practice makes perfect (m)

For the past six weeks, Harrison has been setting his alarm to go off at 5:30 a.m.  He drags himself to the basement and works out for 30-45 minutes on the treadmill and the elliptical machines, wearing a mask on his face to simulate the high altitude conditions of the Alps.

He then goes to school from 7:30 until 3 p.m. and then skates 3 hours, comes home, eats dinner and does homework for 3-4 hours.

My job, as I see it, is to keep him healthy and feeling good about himself.

We get to Italy and he is coughing up a storm.  A phlegmy, productive cough.  His eyes are glassy and his forehead feels warmer than usual.  I am sick to my stomach thinking he's getting sick.

Not now, please, I think to myself.  He just got over a nasty foot injury which plagued him at Nationals.

His coach looks at me as if to say, "Is he sick?"  I just shrug my shoulders.  We decide not to talk about it.

I load him up with bottles of water and Vitamin C drops and Emergen-C.  Sam's friend, J, takes this with Airborne.  H decides to follow J's regimen. 

He does the first practice and it goes well.  I think he looks good versus the international competitors.

Friday, he does his short program.  It's "clean," meaning no mistakes.  The only thing is that he has been practicing triple-triple combinations and did a triple-double in competition.  He leaves something on the table, an opening for a competitor. 

There are young men from 8 different countries.  Fourteen competitors in all.  After a long day, Harrison is in first place.

The next day, he looks sicker to me.  He says he's "fine" but when I kiss his forehead, he's hot.  I give him some Advil.

The next day, there's a practice, this time in a town 45 minutes away.  The bus ride there is totally nauseating.  Both Harrison and his US teammates are sick as dogs by the time they get to the rink.  One of them throws up.  They get to the rink and settle themselves before getting on the ice which leaves them very little time to practice.  At least they are all in the same boat.

Sunday.  Final competition.  The long program.  Harrison looks a little better to me and is not hot to touch.  I take this as a good sign.

He gets on the ice and his first jump is the triple-triple combination.  Will he do it?  If he lands it, he'll likely lock on first place, if he doesn't his teammate will seize it.  Harrison jumps up and lands the first triple.  He jumps up immediately after and lands the second triple!  I can't believe it.  It's the first time he's done this in competition.

He goes into the next corner and lands a triple lutz/double toe loop combination.  He lands both, but his body bangs against the boards.  Amazingly, he is still standing!

He goes into the next jump, a triple lutz and hits the boards again. 

He finishes the program in style...intricate footwork, combination sit spins, more jumps.

When it's all over, we wait for the last two skaters to learn the scores.  Harrison wins by 12 points.  A very comfortable margin.  The Italian judges come up to our coach afterwards and ask if our rink in Boston is much bigger than the rink here (how else to explain why he hit the boards?).  "No...it's 18 feet smaller," says our coach.  Ouch.

I go to look for Harrison.  He's beaming.  "Mom," he says with disbelief in his voice, "I won."  I cry and give him a huge hug.  I want to call my mother.

I hope she knows.