Chaos Was The Curriculum
How a Broken Path Built an Unbreakable Founder
1 Chapter per day for 44 days.
Read Opening Statement
I didn’t write this to be liked. I wrote it because I’m finally strong enough to tell the truth.
For forty years I have been skating, performing, breaking, rebuilding, leaving, returning, failing publicly, rising privately, and learning everything the hard way. I have hurt people. I have let people down. I have made choices that cost me relationships, contracts, and trust. That is on me.
For years I stayed silent and let people fill the gaps. Rumours grew. Perception drifted. I allowed it. This book is not here to defend me. It is here so I no longer hide from the parts of my life I should have owned sooner.
But before you read the chapters, there is something you need to understand.
If my career had gone the way it was supposed to.
If I had fit the system perfectly.
If every contract had renewed and every partnership had lasted.
If I had been the skater the industry wanted.
I would never have built what comes next.
The chaos was not the obstacle.
It was the curriculum.
Every door that closed was a wall stopping me from settling. Every rejection pushed me toward something the system did not have a category for yet. Every collapse forced me to learn skills I never would have needed if I had stayed on the traditional path.
If my life had been stable, I would still be performing someone else’s choreography. If I had been easy to manage, I would still be trapped inside the industry. If the path had been smooth, I would never have discovered what inline figure skating could become. And there would be no ONE Blades.
Everything that went wrong built everything I needed.
I have created, pushed, trained, adapted, learned, rebuilt, and refused to stay down. Every setback became a chapter. Every chapter taught me something the “successful” skaters never needed to know.
If you are going to judge me, judge the truth, not the fragments.
To everyone who was part of my life, good or bad, thank you. You shaped me. You challenged me. You forced me to grow.
To the skaters reading this, if your career feels like chaos, if you do not fit where people think you should fit, if every door keeps closing, pay attention. Your chaos might be preparing you for something the traditional path will never show you.
To my daughter, you are the reason I survived the darkest chapter and the reason I rebuild properly now.
There are no excuses in this book. No ego. No blame on anyone but myself.
But there is also no apology for becoming the person the chaos created.
This is the truth behind the journey that made me.
And the only reason I could build what comes next.
View Full Table of Contents
PHASE 1 — ORIGINS
- The Kid in Dance Who Never Fit the Script
- Inline at Ten: The First Real Freedom
- Ice at Eleven: The Unexpected Pivot
- Aggressive Inline: The First Obsession
- Early Shows and the Christmas Contracts
PHASE 2 — EARLY SHOW CAREER
- Los Gnomos: Spain and the First Tour Life
- Europa Park: Three Years, Five Shows a Day
- Learning the Axel on a Camcorder
- Disney On Ice: The First Big Stage
- Hot Ice: Four Seasons and a Sudden Cancellation
PHASE 3 — LINA ERA
- Meeting Lina and the Morning–Night Grind
- Rejected Once, Accepted Twice
- Royal Caribbean: Two Contracts, One Breakthrough Era
- Dancing On Ice: Full Offer to Standby
- Phantasialand: Discipline Reset and Nine-Month Grind
PHASE 4 — JENNA
- Robin Cousins Show: Accidents, Ego, and the Exit
PHASE 5 — NATALIA ERA
- Meeting Natalia and Starting a Real Partnership
- Italy, Spain and Mexico: Managing Shows and Leveling Up
- Disney On Ice: Ariel, Eric, and a New Direction
- Royal Caribbean Return and the Bicep Tear
- Blackpool Coaching and Rebuilding Strength
- Natalia Joins Me in Blackpool
- Move to Poland and Building a New Life
- Inline Figure Skating Begins
- Poland’s Got Talent #1 and the Pregnancy Pull-Out
- Holiday On Ice Chorus and Leaving Early for Nels Birth
- Natalia Rebuilds Post-Pregnancy
- Poland’s Got Talent #2, Semifinal, CrossFit Injury, and Final Split
- Leaving Poland and Returning to the UK
PHASE 6 — ROSIE - BGT - CIRQUE ERA
- Meeting Rosie and the First UK Creation Era
- Tenerife Creation Trip and Outdoor Training Breakthrough
- Britain’s Got Talent: Rehearsal Accident, Audition, Live Semifinals
- Cirque du Soleil: Twas The Night
PHASE 7 — ASHE - DIANA - VEGAS - CIRQUELIFE - RGT ERA
- Vegas Training with Ashe and the Pandemic Shutdown
- Vegas Creation Era with Diana
- Tenerife Skate-less Act with Daylis (CirqueLife Round 2)
- Romania’s Got Talent + Poland Nightclub Act with Natalia (CirqueLife Final)
PHASE 8 — COACHING - PIXIE - TESTING ERA
- Rollerworld Coaching and the Inline Figure Skating Open 2021
- Meeting Pixie, Creative Partnership, and the Real End of My Show Career
PHASE 9 — NFT - ONE BLADES ERA
- NFT Era: SpacePugs, Alliance, and the Yeti Foundation
- Dan: The Partnership, The Collapse, and Losing 18 Months
- The Collapse of the Partnership with Dan
- ONE Blades Rebuild: China, Inline-First, and the Skating CEO Era Begins
- What I Want Every Skater To Know
Chapter 1: Dance at Three and the Ball I Refused to Throw
I didn’t choose dance. It was chosen for me at age three, the way a lot of paths start when you
grow up in a performing family. Tap, ballet, modern, jazz. The full set. And here’s the truth that
shaped everything that followed. I didn’t enjoy any of it.
grow up in a performing family. Tap, ballet, modern, jazz. The full set. And here’s the truth that
shaped everything that followed. I didn’t enjoy any of it.
But enjoyment wasn’t part of the equation. Expectation was. You continue because this is what
our family does. You train. You perform. You show up for the Christmas children’s shows every
year. You learn to smile on stage before you understand why you’re even there.
our family does. You train. You perform. You show up for the Christmas children’s shows every
year. You learn to smile on stage before you understand why you’re even there.
For most kids, dance is expression. For me, it was discipline without connection. Repetition
without identity. A routine I stayed inside for years because that’s what you do when the adults
around you see it as normal.
without identity. A routine I stayed inside for years because that’s what you do when the adults
around you see it as normal.
There was one moment that stands out. A BBC shoot. Simple scene. They told me to throw a
ball. I kept kicking it instead. Not to be difficult. Not to be clever. It was instinct. I moved how my body wanted to move. And I remember the adults trying to correct me, but something in me
understood it differently. That moment became the earliest evidence of a pattern that would
follow me for decades. I learn structures, but I don’t live inside them. I take the foundation and
instinctively push toward a different direction.
ball. I kept kicking it instead. Not to be difficult. Not to be clever. It was instinct. I moved how my body wanted to move. And I remember the adults trying to correct me, but something in me
understood it differently. That moment became the earliest evidence of a pattern that would
follow me for decades. I learn structures, but I don’t live inside them. I take the foundation and
instinctively push toward a different direction.
Looking back, that early period built skills I didn’t appreciate at the time. Balance. Movement
awareness. Stage familiarity. Discipline. The feeling of performing in front of people long before
skating ever entered my life. I didn’t love dance, but it created the physical and mental starting
point that skating would grow from later.
awareness. Stage familiarity. Discipline. The feeling of performing in front of people long before
skating ever entered my life. I didn’t love dance, but it created the physical and mental starting
point that skating would grow from later.
We like to imagine that our stories begin at the moment passion arrives. But mine started in the
years before I had any passion at all. The years of doing something I didn’t enjoy. The years of
being placed into a system and quietly learning every hidden skill it was giving me.
That’s the real beginning. Not the first skate session. Not the first performance. It started at
three years old, kicking a ball when I was told to throw it, trying to move in a way that actually
felt natural.
years before I had any passion at all. The years of doing something I didn’t enjoy. The years of
being placed into a system and quietly learning every hidden skill it was giving me.
That’s the real beginning. Not the first skate session. Not the first performance. It started at
three years old, kicking a ball when I was told to throw it, trying to move in a way that actually
felt natural.
Lessons from this chapter:
- The foundations you don’t choose still shape your direction.
- Discipline built early becomes a competitive edge later.
- Instinct shows up long before you understand it.
- Expectation can build skills, even if the path doesn’t fit you.
- Your real identity often reveals itself in the small moments.
Next chapter: The first time skates appear and the real freedom begins.
Chapter 2: Inline at Ten and The First Real Freedom
I was around ten years old when I got my first pair of Bauer inline skates. A few friends got skates
around the same time, so without knowing it, we created our own little training group. No
coaches. No guidance. No instruction. Just kids figuring things out through trial, repetition, and
around the same time, so without knowing it, we created our own little training group. No
coaches. No guidance. No instruction. Just kids figuring things out through trial, repetition, and
curiosity.
Inline felt natural immediately in a way dance never did. The moment I stood on those wheels,
something clicked. My body understood the movement without explanation. There was no
friction. No resistance. No sense of performing. It felt like permission to move the way I always
wanted to.
Inline felt natural immediately in a way dance never did. The moment I stood on those wheels,
something clicked. My body understood the movement without explanation. There was no
friction. No resistance. No sense of performing. It felt like permission to move the way I always
wanted to.
We skated everywhere. Streets, paths, parks, anywhere with a bit of smooth ground. We’d
spend entire days outside, repeating the same motions until they became muscle memory.
We didn’t call it training. We didn’t think about technique. We just did it because it felt good. That’s
the power of self-directed learning. You’re not trying to meet a standard. You’re just exploring.
I didn’t know it at the time, but this period built the foundation that would shape everything that
came later. Inline taught me balance. It taught me how to lean into edges. How to control speed.
How to adjust weight without thinking. The kind of things skaters struggle with for months on the
ice, I learned naturally on the pavement.
When I eventually stepped onto the ice for the first time, the transition was almost unfair. The
learning curve that feels brutal for beginners felt familiar to me. The base was already there.
The flow, the balance, the edge awareness, all built from those early days skating until it got dark.
learning curve that feels brutal for beginners felt familiar to me. The base was already there.
The flow, the balance, the edge awareness, all built from those early days skating until it got dark.
But the most important part wasn’t the skill. It was the feeling. Inline was the first time movement
felt like it came from me instead of being imposed on me. After years of dance that never
clicked, skating finally felt honest. It didn’t demand a personality I didn’t have. It didn’t require
me to pretend. It was freedom on wheels.
felt like it came from me instead of being imposed on me. After years of dance that never
clicked, skating finally felt honest. It didn’t demand a personality I didn’t have. It didn’t require
me to pretend. It was freedom on wheels.
Every founder has a moment where they realise what fits and what doesn’t. For me, this was
the moment. Inline wasn’t just an activity. It was the first signal that my path was going to be
built around movement that felt natural, instinctive, and self-created.
the moment. Inline wasn’t just an activity. It was the first signal that my path was going to be
built around movement that felt natural, instinctive, and self-created.
Lessons from this chapter:
- Natural alignment is the first sign you’ve found your lane.
- Instinct is often built long before you recognise it.
- Play can teach more than structured lessons.
- Early freedom becomes a lifelong advantage.
- Your real identity shows up when no one is directing you.
Next chapter: The first day on the ice and why it felt familiar instead of new.
Chapter 3: Ice at Eleven and The Unexpected Pivot
I first stepped onto the ice at around eleven years old. It was a normal Saturday public session.
No plan. No big moment. Just another weekend activity. But for me, it became the pivot point
that changed everything.
No plan. No big moment. Just another weekend activity. But for me, it became the pivot point
that changed everything.
Because I had already spent a year skating every day on inlines, the ice felt familiar instead of
frightening. Most people spend their entire first session grabbing the barrier. I could move
immediately. The balance, the lean, the edge feel. It all transferred as if I had been preparing
without knowing it. I didn’t understand why. It just made sense.
frightening. Most people spend their entire first session grabbing the barrier. I could move
immediately. The balance, the lean, the edge feel. It all transferred as if I had been preparing
without knowing it. I didn’t understand why. It just made sense.
A coach noticed. She skated over, asked a few questions, and invited me into the Saturday
morning Learn to Skate class. That invitation mattered more than I realised at the time. It was
the first moment someone inside the sport recognised potential in me before I ever saw it
myself.
morning Learn to Skate class. That invitation mattered more than I realised at the time. It was
the first moment someone inside the sport recognised potential in me before I ever saw it
myself.
My first pair of ice skates cost around ten pounds. Ruined blades. Weak boots. The kind most
people avoid. But it didn’t matter. I would skate to the rink on my inline skates, sit on the floor,
switch into the cheap ice skates, and go straight onto the ice. Inline outside. Ice inside. That
routine built a connection between the two disciplines long before I understood how rare that
would become in my career.
people avoid. But it didn’t matter. I would skate to the rink on my inline skates, sit on the floor,
switch into the cheap ice skates, and go straight onto the ice. Inline outside. Ice inside. That
routine built a connection between the two disciplines long before I understood how rare that
would become in my career.
The difference between dance and skating showed up immediately. I enjoyed skating from the
first session. Not because it was easy, but because it felt right. My body understood it. The
movement matched me instead of forcing me to fit it.
Then I heard about the rink’s Christmas kids show. It was the first show I ever wanted to be part
of. My family agreed to let me stop dancing so I could focus on skating. I joined the Christmas
show that same year. It was the first time performing felt like a choice instead of an expectation.
first session. Not because it was easy, but because it felt right. My body understood it. The
movement matched me instead of forcing me to fit it.
Then I heard about the rink’s Christmas kids show. It was the first show I ever wanted to be part
of. My family agreed to let me stop dancing so I could focus on skating. I joined the Christmas
show that same year. It was the first time performing felt like a choice instead of an expectation.
Looking back, this chapter marks the first real identity shift. Skating didn’t take me away from
dance. It revealed who I actually was. It showed me the difference between doing something
because you are placed in it and doing something because it fits.
dance. It revealed who I actually was. It showed me the difference between doing something
because you are placed in it and doing something because it fits.
Lessons from this chapter:
- The right environment unlocks what nothing else could.
- Prior experience often prepares you long before you realise.
- A small opportunity can redirect your entire path.
- You do not need perfect equipment to begin.
- Choosing your own path accelerates growth more than talent ever will.
Next chapter: The first real progress, the early breakthroughs, and the moment skating became
identity instead of activity.
Chapter 4: Aggressive Inline and The First Obsession
Around twelve or thirteen, I discovered aggressive inline skating. Not the casual kind, but the
real version. Skate parks, ramps, grinding rails, half-pipes, falling, trying again, pushing limits. It
was the kind of environment where progression happens fast because you either commit or you
don’t move forward at all.
real version. Skate parks, ramps, grinding rails, half-pipes, falling, trying again, pushing limits. It
was the kind of environment where progression happens fast because you either commit or you
don’t move forward at all.
I was naturally strong at it. Tricks made sense to me. The motion, the airtime, the creativity, all of
it clicked. And unlike dance, which always felt restrictive, and even unlike ice at that stage,aggressive inline felt like total freedom. It was uncontrolled movement with consequences. That
was part of the appeal. The danger didn’t scare me. It motivated me.
it clicked. And unlike dance, which always felt restrictive, and even unlike ice at that stage,aggressive inline felt like total freedom. It was uncontrolled movement with consequences. That
was part of the appeal. The danger didn’t scare me. It motivated me.
What made this period unique was that I was learning figure skating on ice at the same time.
Two completely different worlds. Ice gave structure, technique, and precision. Aggressive inline
gave creativity, adrenaline, and independence. And if I’m honest, aggressive inline resonated
more deeply with me at that age. It felt raw and expressive. And for a while, I was better at it
than I was at figure skating. I did it for hours every day, unlike Ice which was an hour a few times
per week.
Two completely different worlds. Ice gave structure, technique, and precision. Aggressive inline
gave creativity, adrenaline, and independence. And if I’m honest, aggressive inline resonated
more deeply with me at that age. It felt raw and expressive. And for a while, I was better at it
than I was at figure skating. I did it for hours every day, unlike Ice which was an hour a few times
per week.
But around fourteen or fifteen, the two paths collided. I watched The Hot Ice Show for the first
time, and knew instantly I wanted to be a professional show skater. I was at the stage where
tricks were becoming dangerous and it was holding my figure skating back, I had to make a
choice. Not emotionally, but strategically. Aggressive inline had no financial pathway at the time.
There were no stable jobs. No touring contracts. No long-term opportunities. It was a lifestyle,
not a career. Figure skating, on the other hand, had shows, and real career potential.
time, and knew instantly I wanted to be a professional show skater. I was at the stage where
tricks were becoming dangerous and it was holding my figure skating back, I had to make a
choice. Not emotionally, but strategically. Aggressive inline had no financial pathway at the time.
There were no stable jobs. No touring contracts. No long-term opportunities. It was a lifestyle,
not a career. Figure skating, on the other hand, had shows, and real career potential.
Choosing between what felt exciting and what had a future wasn’t easy. But it was the first major
decision I made with intention. I chose figure skating because it offered a path I could build a life
around. And that meant stopping aggressive inline completely. No half-measures. No balancing
both. My family told me they would support me, but It had to be one or the other.
decision I made with intention. I chose figure skating because it offered a path I could build a life
around. And that meant stopping aggressive inline completely. No half-measures. No balancing
both. My family told me they would support me, but It had to be one or the other.
This chapter marks one of the first real forks in my story. The moment passion had to become
discipline. The moment instinct had to meet strategy.
discipline. The moment instinct had to meet strategy.
Lessons from this chapter:
- Natural talent doesn’t always dictate the right path.
- Creativity and adrenaline are powerful, but they don’t always scale.
- Choosing a long-term future often means sacrificing short-term strength.
- You need to know when a hobby stays a hobby.
- Some decisions define the next decade of your life.
Next chapter: The shift into structured training, early breakthroughs, and the first signs of real
identity forming on the ice.
identity forming on the ice.
Chapter 5: Early Shows and the Christmas Contracts
Before competitions ever entered the picture, I was already performing. The Christmas kids’
shows were a yearly routine from childhood into my early skating years. Being on stage felt
normal because I’d been doing it for as long as I could remember. That early familiarity removed
the fear a lot of skaters struggle with later.
shows were a yearly routine from childhood into my early skating years. Being on stage felt
normal because I’d been doing it for as long as I could remember. That early familiarity removed
the fear a lot of skaters struggle with later.
As my skating improved, I entered local competitions. They were small events, community-level,
but they mattered. I won a few of them. Not because I was exceptional, but because I worked
hard and had enough natural ability to carry me through the early stages. Those wins gave me
momentum. They made the sport feel like something I could grow inside.
but they mattered. I won a few of them. Not because I was exceptional, but because I worked
hard and had enough natural ability to carry me through the early stages. Those wins gave me
momentum. They made the sport feel like something I could grow inside.
Then came the competition in the yearly Blackpool Opens. This one stuck with me for a different
reason. I attempted jumps that were far beyond what was required. Harder elements. Higher
difficulty. I was ego driven, trying to prove something instead of skating clean. And I came last.
That experience delivered a lesson I still use today. Difficulty is meaningless when the risk
outweighs the reliability. Consistency wins. That truth applies to sport, business, movement,
everything.
reason. I attempted jumps that were far beyond what was required. Harder elements. Higher
difficulty. I was ego driven, trying to prove something instead of skating clean. And I came last.
That experience delivered a lesson I still use today. Difficulty is meaningless when the risk
outweighs the reliability. Consistency wins. That truth applies to sport, business, movement,
everything.
My coaching at the time wasn’t ideal. My coaches were set in their ways, limited in technical
detail, and I didn’t realise how outdated their approach was until much later. My progress was
slower because of it. But what I lacked in guidance, I made up for in effort. I was willing to
outwork the limitations. If the instruction wasn’t strong, I would compensate by repeating things
over and over until they made sense.
detail, and I didn’t realise how outdated their approach was until much later. My progress was
slower because of it. But what I lacked in guidance, I made up for in effort. I was willing to
outwork the limitations. If the instruction wasn’t strong, I would compensate by repeating things
over and over until they made sense.
Those early years built a mindset I still rely on: self-driven improvement. I learned how to push
myself without waiting for someone to tell me how. I learned how to extract lessons from failure.
I learned how to progress in environments that weren’t optimised for excellence. That period
didn’t just build my skating, it built my operating system.
myself without waiting for someone to tell me how. I learned how to extract lessons from failure.
I learned how to progress in environments that weren’t optimised for excellence. That period
didn’t just build my skating, it built my operating system.
Lessons from this chapter:
- Stage confidence is built long before you recognise it.
- Early wins matter, but early failures matter more.
- Risk only works when your consistency can support the difficulty.
- Weak coaching can slow progress, but it doesn’t have to define it.
- Self-driven effort becomes your biggest advantage when guidance is limited.
Next chapter: The moment you outgrow your local environment and realise you need more to
reach the next level.
Chapter 6: Los Gnomos: Spain and the First Tour Life
At around seventeen, I received my first professional skating contract, a show in Spain called
Los Gnomos Sobre Hielo. Several skaters from Blackpool were hired at the same time, which
made the transition easier. It felt like a collective step forward, moving from local rinks and
competitions into something with real structure and expectation.
Los Gnomos Sobre Hielo. Several skaters from Blackpool were hired at the same time, which
made the transition easier. It felt like a collective step forward, moving from local rinks and
competitions into something with real structure and expectation.
This was my first time touring abroad as a performer. Spain wasn’t just a new country; it was my
first experience of what professional skating actually looked like. Travel days. Rehearsals.
Schedules. Costume fittings. Performance structure. The pressure of delivering the same show
night after night. Everything about it felt bigger than anything I had done before.
first experience of what professional skating actually looked like. Travel days. Rehearsals.
Schedules. Costume fittings. Performance structure. The pressure of delivering the same show
night after night. Everything about it felt bigger than anything I had done before.
Up to this point, my technical level was ok but not refined. I had a consistent double Lutz, solid
spins, and a few tricks that worked well in a show environment. I didn’t have elite coaching
behind me, so my technique wasn’t polished. But what I lacked in refinement, I compensated for
with work ethic and repetition. If something didn’t feel right, I drilled it until it did. That mentality
carried me through the early weeks of the contract.
spins, and a few tricks that worked well in a show environment. I didn’t have elite coaching
behind me, so my technique wasn’t polished. But what I lacked in refinement, I compensated for
with work ethic and repetition. If something didn’t feel right, I drilled it until it did. That mentality
carried me through the early weeks of the contract.
Los Gnomos gave me my first real taste of show life. The long days. The pressure to perform
even when you are tired. The repetition of doing the same routines over and over until they were
automatic. And somewhere in the middle of that experience, something clicked. It was clear I
had found my life path.
even when you are tired. The repetition of doing the same routines over and over until they were
automatic. And somewhere in the middle of that experience, something clicked. It was clear I
had found my life path.
The contract became my entry point into the world of professional skating. It showed me the
lifestyle, the demands, the opportunities, and the reality of what lay ahead. It wasn’t glamorous,
but it was clear. This was the direction I wanted to go.
lifestyle, the demands, the opportunities, and the reality of what lay ahead. It wasn’t glamorous,
but it was clear. This was the direction I wanted to go.
Lessons from this chapter:
- Your first contract often reveals whether you want the career or the idea of it.
- Technique can be developed later. Work ethic keeps you afloat early on.
- A new environment often shows you what you’ve been missing.
- Show life demands consistency, not perfection.
- Early opportunities define your trajectory more than early results.
Next chapter: Europa Park and the three-year stretch that turned potential into professionalism.
CHAPTER 7: Europa Park: Three Years, Five Shows a Day
After finishing Los Gnomos at 18, the next major step was joining the Europa Park ice show.
What I didn’t realise at the time was how much those three years would shape my ability to
work, perform, and sustain a long career. The schedule alone set the tone: three to five shows a
day, six days a week. It was relentless. No breaks. No easing in. Just consistent output whether
you were tired, injured, or dealing with life off the ice.
What I didn’t realise at the time was how much those three years would shape my ability to
work, perform, and sustain a long career. The schedule alone set the tone: three to five shows a
day, six days a week. It was relentless. No breaks. No easing in. Just consistent output whether
you were tired, injured, or dealing with life off the ice.
Up to that point, I’d never been in a performance environment that repetitive. It pushed me
physically and mentally. And somewhere inside that repetition, I realised I needed to become
more self-reliant if I wanted to progress technically.
physically and mentally. And somewhere inside that repetition, I realised I needed to become
more self-reliant if I wanted to progress technically.
I bought a camcorder. Every day I filmed myself attempting double Axel. Then I went back and
studied the footage frame by frame. I was essentially teaching myself, correcting the mechanicsthrough analysis instead of coaching. It was slow, frustrating, and obsessive. But it worked. I
eventually landed the double Axel consistently during my Europa Park years.
studied the footage frame by frame. I was essentially teaching myself, correcting the mechanicsthrough analysis instead of coaching. It was slow, frustrating, and obsessive. But it worked. I
eventually landed the double Axel consistently during my Europa Park years.
One moment stands out. Amanda Thompson came to watch one of the shows. I went for double
Axel and fell. It was a blunt reminder that landing something in practice means nothing if you
can’t handle the pressure of performance. Europa Park taught me that the stage exposes every
weakness.
Axel and fell. It was a blunt reminder that landing something in practice means nothing if you
can’t handle the pressure of performance. Europa Park taught me that the stage exposes every
weakness.
I also learned some early pairs elements there. Basic lifts, basic holds, nothing overhead, but it
was my first introduction to that side of the sport. At the same time, my discipline outside the rink
wasn’t perfect. I partied heavily during this period. It didn’t help my training, but it was part of
who I was at the time and part of the environment around me.
was my first introduction to that side of the sport. At the same time, my discipline outside the rink
wasn’t perfect. I partied heavily during this period. It didn’t help my training, but it was part of
who I was at the time and part of the environment around me.
Despite the flaws, Europa Park built two things I still rely on today: work capacity and
performance toughness. When you skate three to five shows a day for years, you learn how to
deliver on demand even when you’re tired, hungover and not at your best. You learn how to
correct yourself without waiting for instruction. And you learn how to keep going when the
routine feels endless.
performance toughness. When you skate three to five shows a day for years, you learn how to
deliver on demand even when you’re tired, hungover and not at your best. You learn how to
correct yourself without waiting for instruction. And you learn how to keep going when the
routine feels endless.
Lessons from this chapter:
- Repetition builds realities your talent alone can’t.
- Self-coaching becomes powerful when resources are limited.
- Technical skill means nothing without performance reliability.
- Work capacity is earned, not gifted.
- Tough environments expose weaknesses and force growth.
Next chapter: The years I taught myself how to learn. How a camcorder, repetition, and obsession with detail changed my relationship with technique forever.