I was a professional figure skater who got dropped on my head. Sunday’s Winter Olympics fall was hard to watch

When I woke up, I was beside the rink, on my back. Someone’s mom was stroking my head softly and saying, ‘She’s so beautiful,’ mournfully as if it were no longer true

(Jocelyn Jane Cox)

On Sunday night, the fantastic Russian Olympic Committee Pair skating team, Anastasia Mishina and Alexander Gallyamov, took a frightening fall during an overhead lift. While competing in the final portion of the Team Event, he lost his balance carrying her upside-down and they both crashed to the ice. Like the commentators, and probably everyone watching, I gasped.

I was relieved to see that they were both okay, but even after they got up and finished their program, my heart was still racing. I was a competitive figure skater for 11 years. When I was 19 years old, I got dropped on my head by my partner at the time. Many people tell me that watching the pair skating and ice dancing on TV during the Olympics makes them nervous. They’re afraid the athletes, especially the women, might get hurt while performing all those acrobatic tricks on ice. Having gone through it, I am nervous for these women, too.

For most of my career, I skated with my big brother, but as we got older, it became clear we’d do better with different partners. This worked out well for my brother. He eventually became ranked 6^th in the United States in pair skating with a woman who was shorter, more compact and, yes, perhaps more talented than I was.

I continued with ice dance, the more creative and theoretically safer event. The partner I found was tall and strapping. He had gigantic hands and a dark five o’clock shadow by 10 am. I was pretty sure my middling skating career was about to take off with him. He was fast, he was exciting, and my own skills were improving by the minute. Coaches were putting extra effort into us and judges came by the rink where we trained to catch a sneak peek. I was getting attention I’d never gotten before.

One afternoon, my new partner decided to go into his garage and swap out his blades with an old pair of his buddy’s blades. As in many sports, the equipment is critical: if the skate is a tiny bit off, it can put the skater’s balance way off. Usually, blades are meticulously sharpened on a special machine, and aligned on the boot by a professional, down to the last millimeter. He thought these other blades would be better. Even if they were, any new equipment takes at least a day or so to acclimate to.

The next morning, we were practicing what is called a “freedance” for a performance the following week, which would be our first competition together. I was feeling great: all those years of training were starting to pay off. I had no idea about the blade swap. If I had, I might have opted out of doing that lift where I was upside down, he was holding me by my ankles, and he was spinning full speed across the ice with my head right by his feet. It was an impressive lift precisely because it looked like something bad could happen. It looked like if he lost his balance and fell (he did), my head might drill right down into the ice (it did).

When I woke up, I was beside the rink, on my back. Someone’s mom, who happened to be a nurse, was stroking my head softly and saying, “She’s so beautiful,” mournfully as if it were no longer true. I discovered that I was strapped into a stretcher and my neck was in one of those big white collars. I swiveled my eyeballs to see that my friends were crying in a semi-circle around me.

My partner was also crying and continued to cry apologetically in the ambulance ride to the hospital. Once we got to the ER, my brother and my mom appeared on either side of me, as I was rolled immediately into the back. Head injuries get prioritized. “We’re here,” they assured me. “We’re here.”

It turned out I had a broken collarbone (probably from the impact with the ice), a concussion (also probably from the ice), and a two-inch gash across my forehead (either from the ice or from his buddy’s blade). I had been unconscious for about 10 minutes and to this day don’t remember the fall, the moments right before, or the moments after.

In fairness, my brother had dropped me a lot too. By that point, I’d already experienced the particular pain of a broken tailbone, and so many sprains, strains, and horrifying bruises it was impossible to keep count. But this was the first time I’d ever been knocked out. While laying on the ER gurney, the shock began to wear off. Tears streamed from the sides of my eyes and I decided I wasn’t going to risk life and limb for a sport anymore. Skating with this new guy really was my next big break. But it would be my last.

Three weeks after the fall, I started college, something I’d deferred for a year in order to train. I was planning to pretend I was a normal human and not someone who had spent more time on ice than land. That would prove to be challenging. I hadn’t done many typical teenage things: hadn’t gone to sleep-away camp, and didn’t even know any card games. Plus, I had a red puffy scar on my forehead that looked like an earthworm. I had a weird shoulder brace, like backpack straps, meant to stabilize a bone that was still healing. I’d had a strange childhood and a recent head injury that I wasn’t ready to talk about yet.

Because I couldn’t carry anything, my brother moved all my stuff into the dorm for me. He took several trips from our station wagon to my dorm room while my mother and I spread out my new green comforter. When my roommate arrived, they left, so that I could start the rest of my life.

Later that year, I watched my brother skate on ESPN. He and his partner were fantastic: I felt simultaneously happy for him and sad for myself. Later that year, I’d get hired to teach beginner skating lessons at the campus rink. I’d tentatively lace up my skates for the first time since they’d been unlaced for me in an ambulance. I’d finally find the words to tell a few of my new friends the unique way I’d gotten my scar.

I do enjoy watching the figure skating events, but I wince when the women get catapulted through the air. I hold my breath when they are carried upside-down because I know what can happen. Ever since that head injury, I have become a more fearful person.

My brother always did his best to catch me and break my fall. Most partners do. During that moment I’ll never remember, my new partner probably did his best to save my fall, too. But as we saw with ROC team, ice is finicky, blades are thin, and combining them sometimes results in accidents, no matter how much training the skaters have done.

Jocelyn Jane Cox competed in the US Figure Skating Championships four times and has coached the sport for over 20 years. She is currently writing a memoir