April 2001
Week of April 2, 2001
Pre-Bronze
I took my last skating test in December, 1999. Since then, I have prepared preliminary moves in the field (MITF) with the intention of continuing on the USFSA eligible track. In order to control my nerves before putting my MITF on display, I decided to take the Adult Pre-Bronze freestyle test to experience a testing situation that should be easy for me. The Pre-Bronze test consists of forward and backward crossovers, a spiral, two jumps, a two-foot spin, and a one-foot spin. The skills are performed individually without music. I decided to include the toe loop and salchow because the Adult Bronze test specifically requires these jumps.
Although I did not look forward to this little trial, I never allowed myself the luxury of worrying about it. I practiced all of the skills during my regular skating sessions and felt confident that I could pass the test without difficulty. The objective of this exercise was to learn to deal with anxiety, rather than pushing myself technically.
I donned a new skating dress, shellacked my hair into place and set out for the rink. Unfortunately, the test was being held in the rink with the soft, uneven ice. Immediately, I began to worry about placement of my scratch spin. If I did not perform it in the center of the arena, it would travel downhill on the tilted surface and there would be nothing I could do to save it. I entered the hockey rink, where I usually skate, for my ritualistic warm up of MITF followed by spins and jumps. I skated well for an hour before my name was called to report to the testing facility. Surprisingly, I was not nervous, just cold, because I am not used to skating in tights and a short skirt.
My crossovers, performed around the hockey circles could not have been smoother. I hit a gorgeous spiral right in front of the judging panel and felt a little foolish for so blatantly showing off. Stroking down rink, I pointed my toe, ready to three-turn into the toe loop. Suddenly I felt apprehensive. Distracted, I jumped a big but sloppy toe loop. Ordinarily, I cut a long sweeping exit edge on those jumps. Continuing to skate, the previous mistake stole my concentration, and I rushed into another three-turn initiating my salchow. I have not done such a lousy salchow in years. I cannot remember the last time my free foot hit the ice on the landing of a single salchow. On a good day, I can land a halfway decent double salchow. I wanted a re-skate! Too bad I didn’t fall on my backside; that would have guaranteed a reskate and a chance to redeem myself. Angry and aggressive, I gathered my nerves and pushed into a two-foot spin. My blades made a violent whirring noise as they pulled into position. It was the fastest two-foot spin I have ever experienced, and it centered within four inches of soft white ice. Next, I hit the one-foot spin in the center of the arena so its warped foundation would not drag it off course. A drill could not have made a more precise circle. I wanted those easy jumps back!
I passed the test without a reskate, but it was a hollow humiliating victory. My coach told me when he saw that horrid salchow he asked himself what the f#%& I was doing. He had promised to kick my ass if I befouled this simple test. He obviously did not mean it, or my rear end would be badly bruised by now. The goal of my pre-bronze test was not just to pass but to skate well, to complete those basic elements as I can in practice. Passing would be a natural consequence of my performance. Geoff has said that I could do a single salchow with my hands tied behind my back and a broken leg. Maybe so, but I failed to do a good one under nervous tension.
After the test, I returned dejectedly to the hockey rink and did fifteen minutes of salchow and toe loop penance. The first ones I attempted in familiar surroundings once the pressure was off were big, beautiful and controlled. During my lesson a half-hour later, I landed lovely jumps including a huge lutz. I executed several powerful spin combinations and an enviable flying camel. My pre-bronze test stands out as a hideous glitch during an otherwise productive day.
Skating tests are not necessarily a measure of what a skater can achieve. Instead they gauge what he is still capable of doing when he feels like emptying the contents of his stomach onto the ice.
Week of April 9, 2001
New Boots
Over the weekend, my husband and I stopped at the pro shop to pick up my new skates. My coach had removed the relatively new blades from my old boots and mounted them on the beautiful virgin skating shoes. We admired the new skates that stood haughtily in their box and placed them gently on the backseat of the car. My husband took the old boots, eyed them with distaste and declared: “Those are really shot,” before tossing them remorselessly behind the driver’s seat.
Admittedly, they looked terrible. Deep creases told stories of strong landings and low sit spins while numerous scrapes and scars attested to bitter falls. The polish had worn off the toes where an overzealous free blade nicked the employed boot at the bottom of backward and forward scratch spins. Lace abrasion had virtually removed the colorant from both tongues. Although the boots were shabby and worn, I consciously savored my last layback and scratch spin in them, centering my best efforts. I knew after that session, the blades would move on to better things and the boots would retire to the basement or under the bed until a pair of my roller skates wears out. These boots had served me well for over two years. They were old friends in much the same way as an automobile or house becomes part of a person’s life. These boots were more than part of my life. They were an extension of my body, an implement that allowed me to move as freely on ice as I did on concrete, carpet or linoleum.
Made with orthopedic soles from a mold of my oddly shaped feet, I never suffered pain in them, even during the earliest stages of break-in. The new boots were made identically, and I hoped they would treat me as kindly. I had never tried on the new boots before shoving my feet into them at the rink for their maiden voyage. The rigid leather upper did not conform to my ankle and I had to leave the last hook unlaced, providing more room than usual for my legs to wobble. I stepped onto the ice like beginner and propelled myself around the rink cautiously, feeling insecure and awkward.
Looking down at my feet every few minutes, I hoped to see my old battered skates, instead I found these pristine stiff things. The boots were confining and warm, but not warm like a fireplace on a snowy evening, warm like blood flowing from a fresh wound an instant before the onset of pain. While the skates were not exactly comfortable, I never crossed the agony threshold. As the session wore on, I relaced the boots several times and freed my constricted feet from their grasp. They did not rub blisters, but even the worst fitting stock boots would have to get up pretty early in the morning to find a square inch of tender flesh on my otherwise callused feet.
Bored with stroking and three turns, I challenged myself to spin and jump. While my first spins were decent, a smaller waltz jump has never been recorded. Fortunately, the custom boots yielded to my will and allowed me to land better jumps later in the session. I avoided more difficult skills including the loop and lutz and saved the flying camel for another day.
After removing the skates, I dried them affectionately with a soft towel. They had survived their first session without a scuff or scratch. A new pair of skates is the ultimate symbol of hope. I wondered what new jumps or spins I might accomplish in them. Maybe I will pass a few more tests with them on my feet. I might even try the axel again.
The photographs in this entry are of my new boots before they were worn. I had never even put my foot in them.
Week of April 16, 2001
Juvenile Moves in the Field
While floundering with the preliminary forward outside three-turns on the hockey line and the forward outside power threes, I did not enjoy moves in the field (MITF). My inability to overcome deficiencies with preliminary moves was discouraging and turned me off to the entire process. Fortunately, hard work allowed me to finally conquer these elements that should, by all rights, be easy. Viewing moves from a different perspective, they became an attainable challenge if I am willing to put forth sufficient effort. Furthermore, these goals can be achieved with negligible threat of injury, which I have discovered is not true for the perilous multi-revolution jumps. No matter how much time I invested in the axel, I left the rink with a sore backside, aching knee, and no noticeable improvement. Each day I spend with a difficult move yields progress, sometimes slight, but nevertheless encouraging.
The backward inside three-turns are the only exercise hindering my graduation from pre-juvenile MITF. I perform the other skills at this level confidently, but those backward inside threes may be the cause of my eternal stagnation. While I dedicate about fifteen minutes per session to back inside
There is nothing obviously simple on the juvenile MITF test. If I had to pick the least bothersome exercise, it would have to be the forward cross strokes. I learned these years ago, though I do not practice them regularly. They are already my favorite juvenile move because they create a delicious blade grinding noise on the ice. Their backward counterparts are remarkably awkward. Never having performed a backward cross stroke before, I felt uncertain about placing my free foot behind my skating foot while gliding on a backward outside edge. It just seemed like a guaranteed bump on the head. My first efforts amounted to pathetic, hesitant little steps accompanied by nervous toe pick scratching.
I might consider the backward power three-turns somewhat facile, if they did not have to be performed in both directions. Doing them counterclockwise made me dizzy and slightly nauseous. This move stresses the importance of ambidexterity.
Although I enjoy forward inside to backward outside double three-turns, I discovered that I do not execute them remotely fast enough, a criterion that can be satisfied with adequate practice. However, the double threes also include forward outside to backward inside variants. Any pattern requiring a backward inside three-turn spells disaster for me. Since the first turn offers momentum, the backward inside three is less intimidating in this context than when it occurs alone on a lobe. I may actually master the juvenile double threes before the pre-juvenile three-turns in the field.
I anticipated the eight step mohawk sequence would be the most demanding skill on the juvenile test. I had never performed it before and had to watch my coach several times to internalize the steps before trying them. Geoff worried that I still did not understand this move and asked me to repeat it at the end of our lesson (an entire hour spent on juvenile MITF!). Surprised by my immediate progress, he predicted I will readily perfect the eight step.
Geoff asked if I felt discouraged after working through all of these rigorous exercises. I responded with a confident “no”. They will require patience and dedication, but I can learn them. I never quite felt that way about the axel. The next day following our lesson, I marched dutifully through all of the juvenile moves, demonstrating the first glimmers of aptitude. I had established a starting point from which to begin the quest for edge quality, power, quickness, and extension.
Week of April 23, 2001
Mohawk Misunderstanding
During my juvenile moves in the field (MITF) lesson last week, I learned the eight step mohawk, a footwork pattern performed in a circle. While practicing it alone, another coach approached me and asked, “Do you know that you are supposed to crossover before stepping forward?”
I must have blushed crimson before admitting that I did not. “I had my first lesson on this last week and my instructor did not tell me that,” I stammered, embarrassed and somewhat angry.
The other coach probably thought that Geoff had indeed taught me the pattern complete with a backward crossover, but I had simply forgotten to include it. I resolutely maintain that he did not. In fact, he stared at the USFSA Rulebook and babbled for a few minutes before I asked him to demonstrate the skill. I had to see it performed to be able to mimic his steps. Geoff went over it several times, never including a crossover. He reviewed it again at the end of the lesson to make sure I understood the sequence, and I had memorized his version precisely.
At home, I checked the Rulebook and watched my PSA (Professional Skaters Association) MITF video. The other coach was correct. A crossover was required before the step forward. I described this experience to my husband expressing concern that I might be better served to take moves lessons from someone else. I have been a victim of bad coaching in the past and hate to equate Geoff with the boob who tried to teach me laughable stars and a discombobulated flying sit spin. My husband and I spent the next fifteen minutes formulating excuses for his mistake.
Geoff is a highly accomplished skater and is building his reputation as a coach. Moves are probably not his specialty. His competitive young students may take MITF lessons from someone else. He may be prepared to teach lower level moves to adults or junior and senior moves to more advanced skaters, losing the midrange skills. No one can know every miniscule detail of his field, and everyone is entitled to an honest mistake. Maybe Geoff has not taught juvenile moves for years. However, if he was unsure of the correct series of steps, I wish he would have suggested revisiting this move in my next lesson, sparing me an awkward exchange with another coach. If the other coach actually believed that Geoff had taught the skill improperly, the situation is ultimately more embarrassing for him than for me.
Week of April 23, 2001; Part Two
A Winning Combination
In the last few weeks, I have made tremendous improvement with the inverted (or layover) backward camel. Geoff showed me a new technique for achieving a better upside down position. Previously, I attempted to pivot my upper body to achieve an inverted back camel
posture, which resulted in a rather uncomfortable twist. He showed me how to open my hips during the camel by pointing my free toe upward and turning my torso toward the ceiling. It is virtually impossible to stand in this position without spinning. I cannot do it by the boards and only with great effort in my living room clinging to the back of a recliner. However, when rotating a
Happy with my progress, he suggested I try a forward sit spin into a layback. I have played with this combination occasionally with little success. Exiting the unfamiliar, strenuous combination; I felt disoriented and queasy.
“That was beautiful!” he exclaimed. I have never seen Geoff so enthusiastic. He does not rave over mediocre or merely satisfactory displays. To garner this type of reaction, a performance must be genuinely excellent. “I didn’t tell you how to do this spin in advance because I wanted to see how you would approach the problem,” the coach explained. “Most people rise from the sit spin into an upright position before initiating the layback. The upright pose contributes no technical merit to the combination, though it is not incorrect. You rose from the sit spin already in a layback position. It was beautiful, really beautiful.” Geoff paused thoughtfully. “Maybe your dizziness will go away if you practice this combination a couple of times during each session. I wouldn’t want you to barf on the ice, but that spin is worth the effort.”
Next he proposed a unique flying camel combination: flying camel-layover-change-forward sit-layback. Transitions from backward to forward spins are particularly challenging. Unfortunately, I did not achieve sufficient speed in the forward sit to rise into a powerful layback. Based on what I was able to demonstrate, he commented: “Perfect that combination and you will have something really outstanding.”
After my coach left the arena, I worked on the
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The content of this site is copyright by K. J. N., 1999 - 2001