Roots in Newfoundland pt.2

From a young age, my life revolved around my sport—a passion I wholeheartedly loved. Growing up in Bareneed, where ice time was scarce, we had two local rinks: one conveniently close to home and another about 20 minutes away—cold enough to make your toes go numb before you even hit the ice. Our club had to share ice time with the local hockey teams, who, let’s be honest, loved to claim the ice as their own. But hey, that’s not my bone to pick.

Back in the day, I became best friends with Kathryn and Rachel, whose mom was just as passionate about skating as mine. With limited ice time, we’d carpool and make the hour-long trek to St. John’s so we could all train with Kevin. Soon enough, we earned the nickname “the Bay girls,” and we definitely made a name for ourselves in the skating world, especially with the city coaches. They’d often joke, “If the Bay girls can drive an hour in a snowstorm, there’s no excuse for any skater in the city not to show up!” We were the ones who braved blizzards and showed up for practice, no matter if it was a holiday or not. As the out-of-town skaters, we were usually stuck with the earliest ice times—because, let’s be honest, no one else wanted them. That meant early nights and even earlier mornings, with 5 a.m. wake-up calls becoming my thing. Thankfully, I’ve always been a morning person!

My mom sat me down for the talk – I was juggling too much. Between school, skating, swimming, local recreation dance classes (ballet, tap, jazz, hip-hop), and violin, something had to give.

Without hesitation, I decided to drop swim team, dance classes, and even violin lessons (which, let’s be honest, was probably a relief to anyone who had to listen) to focus solely on skating.

In Newfoundland, and probably everywhere in sport, skating moms are often like the classic soccer moms—always in the mix, offering unsolicited opinions, and sticking their noses into everyone’s business. But my mom? She was different. She taught me to stay focused on my own path, away from the noise. While others got caught up in drama, she handled the chaos quietly behind the scenes, always protecting me from anything that could distract or interfere with my passion and goals . Her strength and wisdom helped me stay grounded, keeping my eyes on what truly mattered: my skating and my dreams. And let me tell you, the behind-the-scenes stories she’s still telling me today would blow your mind—there was a lot going on, even within my own family.

Eventually, I reached a point in my skating where staying the same wasn’t going to help me grow. In Newfoundland, though, switching coaches wasn’t common. The skating community was small and close-knit, so changing coaches wasn’t just a professional decision—it felt like breaking an unspoken rule. Moving on from Kevin? It definitely raised some eyebrows.

But here’s the thing: Kevin understood. He recognized that I needed a fresh perspective to reach my full potential, and he supported me, even if it meant letting me go. That made the decision a little easier, but it was still tough to leave my comfort zone.

So, I took the plunge and switched to Lori and Neal, who were considered by most as the top coaches in Newfoundland and Labrador. And honestly, it was a game-changer for me and my family. They opened doors to opportunities I never would’ve imagined if I’d stayed at the CBN Skating Club. It wasn’t just a new chapter—it was an entirely new story. 

To elevate my artistry on the ice, I decided to jump into a dance school in St. John’s. But, of course, I didn’t just dip my toe in—I dove straight in the deep end. I started ballet and enrolled in the top dance school in the area. I even got to perform with a Broadway company! I remember the audition well and like performing my skating solo at competition my nervous energy prevailed with perfection. My days quickly turned into a perfectly choreographed marathon: wake up at 5 a.m. for training, head to school, then completing my homework during the hour-long drive to St. John’s. Once I arrived, it was two hours of dance, followed by two more hours of skating, and finally, I’d roll back home around 9 p.m. all in a days work and it energized me to want more.

Sounds exhausting, right? But honestly, I thrived on it. The grind, the rhythm, the adrenaline from skating and dancing—it was the fuel that kept me going. It was a crazy schedule, but each moment brought me one step closer to my dreams. And a lot of people liked to comment on it, especially in my hometown.

This was when “Sorry, I can’t, I have skating” became my entire life. It came at a cost. I spent little time at home, rarely sat down for family dinners, and often had to miss events with friends—even when I really wanted to be there. But still, I had a mission, a passion for my sport that was impossible to explain and often went misunderstood by others. I wanted to go to the Olympics, and I knew the level of commitment it would take. That dream burned brighter than any sacrifice I had to make. And my parents? They were right there with me, just as dedicated, doing everything they could to help me chase that dream. The costs and sacrifices were never an issue. I still hear my mom say today that my training years “were some of the best years of her life.” We were all in—no matter what.

 By the time I got to junior high, it started to cause some friction with my friends. I remember one girl from school telling me flat out, “You don’t have a life,” and honestly? That stung. It bummed me out because, She couldn't even imagine the amount of experiences I have had at just 11 years old.

But here’s the thing—I still had so much fun with my friends in town when I had the chance, and my mom did everything she could to make up for the moments I missed. She brought me on so many trips, surrounded by beautiful like minded people and created incredible experiences that I wouldn’t trade for anything. 

It’s funny when you think about it—a kid dreaming of the Olympics. But that was me. As far back as I can remember, it was all I ever wanted. The Olympics weren’t just a goal; they were the goal. But here’s the thing—what happens if you don’t make it? What happens when the dream doesn’t come true? I vividly remember my mom having a conversation with me. She said, “Jenna, you can train hard, do everything necessary, and make it to the Olympics. Or you can train hard, do everything necessary, and still not make it.” I didn’t understand it at the time, but it was her way of telling me to “enjoy the process.”

Statistically speaking, only about “0.0001375%” of people make it to the Olympics. It’s a humbling number, right? I didn’t know those odds as a kid, though. All I knew was that I wanted it, and I was willing to give it everything I had. But life has a way of teaching you that success isn’t always about the destination—it’s about the journey.  

Stay tuned in the blog section, "Empowering Athletes," where we’ll dive deeper into the understanding that success isn’t just about reaching the destination of the Olympics or winning that medal—it’s about the journey. Also stay tuned for my mom's blog post under "Moments That Shaped Me" for a special insight into our experiences!

Feel free to share any stories or thoughts you may have in the comments!