Frozen in Time. Nikki Nichols

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      Sharon Westerfeld pins a test medal on Steffi.

      Sherri’s skating blossomed, and her little sister was showing potential, too. Even though Steffi was only five years old, she was willing to try anything. You could sense a hunger in her childlike repetitions of her big sister’s moves. Steffi was soon enrolled in skating lessons, too.

      With two children desperate to stay in skates all year, Myra and Otto were left with few options. Edi had a magical way of explaining things that made everything come together for Sherri, and it was not beneficial to have two different coaches in two different cities. Consistency in instruction is a key to success in any sport.

      The Westerfeld family business was in Kansas City. Simply relocating and finding a new job was not an option. The decision was made to split the family—Otto would be the lone Westerfeld to remain in Kansas City, and the women would live in Colorado Springs full time, a unique arrangement for an American family in the early 1950s.

      The Westerfeld women settled in quickly, and Sherri’s progress proved the permanent move was worth it. In 1955, an eighteen-year-old Sherri was a top contender for a medal at the U.S. National Championships. She was even “going steady” with Olympic bronze medalist Jimmy Grogan, the perennial runner-up to Dick Button at the U.S. Nationals. Life was full of possibilities for the blossoming young woman.

      Throughout these years, Otto continued to visit. He sent weekly checks to cover the costs for skating, housing, and other expenses, never leaving Myra and the girls waiting for anything. The Westerfelds seemed like the picture of the American dream—happy, affluent, and with two youngsters well on the road to athletic fame. The only obvious ingredient missing from this formula was that Otto did not live under the same roof as his family. Myra was the leader of the household, and Otto was in many ways a part-time husband and a reliable funding source. Myra, as sole parent living in Colorado, spent all her days keeping vigil at the Ice Palace, watching every lesson, critiquing every move, and drilling important training reminders into the girls’ heads well into the night. Over time, Myra became completely wrapped up in the girls’ skating—everything from the jumping and figures technique, to the costumes she had custom-made for their competitions. While pushing her daughters to be more disciplined, she nonetheless was charming and funny, and most of the time, people loved to be around her. She endeared herself to people by calling them “sugar” and remembering every little detail about their lives, giving a sense that she really was a kind of rink mother to everyone.

      Myra’s dreams were about to be realized in 1955, when Sherri reached the apex of her ability leading up to the U.S. Nationals. Sherri was a strong competitor in school figures, but often struggled in the free skating portion of the event. After a successful compulsory figures round that put a medal well within reach, she did not execute her free skate well, missing some key jumps and opening the door to other competitors.

      She ended up placing in the dreaded position of fourth. Tenley Albright was the winner, Carol Heiss was second, and Catherine Machado took the bronze—the first time a Hispanic American had won a medal in American figure skating. All the years of sacrifice had left Sherri exhausted and wearing the unfortunate title of first alternate.

      The top finishers did end up competing at Worlds, so Sherri’s alternate position provided no real reward. She quit competitive skating to attend Colorado College, where she planned to earn a degree in psychology. She was no longer interested in the rigors of competitive skating, and was content to watch her little sister gradually prove herself as a far more gifted skater. Sherri loved skating—but did not particularly enjoy competing. She thought that maybe someday she could get a job with one of the big touring companies. She stayed close to the rink through college, even coaching part time.

      Steffi’s skating, meanwhile, was improving beyond anyone’s wildest expectations. She passed her gold freestyle test—the “final exam” that allows a skater to compete at the senior level nationally. She was one of the hardest workers anyone at the Broadmoor had ever seen. At 4:30 a.m., she rose from sleep, went to the rink, and practiced for three hours until it was time for school. She immediately returned to the rink after school and spent another two to three hours practicing. From there, she went home, ate dinner, practiced piano, and did her homework. If she was lucky, she might have enough energy left to attend a school dance or see a movie. But that kind of luck was rare. With the 1961 U.S. Nationals looming in the distance, Steffi could not afford to relax and give up any training time. With her mother always at her side, it would have been difficult to slow the pace.