The Milwaukee skating facility was impressive. It included an Olympic style four hundred meters long track speed skating oval as well as two rinks that hosted hockey, figure skating, and short track speed skating races. The event was a regional one, but it generated plenty of interest. Skaters came from many different states and brought their families and friends with them.

The long track events were scheduled first in the morning to be followed by short track events in the afternoon. I walked with James and Jordi around the running track built outside the long track skating oval. I asked, “Which distances are the two of you racing?”

James said, “I’m going to try the 1500 meters, and Jordi likes the short 500-meter race.”

I glanced down at Jordi’s legs. He wasn’t built to be a sprinter like James, but my instinct told me Jordi skated in races mostly just for fun. I was trying to figure out James’ motivation. I remembered his story about conquering the ice, but he did that well on the hockey rink. He insisted his interest in speed skating had nothing to do with me.

James bounced on the balls of his feet. He said, “I can’t wait to get out there. I love how fast we can go. You never get that sensation in a hockey game. It’s all stop and start and turning this way and that. The most speed you can build is skating about half the length of the rink.”

I asked, “That’s what’s exciting for you?”

He said, “Yeah, I mean I sorted out my issue with the ice in hockey games. Now I just want to go fast.” James crouched down into a racing pose. “Like you said, Lucas. I’m built for speed. I should take advantage of my genes.”

Jordi laughed. He added, “James is an amazing athlete. I wish I had just half of his inborn talent.”

Jordi was right about James’ natural skills. He made everything athletic look easy. I heard the same comments about me back when I was racing on the ice. Then my head became my enemy. I glanced at the track and watched a few random skaters make leisurely circuits. Something like longing welled up inside of me. It was the first time for that sensation since I left the ice in humiliation.

* * *

It felt unusual to join the crowd watching the races instead of joining the ranks of the racers myself. I sat on the bleachers next to a couple that were approximately the same age as my parents. The woman sat next to me and turned her head to face me twice before finally asking, “Are you a skater? You look like you should be down there on the ice.”

I said, “I was a racer. I’ve retired.”

She gave me a once-over and said, “You’re too young to retire. There are men over age 30 out there skating. Did you hurt yourself?”

I nodded and said, “Something like that.”

She accepted my answer and didn’t pry any further. She was too interested in her son’s efforts to pursue any more questions about my career. She pointed toward the track and said, “That’s our son Ricky. He’s only sixteen, but he’s going to be on the Olympic team someday.”

I smiled and said, “I wish him all the best.”

Looking at Ricky, I mentally assessed his build until I saw Jordi appear out of the corner of my eye. James followed in his footsteps. It was the first time I saw James in a speed skating skin suit. It clung tight to his body showing off his sturdy legs. After a summer of training, his thighs were thicker and more muscular than I’d seen before. My heart pounded faster in my chest.

“Do you know anyone out there?” asked the woman.

I gestured in the direction of Jordi and James and said, “Those two are good friends of mine.”

She said, “The slightly shorter one looks like he’s ready to be on the Olympic team.”

I said, “His name is James, and he’s a hockey player who recently started speed skating. He’s still learning the sport.”

“One of Ricky’s coaches did the same thing. He would have had a longer competitive career if he didn’t get injured. Fortunately, he’s a fantastic coach for Ricky.”

All of the long track athletes skated in pairs. They raced against the clock instead of each other. Jordi skated first, and his technique was solid, but he didn’t have the strength to push up into the winning range of times. I was pleased to see him appear happy with his results anyway. After the last pair skated the 500 meters, he high-fived James and they both looked up in my direction and caught my eye.

I flashed a thumbs up, and James joined the other 1500 meter skaters to get ready for his start. His start was midway through the set of sixteen skaters. I leaned forward and watched him glide effortlessly across the ice. I saw minor technical flaws in the swing of his arms and the movement of his legs, but he overcame those issues to blow the other skater away and post the fastest time thus far in the competition.

James hugged Jordi when he saw his time, and he thrust both hands in the air while he looked up at me. James’ time held up until the final four skaters, and they all posted results that were better. Still, finishing fifth in his first race on an Olympic quality track was a significant accomplishment.

When James and Jordi joined me at the end of the morning’s long track races, James was bubbling over with excitement. I said, “We could go to the beach this afternoon since we missed our opportunity yesterday.”

James laughed and said, “We need to stick around here. I know it might sound like a crazy idea, but Jordi convinced me to try a short track race this afternoon. He said it’s a little more like hockey with the jostling for position, and he thought I might enjoy challenging five other racers at the same time.”

I shook my head. I understood the excitement, but the short track also carried risks. It was inherently more dangerous than long track. The jostling could result in injuries, and the proper technique was entirely different from long track racing. I said, “Why don’t you skip it for now. You’re great at the speed of the long track, James. You don’t need to wrestle with the animals on the short track.”

He smiled and said, “You just want me to be a Dutch man.”

It was true that the Dutch specialty was long track speed skating. The United States, Canada, and Korea were the short track powerhouses. James was lured by the rough and tumble nature of his countrymen. I said, “You know that’s not true, but I’ll watch you try out short track. Just be careful out there and steer clear if someone takes a tumble.”

James said, “Don’t worry. It happens all the time in hockey. I don’t think any skaters will throw me up against the boards on purpose. You can get away with that in hockey.”

After an uninspired lunch of hot dogs and greasy American french fries, Jordi joined me in the stands to watch James elbow his way into short track. I asked, “What distance is he planning for short track?”

Jordi said, “He’s doing the 1000 meters. I don’t know what his chances are, but James is one of the toughest guys I know. I wouldn’t want to feel him elbow me in a race.”

I said, “He doesn’t just need to be tough. He needs to watch and be smart. It doesn’t take a brute strength slam to make you lose your balance.”

James raced in the third of five heats for the 1000 meters. He lined up second from the outside, and something inside me turned my stomach into a knot when the race started.

James stayed with the pack. Jordi was on his feet shouting encouragement. He grabbed my arm and said, “He’s doing well. He’s right up there with them!”

On the second to last lap, James was skating with confidence, and he started the lap in second place. He had enough distance left to pull into the lead if he still had the energy left inside. I whispered to Jordi, “He might do it.”

Then disaster struck. It all happened so fast that I didn’t see at first what took place. James was down on the ice and sliding toward the outside of the rink. He took another skater down with him. The second skater got back up and completed the last lap. Officials began to rush the ice when it became obvious that James couldn’t stand under his own power. Then I saw the color red spread across the ice.

“Oh, no!” yelped Jordi. I leaped off the side of the bleachers. James needed our help.