Adam Rippon - Beautiful on the Outside

The first time I went ice skating I absolutely fucking hated it. I was about five years old and had begged my parents to take me to Montage Mountain, a small ski resort in Scranton, Pennsylvania, where we lived. At the bottom of the mountain was the field for the Scranton Red Barons, the local minor league baseball team. In the winters they would turn the field into an ice skating rink so those who didnt want to risk their lives on the bunny hills of the mountain could instead risk their lives on this makeshift pond, with at least fifty people who would be wearing knives on their shoes and had no idea what they were doing.

My parents brought me there because I was begging to go to a rink, any rink, and this is the one they chose. I had gotten the idea to go skating from one of those giant tins of popcorn that you usually only grab at CVS when you need a last-minute gift for some random office Secret Santa or when youre running late to your aunt Gails Christmas party. You know the onesthey are divided into three compartments inside for regular, caramel, and fluorescent orange cheese popcorn. Hey, Im not above it. Ive given one or two in my day, and everyone loves a giant popcorn tin. On the outside of this particular tin was an idyllic Victorian scene of all these people skating happily on a frozen pond. After someone gave it to my dad for Christmas, it was around the house and always filled with cookies or snacks of some kind.

Not only did I love whatever was inside that tin, I also loved what was on the outside. There was one woman on the tin that I was infatuated with. She was gliding across the lake on one skate, the other one dangling in the air behind her. She wore a long black coat, a matching bonnet, and a white muff. It was the muff I was fixated on, and the first time I saw it was maybe the first time I knew what love was. I wanted to glide as effortlessly across ice as this mysterious and fabulous Victorian woman, and I knew that a white muff was essential to making that happen. For the record, this is the only time in my entire life that I ever needed a muff but not the only time I wanted one. I wouldnt be too proud to wear one todayits just that Ive never really encountered the right muff.

For a couple of months I pleaded with my parents to go ice skating. I would say, Wouldnt it be really fun for the whole family to go to a rink? I think it would be a really good time. Thats meselfless to the end. Eventually, my parents agreed to take my younger siblings and me to Montage Mountain. I had this perfect vision of what skating would be like in my head and I knew exactly what I would be wearing. I had this one fleece jacket with huge toggle buttons, sort of like the coat that Paddington Bear wears. I would wear that, blue jeans, plastic rental skates, and, of course, a muff. The muff would obviously be the key to my success.

None of this ended up happening. The toggle coat was really more of a lightweight fall jacket that was not suitable for the Scranton winter, especially on an outdoor ice rink. My mom nixed it immediately. And the muff? Forget it. Were not going to get a muff, my mom said. You dont need a muff. Where do you even buy a muff? Youre going to wear mittens. You need to have your hands free if you fall. Youre going to wear mittens and this ski suit and were going to go skating. Fall?! My poor mother, I thought. She didnt know who she was dealing with.

The sleeves of the ski suit had elastic around the cuffs, so I couldnt even fit my hands in the opposite sleeves and pretend I was wearing a muff like I had planned to do as backup. But as my parents green Chrysler Town & Country minivan got closer to Montage Mountain, I convinced myself to get over it: I dont need any of that stuff. Im still going to be amazing. My blue ski suit had green lightning bolts down the side that I felt gave off the vibe that I would be going very fast. Even though I wasnt dressed like her, I could still saunter across the ice just like the popcorn tin lady.

My mom laced up my skates and we went onto the ice with all the other families out for a day of frosty fun. I took one step with the confidence of someone who had been touring with the Ice Capades for thirty years and immediately fell over. I was wet, cold, and absolutely devastated. I sat in the middle of this makeshift pond, with the wind stinging my eyes, and stared up into the dark winter sky asking God to teleport me to the warmth and safety of the couch in our living room. The whole time we were out on that drafty fake lake, all I wanted to do was go inside and sip on a Swiss Miss hot chocolateanother fantasy that wasnt to become a reality that day. After that fiasco, I never wanted to go ice skating again. My dreams of being the worlds next popcorn tin lady were over.

Her elusive muff is a reminder that a lot of the major events of my childhood revolved around whatever outfit I would get to wear. For example, another one of my grand dreams was to host a talent show on the back deck of our house. As I planned it in my mind, I would coax my two younger brothers into performing their talents, which, at the time, probably would have been something like naming every species of dinosaur, singing the first verse of Till There Was You, or maybe they would have stuck to what they knew best and shown off how they were able to stick their heads through our fence and not get stuck (which they were able to do at least 70 percent of the time, and it was honestly impressive). I knew that, no matter what they did, I was going to be the star of the show, and thats all I was concerned about. I was going to wear a white turtleneck shirt and these red plaid pants that my grandmothers sister bought for me. While this is not something Ryan Seacrest would normally wear, I was convinced it was the fanciest thing I owned because of where it came from.