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
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
CHAPTER 8: Learning Double Axel on a Camcorder
There’s a chapter of my career that overlapped with my Europa Park years, but it deserves its own place because of how much it changed the way I learn. It was the Double Axel Camcorder Era, the period where I taught myself technique through nothing but repetition and obsessive analysis.
The double Axel was my main technical goal for years. It was the jump I wanted more than anything, and I didn’t have a high-level coach guiding me through the mechanics. Back then there was no internet. So I created my own system. Every day I brought a personal camcorder to the rink. I filmed every attempt, then later I’d sit and study the footage frame by frame. I broke the jump down piece by piece.
I wasn’t trying to be clever. I was trying to survive the gap in coaching. This was the only way to improve when the environment didn’t offer the technical support I needed.
Over time, the corrections started to work. I could see what was failing, adjust the movement, and test the correction the next day. Slowly, the position changed. The timing changed. The rotation improved. And eventually, I got a consistent double Axel. Not by being naturally gifted, but by refusing to let a lack of coaching limit my progress.
That era proved something important: with enough repetition, analysis, and discipline, you can outwork technical limitations. You can build technique independently if you’re willing to break things down and stay patient through endless attempts.
It also built a habit that shaped the rest of my career. This method of self-driven analysis became the way I approached everything afterward, from pairs, inline figure, crypto, NFTs and building communities and a company. When I didn’t have instruction, I built my own. When I didn’t have clarity, I created it through repetition.
This chapter wasn’t glamorous. It was hours of filming, rewinding, and correcting the same movement over and over. But it became the foundation for everything that followed.
Lessons from this chapter:
You can bridge coaching gaps through disciplined self-analysis.
Progress is built through repetition, not moments of inspiration.
Breaking movement down frame by frame removes guesswork.
Self-teaching builds confidence you carry into every discipline.
The ability to analyse technique becomes a long-term competitive edge.
Next chapter: Disney On Ice, global tours and my first big stage.
CHAPTER 9: Disney On Ice and The First Big Stage
After my time at Europa Park at age 21, the next major chapter was Disney On Ice. It was the first moment where I stepped into a production with global scale. My first tour began in Taiwan, and from there it turned into a massive Southeast Asia–Australia tour. Big arenas, large casts of 50, established choreography, the kind of environment that makes you realise how wide the skating world really is.
During my time with Disney, I performed a variety of roles. The show demanded versatility, which meant constantly adapting to new numbers, characters, and staging. I also started learning more pairs. I still wasn’t performing overhead lifts on the ice, as I wasn’t physically ready yet, but I spent significant time practising pairs on the floor with partners. I was still shy, so it may have been an easy way to spend time with girls. At that stage I was still small, around 69 kilos, so my foundation was being built in stages.
The travel was extraordinary. Southeast Asia. Australia. Europe. Hawaii. Both coasts of the United States. For a young skater, Disney was the perfect introduction to a global performing lifestyle. The scale, the repetition, the touring rhythm, and cultures, it was a huge step up from everything I’d done before.
But the chapter also came with one of my earliest major injuries. I attempted spinning splits on the ice, a movement I wasn’t physically prepared for, and tore cartilage in my hip. The diagnosis in Salt Lake city came with a recommended $25,000 surgery, which Disney’s insurance was ready to cover.
I decided not to have the operation. Instead, I returned home, worked closely with a physio, and recovered in one month. It was a gamble, but it worked. And it kept my career moving without losing a year to recovery.
Looking back, the Disney years were an incredible experience for a young skater. They taught me how to operate inside a major touring system, how to adapt to new roles quickly, and how to manage myself physically in an environment that moves at high speed.
Lessons from this chapter:
Large productions teach discipline faster than small ones.
Physical readiness matters more than enthusiasm.
Early injuries shape how you train and prepare.
You don’t need overhead lifts early; you need foundation and consistency.
Travel expands your sense of what’s possible in a skating career.
Next chapter: The Hot Ice era. Four seasons, a major turning point, and a cancellation that shifted the direction of my entire career.
CHAPTER 10: Hot Ice: Four Seasons and a Sudden Cancellation
After recovering from my hip injury at 24, I went straight to Amanda Thompson to ask about joining Hot Ice. That show had been my life goal since childhood. Growing up in Blackpool, Hot Ice wasn’t just another production, it was the dream. The standard. The one stage every young local skater imagined themselves on.
Early in rehearsals, a cast member who was a pair skater was fired for coming to rehearsals still drunk. That created a single opening, and I stepped into it immediately. It felt surreal. A goal I’d held for years suddenly became real.
I performed in Hot Ice for four seasons. The show was demanding in its own way. In my first year I performed limited pairs elements, a spinning overhead platter lift and a few lower-level tricks, but the focus was more on jumps, learning from other cast members, performance quality, and ensemble work. It taught me how to stand out inside a cast and how to deliver consistency in a production built heavily on style and presence.
Something I have always done in every show I've been apart from is try to learn from other skaters who had skills or movements or something I lacked.
But there was another side to those years. I partied heavily during my early seasons. It was part of the culture, part of the age, part of the environment. But it eventually caught up with me. I wrote my car off after falling asleep on the way to an evening show after a week of non stop partying, with no sleep, whilst still performing 2 shows per day. I nearly lost a contract in Wolfsburg because word got out about how much I was partying. That was a clear warning. Not from a coach, not from a director, but from the consequences of my own behaviour.
It forced a shift. I stopped partying and began tightening up my professionalism.
Things were going well. I signed a two-year contract for Hot Ice, ready to commit long-term, and then, whilst in Wolfsburg between contracts unexpectedly, the entire next Hot Ice season was cancelled for everyone. The whole production shut down before it began. No roles. No rehearsals. No show.
Suddenly I had no job.
That moment forced a full reassessment. I had to decide what came next, where to go, and how to rebuild momentum. And that transition led directly to the next chapter, the call to Royal Caribbean that would open a completely new world of opportunities.
Lessons from this chapter:
Achieving a lifelong goal doesn’t guarantee stability.
Professionalism matters as much as talent.
Lifestyle choices eventually catch up to your career.
A cancelled contract can become the start of a new direction.
Momentum often comes back the moment you take ownership of your habits.
Next chapter: The Royal Caribbean call and the shift into large-scale cruise productions.
CHAPTER 11: Meeting Lina and the Morning–Night Grind
When Hot Ice cancelled the entire show for the upcoming season, I had to move fast. I called Royal Caribbean immediately. I wanted to take the next step into larger cruise productions. Their answer was direct and honest: as a single male skater, I needed triples to be hired. I didn’t have triples. Their advice was simple. If I wanted a real chance, I needed to find a partner and learn pairs properly.
So I reached out to Angela Schwarz, who had connections in Holiday On Ice. She helped me secure a place in the show, and stepping into that company created one of the most important turning points in my entire career.
It’s where I met Lina, at 28, 11 years into my show career.
We connected immediately as partners. There was an in show in 11 days, which is in house auditions, where you can showcase a routine. This provided us a way to potentially become a semi principal. We trained relentlessly. Morning sessions before the shows. Night sessions after the shows. Every day for 11 days. The audition went well, I even landed a double axle, and Robin Cousins was impressed by us. We got offered a Principal role for the upcoming Columbia Tour, well half show semi-principal and half show principal with another pair. Which was fair.
We worked well together from the start, and that connection quickly grew into a strong working partnership and eventually a relationship. But what defined that period wasn’t the relationship, it was the work.
We continued to work hard. Every day. While touring. While performing. No shortcuts. No breaks. This was the first time I committed fully to becoming a real pair skater.
We built everything from the ground up. Lifts. Spins. Pair fundamentals. Strength. Timing. Trust. The skills I had dabbled in before now became the centre of my training. It was the first structured path toward high-level pair skating I’d ever had.
This partnership became the foundation that eventually carried us to Royal Caribbean. Royal had told me what I needed to do, and meeting Lina made it possible. She was the missing piece. The person who made the next chapter achievable.
Looking back, this period was the bridge between ambition and reality. It transformed me from a single skater, who partied a lot with limitations into a developing pairs skater with a future.
Lessons from this chapter:
Honest feedback can redirect your career in the right way.
The right partner can unlock opportunities you can’t reach alone.
Daily discipline outperforms talent when reinventing your skillset.
Relationship and partnership can fuel progress when aligned.
One cancellation can lead to the most important meeting of your life.
Next chapter: The Royal Caribbean breakthrough, contracts, ships, scale, and the next evolution of my skating career.
CHAPTER 12: Rejected Once, Accepted Twice
While performing with Lina in Holiday On Ice, we decided to prepare our first audition video for Royal Caribbean. This was the goal i’d been aiming at since the moment they told me I needed a partner. We filmed the first video early into our contract and sent it off with a mix of hope and uncertainty.
Royal Caribbean rejected it.
But the rejection came with clarity. They told us exactly what was missing: stronger skating skills, more refined technique, additional pair elements, and a higher overall quality. It wasn’t vague. It wasn’t emotional. It was a checklist.
Instead of feeling discouraged, we took the rejection as direction.
We trained morning and night while performing shows every day. No perfect conditions. Just consistency. We carried that work across multiple contracts: Holiday On Ice, Friedrichstadt-Palast in Berlin, Hot Ice, then another season of Holiday On Ice as semi-principals. Every city, every schedule, every cast, the training didn’t stop.
We weren’t guessing. We were working systematically on each correction Royal Caribbean had given us. We worked on everything. Added new pair elements. Refined lifts and entries. Cleaned every detail.
Before the end of that cycle of shows, we filmed our second audition video. The difference between the first and second wasn’t subtle. We had transformed our skating.
Royal Caribbean accepted the second video.
That acceptance became the breakthrough. It validated the work, the discipline, and the decision to rebuild our skillset across years of touring. The rejection wasn’t a setback. It was the roadmap to the next stage of our career.
Lessons from this chapter:
A clear rejection is more valuable than vague encouragement.
If someone tells you what’s missing, fix it without ego.
Daily discipline across unstable environments creates long-term results.
Improvement doesn’t require perfect resources, only consistency.
Breakthroughs often appear right after the longest periods of work.
Next chapter: Entering Royal Caribbean, scale, expectations, and the transition into major cruise production life.
CHAPTER 13: Royal Caribbean: Two Contracts, One Breakthrough Era
Once our second audition video was accepted, everything accelerated. Lina and I were hired by Royal Caribbean, and stepping onto the ships marked a new level of scale, professionalism, and expectation. Cruise productions operate with precision and intensity, and they demand the same from every skater on board.
We completed two full contracts together, and this period became our strongest technical era as a pair team. Years of training, touring, repetitions, and corrections finally merged into a cohesive partnership. We performed advanced lifts, more complex tricks, and polished choreography. The ensemble work was intense. The shows were fast, structured, and physically demanding. But this environment sharpened us.
Touring with Royal Caribbean also meant global travel. Ship life took us to the Caribbean, from coastlines to islands we’d never have reached otherwise. It didn’t just build experience, it built reputation. By the end of the first contract, we weren’t just a working pair team. We were recognised as a reliable, high-performing team.
The second contract reinforced that. The technical consistency, the trust, the quality of our skating, everything rose during this period. It was the culmination of years of work that started back in Holiday On Ice, carried through Berlin and Hot Ice, and finally reached full strength at sea.
When we completed the second contract, an opportunity arrived: both of us were offered positions on Dancing On Ice. It was a natural progression, television work, higher visibility, and a new arena for pair skating.
We left Royal Caribbean as a well-established partnership. Not developing. Not aspiring. Fully formed. These two contracts closed the chapter on our biggest growth phase and opened the door to the next stage of our careers.
Lessons from this chapter:
Sometimes your strongest era arrives after years of unseen preparation.
The right partner accelerates your technical ceiling.
Big opportunities appear when you finish a chapter at your peak.
Next chapter: Stepping into Dancing On Ice and the transition from touring performers to television professionals. Or so we thought.
CHAPTER 14: Dancing On Ice: Full Offer to Standby
After completing our second Royal Caribbean contract, Lina and I received the opportunity that many UK skaters see as the pinnacle of visibility: full professional roles on Dancing On Ice. We were each assigned our own celebrity partner, and we began preparing for the upcoming season.
At that point, everything looked straightforward. We were transitioning from cruise shows into television. We had our partners, our training schedule, and the expectation that we’d be on screen representing ourselves as professional pair skaters.
Then the production reshaped the season.
Before rehearsals officially began, the team reduced the total number of celebrities and professional skaters. It was a logistical decision, not a performance-based one. Because of that reduction, both of our full pro roles were reclassified as standby as we were last in.
Standby pros still train their celebrities. You do the preparation. You build the routines. You teach the fundamentals and your first routine. But you only appear on TV if another skater or celebrity gets injured or drops out.
That season, no one did.
No injuries. No withdrawals. No replacements.
As a result, neither of us skated on the televised show. We completed the entire preparation period, trained our assigned celebrities, and committed to the work, but we never stepped onto the live broadcast.
It was a lesson in the realities of television. In touring shows, consistency keeps you on stage. In TV, sometimes the decision isn’t about you at all. It can be structural, logistical, or circumstantial. You can do everything right and still not be seen. Although for me it was a blessing as later I went on BGT as an unknown skater.
But it didn’t diminish the experience. It reinforced the importance of controlling what you can control: professionalism, preparation, and readiness, even if the moment never arrives.
Lessons from this chapter:
Preparation doesn’t guarantee visibility.
Television decisions can override personal performance.
Professionalism means committing even when the outcome changes.
The work still counts, even when the stage doesn’t appear.
Some chapters exist to build discipline, not spotlight.
Next chapter: Phantasialand. The discipline reset that changed your entire trajectory.
CHAPTER 15: Phantasialand: Discipline Reset and Nine-Month Grind
After the standby season on Dancing On Ice, Lina and I stepped into a new contract together: the Phantasialand ice show in Germany. It came a couple months after Dancing On Ice andbecame our next step as a pair team. What made it meaningful wasn’t scale or visibility, it was the structure.
Phantasialand’s show schedule was not demanding. Two twenty-minute shows per day, Three at weekends. Compared to cruise contracts or large productions, this was light work. Instead of draining us, the schedule created space. That space became the foundation for one of the most disciplined periods of my life.
I trained in the gym every morning before the shows. For the first time in my life I was in great physical condition. And I committed fully: no drinking, clean eating, consistent gym work, early starts, no distractions. This was the strongest physical base I had built up to that point, and it came from structure rather than intensity.
The discipline wasn’t random. It had a purpose. We were aiming to secure full professional spots on the next season of Dancing On Ice, all the male professionals were in incredible shape, and I knew I had to be too. This contract gave me the time and stability to train the right way, not rushed, not exhausted, not reactive.
Halfway through the nine-month season, Lina and I split as a couple. She was and still is one of the best human beings I have ever known, and I'm thankful for our time together. Looking back, it can’t have been easy being with me.
It was a personal change, but professionally, nothing shifted. We continued skating together with full respect, zero conflict, and complete professionalism. There were no issues on or off the ice.
The audience would never have known anything had changed. Across the entire nine-month run, we had only one missed lift. It happened in the final week, caused by me hitting a hole in the ice on the entry. One mistake in nine months, otherwise, it was a near-perfect season.
Looking back, Phantasialand was a quiet chapter, but not a small one. It reset my mindset. It rebuilt my discipline. It strengthened my physical base. And it prepared me for everything that followed.
Lessons from this chapter:
A lighter schedule can create the strongest growth.
Discipline compounds when distractions are removed.
Professionalism matters most when personal life shifts.
Consistency is built through structure, not intensity.
Some of the most important chapters happen when nobody is watching.
Next chapter: The Robin Cousins era. High expectations, hard lessons, and the cost of misalignment.
CHAPTER 16: Robin Cousins Show: Accidents, Ego, and the Exit
During my Phantasialand contract at 33, Jenna and I began discussing working together professionally, and starting a relationship. We'd met on Dancing On Ice where she was one of the professional skaters. We both planned to do Dancing On Ice, but never got offered a contract, but we did get an offer to do Robin Cousins ICE show. When the Phantasialand contract finished, she flew to my house in the UK so we could train. We pushed hard with lifts, tricks, choreography, everything needed to build a functioning pair team.
It was during this training period in Blackpool that I first sensed the dynamic wasn’t aligned. Jenna believed she was too good for me and often tried to lead the partnership despite me being the base. It was the opposite of my dynamic with Lina, which had always been collaborative and easy. Still, Jenna was technically stronger and more experienced at that time, and there was a lot I learned from her.
When we returned to performing, we joined Robin Cousins’ ice show together. We were cast as the main pair with a demanding number choreographed by Robin Cousins and Mark Naylor. On paper, it was a big opportunity.
During rehearsals, we split as a couple. That immediately changed everything. Rehearsals became tense. Communication broke down. Our personalities clashed more aggressively. Trust eroded.
Then the accidents began.
A travelling Detroiter fall that took both of us down.
A one-leg-neck-spin accident where her foot turned, she slipped out, fell backwards hitting her head, and I took a slice across my chest.
These moments damaged trust further. The environment deteriorated, and the tension affected the wider cast. Eventually, I was asked to leave the show because the partnership couldn’t function under those circumstances.
Looking back, I take responsibility for my part, my mindset, my emotional control, and how I handled the personal and professional overlap. It was a hard chapter, but one that taught me lessons I carried for the rest of my career. Looking back, the way Jenna made me feel, made me want to become the best pair skater I could be. Almost like I had something to prove. So thank you for that Jenna.
Lessons from this chapter
Misaligned partnerships always expose themselves under pressure.
Technical strength means nothing without trust.
Personal conflict becomes dangerous when it leaks into the work.
Emotional discipline is as important as physical skill.
Some exits shape you more than any success ever could.
Next chapter: Meeting Natalia. A reset in energy, alignment, and the beginning of the most important partnership of my life.
CHAPTER 17: Meeting Natalia and Starting a Real Partnership
During a two-week break from the Robin Cousins contract, I travelled to Poland for a tryout. I didn’t know it at the time, but that trip would introduce me to someone who would become the longest and most important partner of my career: Natalia Sinkiewicz.
The first thing that stood out was her height. At five foot six, she was significantly taller than any partner I had lifted before. I remember coming out of the airport, Natalia was my height in heels and I gulped, and thought. You can do this, plus she was and still is incredibly beautiful. Some say I think with the wrong brain ;).
The adjustment required a completely different technical approach. I compared lifting previous partners to lifting a dumbbell. Lifting Natalia was like lifting a barbell of the same weight with one hand, the entire balance profile changed. But instead of being a barrier, it became an opportunity to evolve.
We clicked immediately on the ice and off. I fell hard for her. Eastern European women are without a doubt the pinnacle of female beauty.
There was an ease in communication, a natural rhythm, and a shared ambition. We trained every day during that short visit. I adapted quickly to the mechanics of lifting someone taller, and she adapted quickly to the pace and intensity of pair skating. Before me Natalia had been an Ice dancer. Very early on, I saw enormous potential: physically, technically, and creatively.
When I returned to the UK, shortly after leaving the Robin Cousins show, Natalia came to Blackpool to continue training. and we built a structured training environment around the partnership. I taught her all the pair elements I had learned over the years, from lifts to spins to trick variations, shaping her into a great pair skater.
We filmed videos together and sent them out to shows to look for opportunities. It was a proactive approach built on belief in what the partnership could become.
This period marked the beginning of a partnership that shaped years of my personal and skating career. It was the start of the longest, most significant, and most defining era I would experience.
Lessons from this chapter:
The right partner changes what you believe is possible.
Technical challenges can become breakthroughs when you commit to adaptation.
Early connection matters as much as early skill.
Building a partnership requires structure, consistency, and shared ambition.
The most important chapters often begin quietly, without recognition.
Next chapter: Italy, Spain, and Mexico. The shows that built our chemistry and expanded our capacity as a pair team.
CHAPTER 18: Italy, Spain, and Mexico: Managing Shows and Leveling Up
After forming my partnership with Natalia, our next chapter unfolded across three major shows, each one shaping how we performed, how we worked, and how we grew as a pair team.
Our first major contract together was at Rainbow Magic Land in Italy. It was more than a performance job. I was both the principal pair performer and the show manager. That meant organising the cast, running backstage operations, coordinating cues, and making sure the production stayed on track. Managing a show from inside the cast forced me to develop leadership, structure, and the ability to keep people aligned.
After Italy, we moved to PortAventura in Spain. Once again, I performed and managed at the same time. The dual role deepened my experience in logistics, communication, and daily problem-solving. It gave me a far better understanding of how productions actually run, something most performers never get to see.
Meanwhile, Natalia and I were developing fast. Both Italy and Spain gave us the repetition we needed to refine lifts, tricks, transitions, and timing. We were learning through shows, not rehearsals, a different kind of progress that only happens when you perform daily.
Then came Illusion on Ice in Mexico, which was a completely new scale. Bigger venues. Larger audiences. A more demanding technical environment. Mexico required stamina, presence, consistency, and performing at altitude 2km+ above sea level. The first days were always brutal. We improved a lot here over the four or five contracts we did. I absolutely loved working for Wendy. Her shows are always really fun to do, and well received by the audience.
This period was about strengthening trust, timing, and the technical foundation of our partnership. These contracts didn’t make headlines, but they were essential. They built our confidence, our consistency, and our ability to perform at a higher level. Italy, Spain, and Mexico became our growth phase, the foundation that prepared us for the global productions that followed.
Lessons from this chapter:
Leadership grows fastest when you take responsibility beyond your role.
Daily shows teach timing and trust better than any rehearsal.
Managing a production reshapes how you approach performance.
Bigger venues demand cleaner technique and stronger presence.
Every great partnership has a development phase that most people never see.
Next chapter: Heading back to Disney as principals. Something I had always dreamed of.
CHAPTER 19: Disney On Ice: Ariel, Eric, and a New Direction
After completing shows in Italy, Spain, and Mexico, Natalia and I stepped into a new chapter: Disney On Ice. For the first time as a pair team, we were hired into major headline roles, Ariel and Prince Eric. It became a defining milestone for our partnership.
This was the first time our skating was positioned front and centre in a global touring production. The roles were bigger, the expectations were higher, and the visibility increased immediately. The choreography combined high-level pair elements with character work, which required more than clean technique. We had to integrate storytelling, emotion, and theatrical detail while maintaining the athletic base of the lifts, spins, and transitions.
Touring with Disney added a layer of global exposure. Performing in different countries and arenas demanded consistency. You have to deliver the same quality in every city, for every audience, regardless of travel, schedule, or fatigue. That level of repetition sharpened our timing and presentation quickly.
The contract also strengthened our partnership. Disney required trust, communication, and clarity, not just in the skating but in everything around it. Professionally, it tightened our mechanics. Personally, it reinforced the bond we had formed through the previous years of training and performing.
Looking back, Disney On Ice was the moment where our partnership stopped being “developing” and became “established.” Everything we had built in Rainbow Magic Land, PortAventura, and Illusion On Ice prepared us for this step. The headline roles validated the work and pushed us toward the next major stage in our careers.
That next stage was returning to Royal Caribbean, ready for the highest-level shows we had done to date.
Lessons from this chapter:
Headline roles force you to grow at a different speed.
Storytelling is a skill as important as technique.
Touring sharpens consistency faster than any rehearsal.
Global exposure elevates professional standards instantly.
Every growth era prepares you for the moment the spotlight arrives.
Next chapter: Returning to Royal Caribbean and the injury which forced my Inline Figure pivot.
CHAPTER 20: Royal Caribbean Return and the Bicep Tear
After completing our time with Disney On Ice, Natalia and I joined Royal Caribbean. I was 36, I had worked with the company years earlier, but this was our first time performing there together as a fully developed pair team. We came in ready. Strong. Polished. Capable of performing the highest-level elements in the show.
The contract started well. We performed multiple travelling overhead lifts, acrobatic combinations, and choreography that required strength, timing, and absolute trust. It felt like the natural progression of everything we had built across Italy, Spain, Mexico, and Disney.
Then the injury hit.
Early into the contract, during a simple transition, I tore my bicep tendon. Immediately, it became impossible to perform the required elements safely.
After a couple of months, I left the contract and returned to the UK. Natalia stayed onboard and completed the rest of her contract.
Back home, I began coaching at Dan and Vicki’s rink in Blackpool, the first time I met Dan. This was when I first began coaching, and really enjoyed it. I had no idea how significant that connection would become later in my life and career.
Recovery took around four months, with a PRP (Platelet Rich Plazma) injection helping the tendon heal properly. Even after I recovered, Royal Caribbean did not offer me another contract.
That injury ended my Royal Caribbean performing era. Which was incredibly hard for me, as we planned to do many contracts and finish our careers here.
Lessons from this chapter:
A single injury can change the direction of a career.
Pair skating relies on trust and physical capability; you can’t perform half-strength.
Sometimes the door closes quietly, without warning.
Recovery is physical and emotional, both take time.
New paths often begin during moments that feel like endings.
Next chapter: Coaching in Blackpool, rebuilding momentum, and the start of a new direction you didn’t see coming.
CHAPTER 21: Blackpool Coaching and Rebuilding Strength
When I left Royal Caribbean because of the bicep tendon injury, I returned to the UK unsure of what the next chapter would look like. For the first time in years, performing wasn’t an option. I needed stability, recovery, and a way to stay connected to the sport while my body repaired itself.
Coaching became that bridge.
I began coaching ice skating at Dan and Vicki’s rink in Blackpool. It was the first time I had coached after years of performing full-time. The shift was big. When you’ve spent a career travelling, performing under lights, and repeating shows daily, stepping into a coaching role feels like entering a different world. But it was the exact reset I needed.
Coaching gave me structure. It provided income and routine. It put me back into the skating community in a grounded way. Instead of chasing the next contract, I was helping develop others, teaching technique, and guiding young skaters.
During this time, I lived at home, focused heavily on rehab, and worked daily on strength and stability to rebuild my ability to skate. It was slow progress, until I had the PRP injection.
I remained in Blackpool until Natalia finished her Royal Caribbean contract. That period became a calm chapter between two very different eras, the performing years and everything that came afterward.
Looking back, this coaching phase became the foundation for much more. Without realising it, it prepared me for later roles at Rollerworld and eventually for the early testing of inline frames that would lead to ONE Blades.
Lessons from this chapter:
When momentum breaks, structure matters.
Coaching teaches you as much as performing ever did.
Recovery requires patience and consistency, not speed.
Returning home can become a strategic reset.
Some of the most important foundations are built during quiet chapters.
Next chapter: New directions, and a return to where it all began, back on wheels.
CHAPTER 22: Natalia Joins Me in Blackpool
After Natalia completed her Royal Caribbean contract, she returned to the UK and joined me in Blackpool. For the first time since the injury, we were back to training together on the ice.
This period was about rebuilding. I was still recovering from the torn bicep tendon and working daily on strength, mobility, and confidence. Training with Natalia again gave me structure, focus, and a sense of normality after a difficult chapter.
But something important surfaced during this time.
We realised we had performed in every major show we wanted to do. Disney, Royal Caribbean, Europe, Mexico, and I’d burned bridges with most others. After twenty years of nonstop performing in ice shows, there wasn’t a single contract left that we could do that excited us.
Once that clarity appeared, the decision became obvious: we stopped chasing show contracts entirely.
Instead, we began exploring a new direction, inline figure skating. It was fresh, interesting, and full of possibility. Inline felt like a chance to create rather than repeat. To innovate rather than maintain. To choose our next chapter instead of inheriting it.
This decision became the pivot point. It set up the next step, moving to Poland, where inline figure skating would become not just a side interest, but the next major chapter of my skating life.
Lessons from this chapter:
When a path no longer excites you, it’s time to build a new one.
Long careers evolve when you stop chasing and start choosing.
Recovery periods reveal what truly matters.
Creative freedom often appears outside the established system.
Small decisions, like shifting to inline, can define entire futures.
What if not being perfect, actually made you become who you were meant to be.
Next chapter: Moving to Poland to train inline, reinvent ourselves, and begin the journey that led me to ONE Blades.
CHAPTER 23: Move to Poland and Building a New Life
After our time training together again in Blackpool, Natalia and I made a deliberate decision to move to Poland. It was her home country, and choosing it made sense on every level, personal, practical, and financial.
By this point, we had already accepted that the performing chapter of our careers was over. We weren’t pursuing show contracts anymore. We had done everything we wanted to do in that world, and nothing left in the traditional show system appealed to us creatively or professionally. We were no longer looking backward. We were looking forward.
Inline figure skating had become the new spark. It wasn’t about escaping the ice, it was about creating something fresh. Something with potential. Something that wasn’t tied to producers or casting teams. Inline gave us a blank canvas at a moment when we needed one.
Poland offered exactly what we needed to explore that direction properly: space, stability, and lower costs. This mattered. For the first time in years, we could train without financial pressure or the constant cycle of contracts, travel, and performing. The environment was calmer. More grounded. More aligned with building something long-term.
We spent this period focusing on training, experimenting with technique, and figuring out what inline figure skating could be if we approached it seriously, not casually. It was a chance to design a new direction rather than inherit someone else’s script.
Looking back, the move to Poland wasn’t just a relocation. It was the foundation. Everything that would eventually shape the next decade, the inline era, the innovations, the new career direction, and eventually the roots that led toward ONE Blades, began with this choice.
Lessons from this chapter:
Sometimes the right environment isn’t the most exciting, it’s the most supportive.
Stability creates space for creativity.
A new direction needs room to breathe.
Cost of living matters more than people admit when building something new.
Reinvention starts when you stop chasing old paths and choose a new one intentionally.
Next chapter: The inline training era in Poland, the experiments, breakthroughs, and the reinvention of my skating identity.
CHAPTER 24: Inline Figure Skating Begins
After moving to Poland, Natalia and I finally had the time, space, and stability to explore a new direction in skating. Inline figure skating wasn’t mainstream, wasn’t developed, and almost no one was creating public content for it. That was exactly why it appealed to us, it was a blank slate.
We started by buying Snow White inline frames. They were the most known option at the time, but they didn’t work for me. The three-wheel setup didn’t match the geometry or feel of an ice blade, which made overhead pair elements feel unsafe. In pairs, the base relies on the longer blades for stability in overhead lifts, and Snow Whites didn’t provide that.
Next, we tried Off-Ice frames. They looked and felt poorly engineered, like they’d been made in someone's garage, and looked unreliable for high-level pair lifts. Nothing about them gave me confidence.
So we tested Pic Skates, a frame used by Fiona and Dmitry. For the first time, something aligned. The mechanics felt closer to real ice, they looked strong and we finally had a setup that allowed us to train properly.With the equipment solved, we started training in sports halls and any indoor spaces we could find. Inline felt natural to me immediately because of my childhood inline background.
Everything clicked, the edge feel, the freedom, the movement. Even though the frames weren’t perfect, they were close enough for us to explore real pair skating without needing ice time.
We trained lifts, spins, choreography, and show-style skating. We realised how much potential inline had. It gave us freedom. It gave us space. And it gave us the ability to build performances without fighting for ice time or dealing with the constraints of cold traditional rinks.
This experimentation period became the first seed of everything that followed, and it ultimately led to our decision to audition for Poland’s Got Talent.
Lessons from this chapter:
Innovation starts by testing what already exists, even if it fails.
The right equipment changes everything.
Inline unlocked creative freedom we didn’t know we needed.
Every new direction begins with the courage to experiment.
Small discoveries can lead to life-changing decisions.
Next chapter: Poland’s Got Talent and the moment the inline experiment stepped onto a national stage.
CHAPTER 25: Poland’s Got Talent #1
After months of developing our inline figure skating in Poland, Natalia and I decided to take the next step and audition for Poland’s Got Talent. Inline figure skating was virtually unknown at the time, so bringing an acrobatic pair performance onto a national talent stage felt new, different, and exciting.
Our audition went better than we could have hoped for. It was televised, well received, and drew strong reactions because there was nothing else like it in Poland. We advanced to the semifinals, and it felt like a moment where everything we had built, the move to Poland, the experimentation, the training, was about to reach a wider audience.
Then the unexpected happened.
Shortly before the semifinals, Natalia discovered she was pregnant. It changed everything instantly. We both knew the physical demands of the semifinal routine were incompatible with pregnancy. Continuing wasn’t an option. The decision was immediate, mutual, and grounded in reality.
We withdrew from the competition. It meant that we never performed the semifinal number we had planned. And it put our skating plans on hold. The momentum paused. The path shifted. Instead of preparing for another televised performance, we began preparing for the baby.
The withdrawal closed our first run on Poland’s Got Talent, but it opened an entirely new chapter, a return to Ice, and ultimately becoming a father.
Lessons from this chapter:
Some opportunities are worth stepping back from when life changes.
Family decisions reshape career paths, often for the better.
Momentum can pause without being lost.
Creative plans evolve, they don’t disappear.
The next chapter often begins in the middle of an unexpected moment.
Next chapter: Holiday On Ice, Pregnancy, and leaving a show, and the transition into fatherhood.
CHAPTER 26: Holiday On Ice Chorus and Leaving Early for Nel’s Birth
When we withdrew from Poland’s Got Talent because of Natalia’s pregnancy, my life shifted immediately. I needed work, and I needed it fast. The contract that came up wasn’t glamorous. Holiday On Ice offered me a chorus role, a major drop from the principal and pair roles I had built my career on.
Taking the job was a practical decision, not a creative one.
The experience itself was difficult. I performed smaller ensemble numbers and was even placed in a bumblebee costume. Considering Robin Cousins and Mark Naylor were producing the show, it didn’t feel random. But I never reacted. I didn’t show that it affected me. I did the job like a professional.
During this period, I kept my head down and focused on getting through the contract. It wasn’t a role that represented my skill, my experience, or the work I’d done across twenty years of performing, but it was still part of the path.
As the birth got closer, the decision became obvious. Stay in the contract or leave early which wasn't allowed to be in Poland for Nel’s arrival. Professionally, leaving early wasn’t ideal. But sometimes the right decision doesn’t fit the contract.
I left the show, travelled to Poland, and was there for the birth of my daughter, Nel.
That moment reset everything. It marked the beginning of the most challenging and transformative stretch of my life, a period defined by responsibility, change, and the need to rebuild my direction from the ground up.Lessons from this chapter:
Sometimes you take the job you don’t want because life demands it.
Pride doesn’t matter when the bigger picture shifts.
Professional decisions change when family enters the equation.
Staying composed in a step-down role builds resilience.
A single moment, like Nel’s birth, can reset your entire trajectory.
Next chapter: The early months after Nel’s birth, Preparing for Poland's Got talent, and the beginning of the hardest decision of my life..
CHAPTER 27: Natalia Rebuilds Post-Pregnancy
After Nel was born, life reset itself again. Everything slowed down. The focus shifted. And before we even thought about performing or creating anything new, Natalia needed time to recover physically from pregnancy and childbirth.
Over the next weeks, she began easing back into training. The dedication she brought into that period was on another level. Session by session, she regained strength, mobility, and control.
Our timing returned. Her flexibility improved. The pair coordination between us began to reconnect piece by piece.
We trained in Sports halls. Open rooms. Whatever surface was available. Nothing glamorous. Just work.
As she approached full physical condition again, something clicked for both of us. The first Poland’s Got Talent run had ended abruptly, but not because the act wasn’t good. Now we had the chance to build something better, something cleaner, more polished, and far more mature.
Once Natalia was back to full form, we committed to creating a brand-new inline performance number. A complete rebuild from scratch. Something that aligned with where we were at, as parents.
This rebuilding phase wasn’t just recovery. It was preparation. It became the foundation for our second attempt at Poland’s Got Talent, the one we wanted to deliver at a higher level.
Lessons from this chapter:
Recovery is part of the process, not a pause from it.
Returning slowly often leads to stronger results.
Rebuilding timing and coordination takes patience.
Training environments matter less than consistency.
A clean rebuild sets the stage for a bigger comeback.
Next chapter: Poland Got Talent, My CrossFit injury and the end of our relationship.
CHAPTER 28: Poland’s Got Talent #2, Semifinal, CrossFit Injury, and Final Split
After Natalia rebuilt her condition post pregnancy, we created a new inline figure skating number. It felt stronger, cleaner, and more structured than our earlier work. We auditioned for Poland’s Got Talent again. The second audition went well and we advanced through to the semifinals for the second time.
On the surface, everything was moving forward. Behind the scenes, something else was building. During this period I was training CrossFit outside of our skating sessions. It was meant to improve my conditioning. Instead, it became the turning point that ended everything. I suffered a knee injury during a CrossFit session and it stopped my ability to skate or train.
My injury stopped our training overnight. The progress we were making vanished instantly.
The loss of momentum created strain in the partnership. Natalia had worked incredibly hard, during pregnancy, and post pregnancy. Now because of my ego she suffered.
We were new parents, we were rebuilding, and the pressure was already high. The injury added another layer that neither of us had the energy to absorb. Training stopped, the tension grew quickly. It came from the frustration of being unable to move forward. It came from uncertainty. It came from the reality that the act we were building could not progress while I was injured.
Six months after Nel’s birth, the pressure and personal tension reached a point where the partnership could not continue. I chose to quit instead of fighting for what we had. The split was final. It closed both the working relationship and the personal relationship. Shortly after that, I left Poland.
This moment closed the entire Natalia era of my life. It was an ending that arrived through a mix of injury, timing, and the weight of circumstances. It also set the stage for the next chapter.
Lessons from this chapter:
A single injury can change the entire direction of your life.
Pair work stops when one person cannot train.
Pressure exposes the weak points in any partnership.
Some chapters end quietly but completely.
Leaving can be the first step toward rebuilding yourself.
Next chapter: Leaving Poland, returning to the UK, and entering a period defined by survival, pressure, and rebuilding from zero.
CHAPTER 29: Leaving Poland and Returning to the UK
When the partnership with Natalia ended, the chapter closed in a way that felt final. The split was clear and there was nothing left to repair. What came next was the hardest decision I have ever made. I left Poland and went home to the UK. I had never cried that much at any point in my life. Not before and not since. It was a level of emotional weight I had never experienced.
Leaving was not about analysis or strategy. It was simply the end of a chapter that had defined years of skating, performing, travel, and family life. Walking away from that life came with a kind of pain that is difficult to put into words. It was a clean break but not an easy one.
Going home brought me back to familiar ground. I was lost, with no direction, injured, and thought this was the end. I met with a doctor who told me the extent of my injury. He told me I should stop skating immediately or I may not be able to walk in a few years.
This stretch of time was full of uncertainty. I was recovering emotionally from the split and physically from the knee injury. I was trying to understand what the next phase of my life could look like without the partnership and without the performing path that had shaped so much of my identity.
I started working with a rehab PT at Fortitude Fitness who helped me regain strength and mobility in my knee. As I was a certified PT I also ran classes and worked with clients.
Being back in the UK eventually led to meeting Rosie, and that meeting changed everything about what came next in my skating and performing life.
Lessons from this chapter:
The hardest decisions often come with the deepest emotion.
Leaving can hurt more than staying, but still be the right choice.
Home can be the place that holds you steady when everything falls apart.
Rebuilding is slow but necessary.
Major turning points often begin in moments that feel like loss.
Next chapter: Meeting Rosie in the UK and beginning a new direction in skating.
CHAPTER 30: Meeting Rosie and the First UK Creation Era
After returning to the UK from Poland at 36, I went to watch the closing night of Hot Ice. It felt like a familiar place during a period where everything else in my life was in transition. That night I met Rosie for the first time. There was no plan beyond watching the show, but this became one of the turning points of my entire skating life.
A few weeks later we began training together. Rosie had never skated on inlines before and had never done pair skating of any kind. I got her her first pair of Pic Skates so she could start learning inline figure. The progression was immediate. She came from a high-level cheerleading and gymnastics background, which meant she was fearless, explosive, and very body aware.
That athletic foundation brought a dynamic I had never worked with before. She learned fast and pushed my level higher from the start.
We trained in every environment available to us. Sports halls in Blackpool and Preston. Fortitude Fitness and Phil Winston’s Dance Studio with clean space to move. The combination of her athletic base and my experience made our progress faster than with any new partner I had trained in the past.
From the beginning the goal was clear. We wanted to create a serious high-level inline acrobatic act. We were not trying to build something casual or small. We were building something the world had never seen.
To take the creation further, we decided to go to Tenerife. My family had an apartment there and already knew the weather was consistent and the outdoor skate park was ideal for what we wanted to create. In Tenerife we trained outdoors at the skate park, on hard floors, and along the beachfront. It was a perfect environment for building an epic trick video.
This chapter became the beginning of the full creation arc with Rosie. It set the foundation for the direction we would take and it set the stage for our future on Britain’s Got Talent.
Something I am not proud of from this time, and a huge regret of my life. I was posting all our videos online, whilst Natalia was in Poland looking after our daughter. I've told you many times, but I'm truly sorry Natalia, and through all of this you never publicly shamed me. You’re an incredible human being and Mum.
Lessons from this chapter:
The right partner changes your entire timeline.
A strong athletic base accelerates progress faster than experience alone.
Good training environments can be anywhere if the purpose is clear.
Tenerife provided the perfect creative conditions.
Early foundations matter and often decide the future direction.
Think of the consequences of your actions, if they affect other people.
Next chapter: Tenerife and the full creation process that led us to BGT
CHAPTER 31: Tenerife Creation Trip and Outdoor Training Breakthrough
Rosie and I travelled to Tenerife with a very specific purpose. We wanted to create an epic trick video. Not a show routine and not a piece of choreography. A video that showed exactly what we could do as an inline acro pair and something strong enough to get attention from potential employers.
We stayed at my family apartment which gave us a simple base to work from. We created in skate parks, beachfront paths, and any open space that gave us room to move. Tenerife offered consistent weather which meant we could train multiple times a day without interruption.
The progress was fast. Rosie learned new elements quickly because of her athletic background, and that allowed us to build bigger tricks in a short amount of time. The environment helped us move at speed. Nothing slowed us down.
We filmed every day. Some sessions were short. Some went long. We used drones for overhead shots and tripods for everything else. The goal was to create a cinematic-level acrobatic inline pair skating trick video with incredible background.
The footage from this trip became the strongest material we had ever put on camera. It stood out immediately. Britain’s Got Talent discovered us through this video and contacted us.
When we returned to the UK, our focus shifted. We began preparing directly for the BGT audition. We had just a few weeks to prepare. Tenerife had given us the momentum and the footage that opened the door.
Lessons from this chapter:
One strong video can shift the direction of your entire career.
Outdoor environments can give you freedom that studios cannot.
Fast learning accelerates creation.
Consistent weather is a real performance advantage.
Preparation becomes easier when the foundation is strong.
Next chapter: Returning to the UK and preparing for Britain’s Got Talent.
CHAPTER 32: Britain’s Got Talent: Rehearsal Accident, Audition, Live Semifinals
After returning from Tenerife, Rosie and I focused fully on preparing for Britain’s Got Talent. They had reached out after seeing the trick video we created outdoors and invited us straight into the audition with Judges.
In our final rehearsal before the audition, we had a funny accident. During a rim toss, I lost my balance and we both ended up on the floor. It was not a significant fall, but the timing made couldn't have been worse. It was the last moment of training before stepping onto the biggest stages either of us had ever faced.
The next day we walked into the audition. Until that moment, Rosie and I had never performed together in front of an audience. Everything we had done had been training or filming. The BGT audition became our first official performance. The number went well, the judges responded strongly, and we received four yes’s which sent us directly to the live semifinals. That was the day we knew we could perform under insane pressure, and that we had the marks to be a world class pair team.
For the semifinals and final, we created more advanced numbers. Just before the live semi they asked us to reduce the time of our semi number, which was not easy to do, so we decided to perform our final number instead which was shorter and more powerful. Performing live on national television in front of ten million viewers raised the pressure but also elevated the experience. We delivered a strong performance. If you could bottle the feeling before, during and after, it would sell like hot cakes. I have never felt more alive than the live semi-final.
Unfortunately we did not make the final.
After BGT we rode the wave and continued performing corporate events which were a lot of fun. Then the next major opportunity appeared. Cirque du Soleil reached out after seeing our BGT performance. They contacted us directly and offered us a specialty act role in their Christmas stage production Twas The Night in Chicago and New York. It was the highest level invitation we had received so far.
Lessons from this chapter:
One strong video can pull opportunities toward you.
Even light accidents can test your focus before major moments.
Your first performance does not need a small stage to work.
National TV creates momentum you cannot manufacture.
Real opportunities appear when visibility is high.
Next chapter: Cirque du Soleil, the highest platform so far and the final stage of the partnership with Rosie.
CHAPTER 33: Cirque du Soleil: Twas The Night
After Britain’s Got Talent, Rosie and I performed a steady run of corporate events. The exposure from BGT opened doors and one of those doors came from Cirque du Soleil. They saw our performance on national television and contacted us directly. There was no audition. They invited us straight into their stage production Twas The Night.
It was not an arena tour and not an ice show. It was a full theatrical production. We performed at the Chicago Theatre in Chicago and the Hulu Theatre at Madison Square Garden in New York. Being part of a Cirque production was the highest professional platform I had worked on at that point.
We were the only skaters in the entire cast. The rest of the cast were dancers, diablo and handstand artists, aerialists and acrobats. Our act was featured inside a Christmas themed show with strong staging, lighting, and choreography. It was an incredible environment to work in and a major step up in show quality.
At the same time, the contract exposed the cracks in our partnership. Communication between us became strained. We were no longer aligned personally or professionally. The stress of the contract amplified the issues and the tension carried into training. When you create a partnership in high pressure environments, everything that is unresolved shows up quickly.
By the end of the contract, the partnership had reached its limit. Cirque marked the end of our time performing together and closed that era completely. What followed next was a shift in direction. Vegas was the next chapter.
Lessons from this chapter:
Major opportunities often come from visibility, not auditions.
High pressure contracts expose partnership problems fast.
Professional highs do not erase personal misalignment.
Ending one chapter is sometimes the only way to move forward.
Next chapter: Vegas, a new city, a new environment, and a new direction.
CHAPTER 34: Vegas Training with Ashe and the Pandemic Shutdown
After finishing the Cirque du Soleil contract with Rosie at 38, I knew I needed a new direction. The partnership had reached its limit and I wanted to push into something different. That led me to Las Vegas, the centre of modern circus and the place where the highest level stage acts are built.
Through Emily, who performed a headline roller act at Absinthe with her brother Billy, I was introduced to Ashe. She had the look, the ability, and the experience needed for a high level acro roller act. The timing was not ideal because she had recently had a baby, so full training was not possible at that moment.
I returned to the UK and trained intensely in the gym. I needed to prepare my body for the standard required to work with her. When Ashe was ready to start, I flew back to Las Vegas to begin training.
We trained daily. We built early concepts, worked on tricks, and explored ideas for a potential act. The direction was clear. Absinthe was the target. It is one of the most respected and demanding circus shows in Las Vegas and it represented the highest level of what we were aiming toward.
Then everything changed. The pandemic hit.
Las Vegas shut down completely. Casinos went dark. Shows closed overnight. Studios were locked. The entire industry stopped. Ashe stepped back because she had a newborn and the health risks were too high. With the shutdown, the plan to prepare for Absinthe collapsed instantly.
There was nothing left to push toward.Even with the setback, I refused to stop. I stayed focused and started searching for a new partner and a new direction. That determination led directly to meeting Diana and the next chapter of my Vegas creative arc.
Lessons from this chapter:
One introduction can change your entire direction.
Preparation matters even when timing is uncertain.
The highest level goals demand full commitment.
The pandemic forced the entire industry to reset.
Forward movement creates the next opportunity.
Next chapter: Meeting Diana and building the next evolution of my Vegas journey.
CHAPTER 35: Vegas Creation Era with Diana
After Ashe stepped back during the pandemic, I shifted my training into another direction and began working with Diana in Las Vegas. She was incredibly talented, flexible, and fearless. From the first session it was clear she had the physical ability and work ethic to build something at a high level.
Our training took place on the floor in my garage. I taped a circle on the concrete to simulate a table and we used that space every day. We trained for hours, building technique, testing ideas, and developing tricks. I spent a lot of time researching other pair acts, learning their elements, and then creating new combinations of my own to explore what was possible.
Diana performed on quads. I also got her pic skates. We mixed in skateless tricks as well. The goal was to build the most complete pair act possible. We documented everything on YouTube and treated the training like a full time creation lab.
During this period we created a skateless acrobatic number specifically for America’s Got Talent send in audions that opened up due to the pandemic. AGT liked the act so much they wanted us to attend an in-person audition the following year instead. That audition never happened because I left the United States before the next year arrived.
At the same time we entered the online circus competition CirqueLife. For Round 1 we performed inside a 1.8 metre cyr wheel at the Las Vegas Circus Center. We passed the round and moved forward.
This era included once in a lifetime moments that were only possible because the city was shut down. We trained and filmed on the empty Las Vegas Strip. With the casinos closed and the streets empty, we had full access to spaces that would normally be impossible to use.u
To support myself financially I ran online fitness classes, personal training sessions, and inline figure skating lessons. This was one of the most creatively open periods of my life. No shows. No contracts. Full freedom to build.
When my visa ran out, I had to leave the United States. I flew to Tenerife and began preparing to find a new partner for Round 2 of CirqueLife.
Lessons from this chapter:
Creativity expands when there are no industry pressures.
A garage can be as valuable as a studio if the work is focused.
Research opens new paths in performance.
Opportunities can appear even during shutdowns.
Movement comes from refusing to stall.
Next chapter: Tenerife and finding the next partner for CirqueLife Round 2.
CHAPTER 36: Tenerife Skate-less Act with Daylis (CirqueLife Round 2)
After completing CirqueLife Round 1 in Las Vegas, my visa ended and I left the United States. I flew to Tenerife and continued working toward the next stage of the competition. That is where I began training with Daylis, an acrobat who performed in ballet shoes. Working with someone who was not a skater changed everything about how the act developed.
We created a skateless acrobatic number with skating elements. We trained and filmed the entire act on the streets of Tenerife. The surfaces were hard concrete sidewalks and sections of the open road which demanded clean technique and creative entry and landings as Daylis was without skates.
We submitted the Tenerife act for Round 2 and it passed, moving me closer to the final stage. This chapter became the first time I had created a high-level acrobatic number with a partner who was not a skater. It opened my eyes to what was possible beyond skating based partnerships and expanded the direction of what I believed I could build.
Lessons from this chapter:
Working with non-skaters unlocks new creative lanes.
Street environments demand precision and control.
Creativity grows when the tools change.
Passing Round 2 proved the new direction worked.
Tenerife became a turning point in your understanding of what was possible.
Next chapter: Romania's Got Talent, and my transition out of Tenerife and toward the next stage of my journey.
CHAPTER 37: Romania’s Got Talent and Poland Nightclub Act with Natalia (CirqueLifeFinal)
After completing my CirqueLife Round 2 submission with Daylis, I received an invitation to appear on Romania’s Got Talent. There was only one issue. I had no partner at that moment. It was a rare opportunity and I needed someone I trusted and could create with quickly.
I contacted both Natalia, and she agreed to join me. I flew to Poland and we had one week to build a complete act from scratch. We created new tricks we had never performed together before. We built the whole number under intense time pressure. Natalia hadn't performed any pairs in over a year. Once the number was ready, we travelled to Romania and performed it on the show. The performance went very well, especially considering the speed of the creation.
After Romania, I stayed in Poland to spend time with Nel which was very overdue. In this time she learned English in what felt like weeks. I also prepared my CirqueLife Final Round submission. I created the final act with Natalia, this time an inline figure pair act, filmed inside a nightclub. We had one rehearsal inside the club and one chance to capture the final performance. The environment was raw, tight, and very different from the previous rounds, but it worked.
This act was submitted for the CirqueLife Final Round. Across the full competition I had worked with three different partners, in three different countries, performing three different skating disciplines. I did not win, but the accomplishment was clear. I had created multiple acts across borders, across styles, and under extreme time pressure.
This chapter became one of the most intense creative sprints of my entire life.
Lessons from this chapter:
Speed forces clarity.
Trust in a partner becomes the deciding factor.
High pressure environments expose your true skill set.
Creative versatility is a competitive advantage.
Winning is not the only measure of success.
Next chapter: Returning to the UK to coach roller skating.
CHAPTER 38: Rollerworld Coaching and the Inline Figure Skating Open 2021
After Romania’s Got Talent and the CirqueLife final at 40, I took on the role of Head Coach at Rollerworld in Colchester. It was the best roller rink in the country with a legendary floor and a strong community. Coaching there felt like the next evolution of my career after years of travelling.
To teach both disciplines effectively, I often skated with one inline boot and one quad boot during learn to skate sessions. It gave me the ability to switch demonstrations instantly without slowing the class down.
During this phase, I began a deep dive into inline figure skating engineering. I tested every frame on the market. Three wheels. Four wheels. I studied frame geometry, platform length, wheel spacing and durometer, balance points, toe stopper angle and material. Anything that didn’t mimic an ice blade was removed.
The three wheel frames were closer to roller skates. Good for spins. Good for jump take offs. But not good for a full skating structure, due to their short length and only two balance points. Whereas four wheels are closer to an ice blade having three balance points utilising four wheels, although the stoppers on current versions are not good for spins or jumps.
This chapter also included a project that mattered more than I realised at the time. I created the Inline Figure Skating Open 2021. With more than 80 skaters aged 7 to 65 from more than 25 countries.
Every single submission was online.
Running the Open taught me how to lead a community, build structure, organise submissions, create divisions, judge fairly and bring skaters together around something new.
By the end of this period I had a deep understanding of ice, quad, and inline mechanics and a proven ability to lead and organise skaters from around the world.
I wasn’t planning to create ONE Blades yet, but the foundations were clearly forming.
Lessons from this chapter:
Coaching sharpens understanding faster than training alone.
Testing every frame removes all illusions about design.
Three wheel frames expose the limits of geometry.
Building a community gives you proof of vision.
Global momentum starts long before the world notices.
Next chapter: The next evolution in performance, identity, and what I thought was the end of performing.
CHAPTER 39: Meeting Pixie, Creative Partnership.
During my time coaching at Rollerworld, I met Pixie. I first became aware of her during a photo shoot I did with Rosie where some of her students were present. Even in that moment it was clear she moved differently. She had a natural physical quality that stood out.
When I moved closer to London I reached out and arranged a tryout. The connection was immediate. We trained in her back garden and in one session I taught her dozens of tricks. She was the smallest and most flexible person I had ever lifted and her understanding of movement made the process fast. It was one of the easiest creative connections I had ever made.
We clicked personally and creatively. Within a short period of time I moved in with her. I continued to travel back to Rollerworld to coach, but the distance began to make the role unworkable. Over time I stepped away from the coaching position.
Together we created new acts. Skateless pieces. Acro duo work. Skating based numbers for corporate shows. It reignited my creative identity at a time when I needed it. After years of chaos, injury, travel, and instability, the work with Pixie brought something back to life.
After a while, I shifted into crypto, NFTs which felt like I discovered a whole new world, which sparked the end of my performing career, or at least that is what I believed then. As I spent all my time living on my mac.
Lessons from this chapter:
A single creative partnership can reset your direction.
Natural talent accelerates progress immediately.
Leaving one chapter often opens another.
Creative work can reignite identity after difficult years.
Evolution can end a career even when you are still performing well.
Next chapter: Crypto, NFTs, and the early shift toward founding ONE Blades.
CHAPTER 40: NFT Era: Space Pugs, Alliance, and the Yeti Foundation
While living in London with Pixie, I began putting personal savings into crypto and NFTs. I studied blockchain, and how projects worked, and understood the early Cardano ecosystem before most people knew what it was. The timing was ideal. The space was high risk, high energy, and full of opportunity. I absorbed everything quickly.
My early wins came from research and execution. One example was minting land for around one thousand ADA and selling it for roughly thirty thousand Ada. As I gained experience I wanted to join a project, and eventually have my own project.
I joined Space Pugs as a community member, then became a moderator. After the mint one of the co-founders left with half the mint funds. The entire project could have collapsed. I stepped up and joined the remaining co-founder to help and quickly became the person doing almost all of the operational work. I brought structure, ideas, consistency, and rebuilt trust during the early stages of the Cardano bear market.
During this time our relationship broke down with me spending all my time on my mac running an NFT project. Shortly after I left and moved back to Blackpool
There was no blueprint for running an NFT project. I learned fundraising, community leadership, delivery pressure, and crisis management in real time. Later I bought out the last founder and took full control. I took out a loan, rebuilt Space Pugs with new art and new direction, and worked eighteen hour days for six months.
The mint underperformed. The ecosystem crashed. Most Founders in Cardano disappeared, leaving their communities holding the bag. I did not. I doubled down. I kept everything alive through work alone.
Then I built The Alliance, a cross project Discord hub designed to support the entire Cardano community. I did it for free. Hundreds of hours of contribution. I burned out, which led me to the darkest time mentally of my entire life. I took a break, went to Poland for a month and slowly came back to life. My daughter saved me from doing anything I could not come back from, and she is why I will never quit until I do what I set out to do. The duty I feel towards the 372 holders of my NFT project, and everyone who has helped me is what drives me day in and day out. I truly am a man on a mission.
Through The Alliance I met Malic, the largest Smooth Yeti holder, which led to acquiring Smooth Yetis from the founder. I rebuilt it with new utilities, new systems, and merged Space Pugs and Smooth Yetis into one, which was an insane amount of work, so both communities could survive.
This created ONE Cardano. A unified system for staking, poker, games, rewards, and long term utility. It was the first time I built a full digital ecosystem.
This era sharpened me in ways skating alone never could. Technical skills. Strategic thinking. Operations. Resilience. Community building. Modern creator-led systems. Everything I use now came from this period.
Without this era, ONE Blades could not exist. The skill stack would not be there, and the dark periods would not have strengthened my mind to the point, nothing can break me.
Lessons from this chapter:
Reinvention builds capabilities traditional industries never teach.
Crisis environments force real leadership to emerge.
Working for free exposes your real motivation.
Burn out is real, and mentally kills you deep to your core.
Building across multiple communities creates long term leverage.
The future often comes from the skills you had no intention of learning.●
Having a deep why, gives you the strength to keep going.
Next chapter: The moment the tech world and skating world collided.
CHAPTER 41: Dan: The Partnership, The Collapse, and Losing 18 Months
During the NFT era at 43, I started training again with Rosie, Dan saw a clip online and reached out. I had first met him years earlier when I coached at his and Vicki’s rink after my Royal Caribbean injury. This time he had something new to share. An idea he had been developing quietly in the background.
He explained a concept built around disposable ice blade runners, modular toe picks, and a system that removed sharpening entirely. It clicked with me immediately. Not as a gimmick, but as a real solution to a real problem skaters deal with every day.
That idea became the starting point for long conversations. Sketches. Drawings. Brainstorms that kept expanding. The more we talked, the more the idea evolved. What began as a sharpening alternative became a full modular platform built around one pair of boots. Modular ice. Interchangeable toe pick variations. A quad design. A proper inline figure frame. It all grew through collaboration and iteration.
I brought research, structure, and strategy. DTC vs distribution. Tax positioning. The creator-led affiliate model. Pricing logic. Market sizing. The global skating landscape. Dan carried the mechanical side and drafted the early drawings and concepts. The combination felt strong enough to move forward.
I secured early funding from my NFT holders so the idea could finally become a physical product. But once building began, progress slowed. Every new idea triggered a redesign.
Months passed without a stable ice or inline system ready for testing. During this time I read many books, and researched affiliate programs and the entire skating industry with a goal to create the best skating company on the planet, that fixed all the issues and helped skaters, coaches and parents.
While the engineering struggled to move forward, the company structure moved fast. I built the brand, the creator program, the competition system, the fulfilment model, the global DTC plan, and the creator waitlist was growing. The infrastructure was becoming real. The product was not.
The core still felt powerful. The industry needed a company built around skaters, not tradition. But the imbalance between design and execution created tension that could not be ignored.
Lessons from this chapter:
Ideas scale faster than engineering.
A strong concept means nothing without execution.●
Community support can move a vision forward when the product is slow.
Good partnerships need balance across speed, skill, and delivery.
Every breakthrough starts with a messy first version.
Next chapter: The collapse of the partnership and the rebuild of ONE Blades from the ground up in China.
CHAPTER 42: The Collapse of the Partnership and the Turning Point
After eighteen months of collaboration, the project was still stuck in prototype limbo. The concept grew. The sketches grew. The redesigns grew. But nothing ever reached a product we could manufacture and sell. Every time execution was required, progress collapsed.
Meanwhile I built the entire company around a product that did not exist. The brand. The creator model. The global DTC structure. Pricing logic. Fulfilment systems. Legal frameworks. Content engine. Investor communication. Community growth. Everything around the product moved forward. The product itself never did.
And I funded everything. NFT holders, personal loans, and inheritance contributions kept the project alive. Every financial pillar came from my side. None came from the engineering side.
When I flew back to the UK to test the latest prototypes, I expected movement. Instead I arrived to delays and failure. On the first skate on inline the nylon adapter snapped and the aluminium frame bent. Then the nylon ice blade broke. The toe picks and runners fell out of the aluminium version. The rear pivot idea caught dangerously. It had become too complex and over-engineered. These were not small issues. They made the system unfit, unsafe.
When I raised these concerns, they were dismissed. He always believed he knew better than everyone else. That mindset broke the last thread of trust. After a difficult conversation, he went silent for nearly a week.
Then came the part that hit hardest.
When I asked to collect the prototypes I and my community had paid for, he refused. Claiming, in his own words,
“It's not fit for public consumption”
He returned only my old skates and kept every ONE Blades material. Every drawing. Every CAD file. Every prototype. All funded by me and my community. It wasn’t just my investment he kept. It was the trust of everyone who had supported the vision. That made the betrayal worse.
That moment felt like betrayal, even though I did not react emotionally. It was a clean punch to the stomach. There was no future in that partnership. And I knew fighting legally would destroy the timeline and the momentum completely. It would drag on for months or years. It would kill the project.
I sat with that decision alone. No noise. Just the reality that everything I had built around the product was now waiting for a product that had never existed. I felt anger and disappointment.
For a moment I questioned whether I had misread the entire situation from the beginning. Whether I had allowed my own belief, speed, and optimism to carry something that should have been stopped earlier.
Then the clarity arrived.
The only viable move was a complete rebuild.
I extracted every message, note, drawing, video, and reference from the entire eighteen month timeline. I placed it into a structured ChatGPT project and ran a full partner autopsy. The conclusion was obvious.
I had built the entire company multiple times over while waiting for a prototype that should have existed a year earlier. I know the product well enough now. I understood the failures. I understood engineering. I understood the path forward.
Ending the partnership was not emotional. It was necessary. It protected the vision, the community, and the future of what ONE Blades could become.
The collapse became the ignition point for the rebirth of ONE Blades.
Rebuilt properly. Rebuilt cleanly. Rebuilt with real engineering and full accountability.
Lessons from this chapter:
Lack of execution destroys partnerships faster than conflict.
Once trust breaks, the project breaks with it.
Redesigning is not progress. Delivery is progress.
Sometimes the only real path is a full reset.
The collapse became the catalyst for the strongest version of ONE Blades.
Next chapter: China, real engineering, real manufacturing, and the frame in my vision.
CHAPTER 43: ONE Blades Rebuild: China, Inline-First, and the Skating CEO Era Begins
When the partnership collapsed, the decision that followed was not emotional. It was structural, practical, and necessary. I chose to rebuild ONE Blades from zero. Alone. Properly.
I began by researching every major inline manufacturer I could find. The goal was simple. Find the people capable of engineering a true inline figure skating frame for ice figure skaters. With no compromises. Not a roller derivative. A real frame built from the principles of ice.
I found that team in Dongguan. A machining group with eighteen years of elite production across inline, quad, and ice. When I explained the vision, they understood it immediately. Not just the shape. The purpose. The geometry. The multi rocker. The toe stopper angle and size. The balance of rigidity and weight. The strength required for jumps and lifts. The timing that must match ice.
Within weeks they produced what eighteen months of the previous partnership never delivered. A clean, elegant, manufacturable inline figure skating frame in 2D and 3D, ready to create. At that moment ONE Blades became inline-first. No distractions. No mixed product lines. Pure focus.
In parallel I stripped all ideas back, simplified everything and rewrote hundreds of ideas and documents from the past 18 months. I built the entire global business infrastructure. China manufacturing. China's fulfillment. UAE headquarters. Zero percent tax. Direct to consumer only. No distributors. Creator powered sales. A fixed drop model. A global Skater First Fund. An affiliate engine built for the modern world. Platforms: FSR. Coachfinder. Showskating. Our first apparel hoodie for ONE Motion. The Skating CEO ecosystem. Everything moved at the speed I always wanted.
Then came the Dubai phase. Two weeks of rebuilding myself physically, mentally, and operationally. I created the full launch system, the internal frameworks, and the content direction. I created 6 weeks of content to drop across all 5 brands. This was where the voice emerged. Direct. Honest. Anti politics. Anti gatekeeping. Anti industry tricks. The Skating CEO.
The first founder in skating willing to show the process publicly.
When I looked back, every chapter had fed into this one. Discipline from dance. Freedom from childhood inline. Precision from shows. Resilience from injuries. Leadership from coaching. Systems thinking from NFTs. Clarity from collapse.
ONE Blades is not a product. It is the sum of my entire life. And the launch signals something bigger. A new era where skating finally belongs to skaters.
Lessons from this chapter:
Rebuilding from zero can move faster than repairing a broken partnership.
The right engineers see the vision immediately.
Pure focus creates strong products.
A global company can be built in parallel with the product.
A clear voice becomes a strategy.
Every chapter in your life becomes useful if you build with intention.
Next: Preparing for the launch and the global drop era.
FINAL PAGE: The Chaos Was The Curriculum
If you made it this far, you didn't just read my story. You walked through thirty years of what most people would call failure.
Rejected contracts. Burned partnerships. Injuries that ended eras. Relationships that collapsed under pressure. A career that never fit the script everyone else seemed to follow effortlessly.
And here's what I need you to understand:
If any of it had gone differently, I wouldn't be writing this. If I'd loved to dance at three, I'd have stayed in it. I'd have never found skating.
If I'd been naturally gifted enough to skip the self-teaching phase, I'd have never learned how to build systems when coaching fails.
If Hot Ice hadn't been cancelled, I'd have signed another two-year contract. Then another. I'd probably still be there, comfortable, performing the same show at 45.
If I'd gotten the full Dancing On Ice contract instead of standby, I'd have spent the next decade chasing TV appearances and never explored inline.
If Natalia and I had stayed together, we'd have kept performing. Good parents. Good partners. Good performers. And I'd have never been forced to find something that outlasted the performance.
If the Dan partnership had worked, I'd be the marketing guy for someone else's product. I'd be building his vision with my voice.
If I'd been the skater they wanted - disciplined without question, obedient without ego, content without restlessness - I would have fit perfectly into the system. And I would have never built anything.
What If I'd Been Normal?
I've thought about this a lot. What if I'd been the person the industry wanted?
What if I'd never partied too hard, never challenged choreographers, never left contracts early, never burned bridges, never pushed for something that didn't exist yet? I'd have had a perfect show career. Respected. Stable. Successful by every traditional measure.
And I would never have discovered inline figure skating as anything more than a training tool. I would never have tested every frame on the market and realised none of them worked perfectly. I would never have learned NFT community building, crypto fundraising, or Web3 systems thinking. I would never have experienced the collapse with Dan that forced me to learn manufacturing, supply chain, and global infrastructure from scratch. I would never have had the pain that forged the resilience I need right now. I would never have built ONE Blades.
The chaos wasn't the obstacle. It was the curriculum.
Every door that closed was actually a wall preventing me from settling. Every partnership that ended was a lesson in what alignment actually requires. Every injury was a test of whether I'd quit or adapt. Every rejection from the industry was preparation for the moment I'd return - not as a performer asking for a contract, but as a founder offering a solution.
The Truth About Outsiders
The skaters who "made it" in the traditional system are still there. Still performing. Still auditioning. Still dependent on casting directors, producers, and contracts that can vanish overnight. I didn't make it in that system. Not because I wasn't good enough. But because I was never supposed to stay there. I was supposed to be pushed out, broken down, and rebuilt with skills the skating world desperately needs but has never valued:
Systems thinking
Community building
Technical engineering
Global infrastructure
Modern fundraising
Transparent leadership
Creator-first business models
The industry didn't reject me because I was deficient. It rejected me because what I was meant to build didn't exist yet. If Your Life Feels Like Chaos Right Now If you're reading this and your career feels like it's falling apart - good. If you don't fit where everyone says you should - good.
If every door keeps closing and you're starting to think something is wrong with you - listen carefully:
Nothing is wrong with you. You're being redirected. The "normal" path works for people building normal things. But if you're meant to build something new, something the industry doesn't have a category for yet, the normal path will feel like a prison. You'll be restless. You'll be misaligned. You'll be the person who "could have made it if you'd just played the game.
And one day, you'll realize: The game was too small for what you're meant to build.
What I Want Every Skater To Know
Your story is not defined by the chapters that went wrong. Your story is defined by what you choose to build after them.
Skating didn't give me a perfect life. It gave me a direction before I had a plan.
A purpose before I had stability. A way forward before I had the maturity to understand where it would lead. And every single chapter - the mistakes, the collapses, the ego, the pressure, the people I hurt, the times I failed, all of it taught me something I needed to become the person who could build what comes next.
I didn't write this book to make myself look good. I wrote it so you could see that reinvention is possible. That mistakes don't disqualify you. That the worst chapters often build the strongest foundations. And that sometimes, the only way to discover what you're really meant to build is to have everything else taken away first.
The Skating CEO
After everything, here's what I believe: You become unstoppable the moment you stop pretending you're flawless and start owning the truth that you can rebuild yourself at any time. Skating taught me that. Life taught me that. And ONE Blades is built on that principle. Not perfection. Evolution.
This book is not the end of my story.
It's the beginning of the era where I finally build with clarity, purpose, and truth. And if my story means anything to you, let it mean this:
The chaos you're living through right now might be the only force strong enough to prepare you for what you're meant to build. Perfect would have been a prison.
Chaos was the curriculum.
And everything you've survived has made you dangerous in the best possible way. Thank you for walking through the chapters with me. Now I'll spend the rest of my life earning the next ones.
To my daughter Nel:
You are the reason I survived the darkest chapter. You are the reason I rebuild properly now. And you are the reason I refuse to quit until I've built something worthy of the man I want you to see.
To my community:
You funded the vision when I had nothing but belief. You stayed when I had nothing to show yet. You are the reason ONE Blades exists. This is ours, not mine.
To every skater who reads this:
If the industry hasn't made space for you yet - good. Build your own space. That's what I'm doing. And that's what the next era of skating looks like.