buying stock in Dippity Do gel.

We’re sticklers for details... when it comes to skating.

Should our arms be on a 45 degree angle or straight up? Is it open palm or closed fist? Should our spirals aim to be 45 degrees higher than our bodies or 48? Does the arm change happen on five, six, or between the two counts?

We constantly ask questions and clarify arm placements, holds, under cuts and counts of music. We can tell you exactly what direction our heads should be facing at each beat in the program, whether  stretch or tuck on our mohawks and the exact moment in the program our expression changes from over-the-top happiness to dark and mysterious. 

But ask me where I saved that all important file at work or who starred in the recent James Bond movie? Pfft. I haven’t  a friggin' clue.

We bitch about skating, but at the end of the day, we really, really do love it.

Sometimes, we like to complain. Be it a bad practice, a snarky comment from a tired team mate, a fall during competition or unfair judging, we sometimes let our emotions get the better of us and end up in a full-fledged rant to whoever is willing to listen.

While we can sometimes complain about the sport, deep down many of us feel more at home on the ice than anywhere else. 

It’s a place to exercise, connect with people who truly understand why you’re crazy enough to get up at 4:50 a.m. for a Saturday morning practice and a way of feeling as though you’ve accomplished something. For me, there’s no greater feeling than stepping off of the ice after a great skate knowing we laid out everything we had. Well, except winning a gold medal.

Oh, for those of you who are still trying to figure out what the hell this synchronized skating is all about, here’s one of the best teams in Canada at a recent competition. Happy watching!