Home again.

So the triumphant comeback didn't exactly pan out. Every day I planned to call my coach. Every day I decided to call her the next day. This continued for two months. In late May, my parents decided that I needed to do something meaningful during the summer, instead of lazing around the house like a goddamn underachiever. So I researched teen summer programs. For some reason, I wanted to go to Africa. I chose Morocco. It was the worst six weeks of my life. But also the best. I learned so much more than I've learned my entire life. I hated every minute of it and miss it every day. But this isn't the blog for that.

Since I returned, I went skating with a friend once. I went skating on my own once. Actually, it was an empty freestyle session. Empty except for me and a recent medalist at Nationals. Recent, as in last year. I made a fool out of myself, but I was exhilarated after.

This past week I've been planning to call my coach again. I'll do it on Monday. I'll do it on Tuesday. Do it on Wednesday. On Thursday, I couldn't stop thinking about calling her. My mom got my ass in gear and I finally picked up the fucking phone.

I was awkward. My coach was so nice.

I'm skating on Monday.

Wish me luck, empty Internet.