August 2001
August 1-3, 2001
Inline Breakthrough
I have no right to complain about the sorry state of my inline freestyle skating. Skating once or twice per week for about twenty minutes each is insufficient to improve at anything. Since I prefer ice skating, I go to the rink whenever possible. This allows only a couple of trips to the park per week for inline freestyle and distance quad skating. Inline figure skating seems more difficult than ice skating, possibly because I am not used to it and have not given it a fair chance. If I had convenient access to a roller rink, I might enjoy practicing on a smoother surface than the basketball court. An air-conditioned skating environment would also be pleasant on hot summer days.
This week I laced my inlines expecting nothing more than a brief
Reasonably good forward outside edges led to decent inside edges. I decided to press my luck and try forward outside three-turns. The clockwise variant occurred naturally but required a slight lifting of the rear wheels permitting the turn to occur on the inline skate’s rocker. I struggled more with the anti-clockwise counterpart but soon performed a series of alternating forward outside three-turns requiring only a slight touch down with the free foot for extra stability before pushing into the next turn.
Skating happily around the court, I turned forward to backward creating a dance of three-turns, edges and crossovers. This sequence of movements culminated in a final forward inside pivot, a move I rarely do on the ice in spite of its ease. I generally have better ways to occupy my time in an ice arena. The pivot was a lovely effortless movement that felt unexpectedly gracefully. I tried another and instinctively lifted my free foot generating a one-foot spin. My previous attempts to spin on inlines have resulted in pathetic failure. The wheels seem glued to the ground, unable to skim the surface as a metal blade glosses over an ice sheet. The driving force behind roller skating, friction actually seems to prohibit spinning on these crazy things. Nevertheless, I completed about two rotations. They were not pretty as my arms pulled in awkwardly, my shoulders hunched and my back twisted. Simultaneously, I fought and forced those simplistic unremarkable revolutions. Demonstrating neither command of spinning technique nor understanding of correct body carriage, my performance would win no prizes and pass no tests. However, a naive bystander might have commented “Gee, you’re a good skater!” Non-skating people are easily buffaloed by a remedial spin taken out of context. A knowledgeable observer would hardly believe that I own a wonderful layback, flying camel and can pull a fast headless scratch spin on the ice.
That small modicum of progress encouraged me. About eight years ago, my first one-foot spin on ice skates was not much different. The next day, I did a few itsy-bitsy waltz jumps, the fifth and sixth of which were not especially bad. A journey of a thousand miles begins with a lousy one-foot spin.
Week of August 6, 2001
Lunatics Running the Asylum
This was easily the worst week of skating I have experience since summer 1999 when drought necessitated a minimal ice resurfacing schedule. The ice became slushy, coarse and pitted before the Zamboni backed out of its garage. To make matters worse, the management of that rink allowed a rather large group of “get out of my way” prima donnas to practice their ice show routines (for free!) on the low freestyle session. At twenty dollars for two hours, I was furious to hear some spoiled starlet, who got on the ice gratis, barking “excuse me” every time I tried to practice something. I never signed up for another summer session at that rink again.
On Monday, I went to the mall and found a sparse crowd circling the arena, including a couple of friends who claimed I arrived at the right time. An obnoxious group of teenagers had just left. For about thirty minutes, I performed all of my favorite moves in the field patterns preparing for a reasonably decent session; although the ice was in poor condition, and no one started the Zamboni. Unfortunately, as I began warming up spins and jumps, a new group of rowdies entered the building and laced up rental boots and hockey skates. I knew my productive practice time had just become severely limited. Soon the ice swarmed with screaming young people racing, falling and clowning around. A few of the boys were competent hockey skaters but had no respect for the sanctity of center ice. They darted wherever they pleased, blades ripping the already battered ice surface, startling me with close passes at reckless speeds and abrupt grinding stops. I became dizzy trying to watch for them, shoving a spin or jump into each possible opening in the confusion. As careless marauders cut back and forth granting me no respect whatsoever, I told the rink guard, who did nothing to control the fray, that I simply could not handle this type of session. I realize it was a public session; and people of all ages, wearing all types of skates, have the right to attend. However, the rink personnel did absolutely nothing to provide a reasonably safe environment for freestyle skaters. The lunatics were running the asylum.
Later in the week, I returned to the miniature mom and pop rink. Joanne*, the beginnerish adult skater who somehow has finagled her way into the coaching profession, was skating when I arrived. I shared the ice with her and found that she has not improved significantly, and still does not deserve to charge money for her instructional services, in my opinion. Her moves in the field plod slowly around the tiny rink, and her backspin rotates entirely on the wrong edge achieving no speed or center. Her sacred backward cross strokes, that she previously made such a big stink about doing correctly, suffered from “dog urinating on a fire hydrant” syndrome. A truly pitiable sight. She should try the conventional method and give up this absurdity that the flimflam man imposed upon her. I would not be so critical of Joanne if she were a typical adult skater. I would applaud her dedication. However, she is not a garden-variety adult figure skater. She charges fifty dollars an hour for her expertise.
I only skated there for an hour. A group of small children came in for lessons with Joanne, and I preferred to leave early since I had promised to meet a friend later in the day. In total, I only skated two hours this week. Due to mercilessly high temperatures, I also avoided roller skating at the park. To supplement my limited exercise regimen, I have been taking early morning walks before the weather becomes intolerably hot. Summer is not my favorite time of year.
* Not her real name.
Week of August 13, 2001
Return of the Flimflam Man
I had not seen my old coach for over two years. However, I found out that he still works at the Lilliputian rink a couple of days per week and gives lessons to my friend, Joanne. I decided to be there to say “hello”. While Oscar* is a tremendously nice man and an interesting skater, he seemed not to acknowledge his limits when giving freestyle lessons. I heard through the grapevine that he never competed nor has he ever tested. I do not know if he skated professionally or if he has any credentials at all. Oscar never provided me with a resume or description of his background, and the rink does not offer a brochure about its limited coaching services. Oscar did tell me that he once coached full time but now instructs on a part time basis, earning the majority of his livelihood in another profession.
Oscar is a fabulous dancer and footwork technician. His antics on the ice would impress any potential student. He also dresses the part of a real character, donning three-piece suits and skating like a 1950s male competitor. I was drawn to Oscar’s personality and showmanship since we met almost six years ago. He became my coach and I took lessons from him for more than two years. Oscar proved invaluable to my development as a spinner. His methods brought my scratch spin to blur speed. He taught me the flying camel and other camel variations. In spite of efforts with conventional and unusual techniques, he was not very successful in teaching me to jump. Some of this is my fault, but victory finally came from experimenting with jumps in my driveway then doing them at a snail’s pace on the ice, in direct contradiction to Oscar’s philosophy of skating at breakneck speed into every element. My top speed even now is not phenomenal, but at that time, trying something unfamiliar at my modest full speed was terrifying; and I decided that I did not condone this method of instruction. Since I accept different teaching and learning styles (and I ultimately learned the jumps myself), I continued to respect Oscar as a coach.
Our relationship disintegrated when he taught me to do stars that were grossly incorrect, not due to my incompetence as a skater but because the skill he demonstrated was definitely not a star. He also showed me the most bizarre entrance into a flying sit spin that I have ever seen. It might help some people achieve the desired skidding action, but jumping out of a T-stop still makes no sense to me. After the star episode, I decided to change the focus of my lessons with Oscar toward footwork, which seemed to be his forte. I asked Oscar to work with me on moves in the field. He apparently was not familiar with them, so he taught me some dance patterns instead, claiming that dances are moves in the field, which is untrue. Some of the steps may be similar but dance and moves are two distinct disciplines. He obviously wanted to placate me without divulging his lack of knowledge. I would have preferred that Oscar tell me he was not prepared to teach moves and would have to consult the USFSA Rulebook before my next lesson. He could have also explained that he did not do stars and directed me toward another skill. No one knows everything and no one has all of the answers. I respect people who are straightforward about their limitations. I could not escape the feeling that Oscar was BSing me. It was time to move on.
My break with Oscar came conveniently when other changes in my life (as well as dissatisfaction with the little place where Oscar taught) brought me to a new rink and a different skating schedule. Then I met Geoff, who is not perfect either, but I value his honesty.
Oscar spied me immediately and came off the ice to shake my hand. He said I had lost weight. Wanting to look my best, I had purposely dressed in flattering black jazz pants and a gorgeous new stretch top. He complimented an absolutely huge loop jump I landed in the back of the tiny rink. Unexpectedly, I hit a spectacular camel-change-camel-change-camel. Oscar watched me skate and commented on how good I still looked. It was probably not in his best interest to recognize how much I have improved, some of which is due to Geoff’s expertise but also to my own commitment.
Oscar is still a nice guy and quite an eccentric. He taught Joanne’s lesson wearing old hockey skates. I wondered from where he had exhumed those dinosaurs. His footwork on them was even more amazing. I like Oscar and was glad to see him, but I do not regret the decision to change coaches.
* Not his real name. Don't run out and fire your coach if his name just happens to be "Oscar".
Week of August 20, 2001
Damage Control
A fellow adult skater confessed that she considered giving up the sport and had taken three months off. Professional and family commitments necessitated Marianne’s sabbatical, but as she lived without skating, she reflected on how little progress she had made in two years of lessons and regular practice. She toyed with the idea of joining an adult dance class instead. Finally my friend decided to give skating one last try. She told her coach that she did not want to punish herself with mohawk turns any more. A counterclockwise skater, she simply could not do the clockwise variant and was gripped with fear every time she tried. The coach agreed and worked with her student on stroking drills and simple dance patterns, which renewed Marianne’s enthusiasm.
I have also taken long unavoidable breaks from skating and have often left the rink disgusted with myself, axels, and double salchows. Like Marianne, I have had trouble with the most fundamental skills performed opposite my natural rotational preference. Sharing these revelations provided my friend with some comfort; although she could hardly believe that I have become discouraged, since she aspires to skate as I do. However, skating is a relative endeavor. Its possibilities are more limitless than many people’s potential. There is always something new and more difficult to learn, regardless of an athlete’s position on the developmental ladder. Multi-revolution jumps are the next step for me, and I face the same disappointments at my level that Marianne faces at hers.
Summertime can be especially demoralizing to adults who are not used to skating with freestyle camps, public session crowds, and hockey kids. My skills have all become rather rusty over the last couple of months. This was the first week of decent skating I have had since the schools released their charges for the season. With September only a week away, families are taking last minute vacations and gearing up for back-to-school, leaving the ice rinks happily uncluttered. I had no excuse not to work on more challenging elements and played with the nefarious double salchow once again, expecting little and getting less. I almost landed one, but was too low in the knee and collapsed onto the ice. After squeaking out a sloppy double, I landed the next one forward and belly flopped, banging my knee in the process. I understand Marianne’s dilemma perfectly. I may be attempting more advanced tricks, but am still failing miserably. It is natural to doubt one’s self when one’s knees and buttocks hurt and one’s pants are wet with slush, particularly when the situation seems endless and improvement has been scarce.
However, I expect a couple of weeks of decent ice time will get me back into shape. During the summer months, I only hope to maintain the same general degree of ability. I do not expect to learn new skills or dramatically refine my weaknesses. Summer skating amounts to damage control. Don’t get hurt, don’t crash into anyone, and don’t regress beyond salvation.
Week of August 27, 2001
Fooling Around
Summer sessions are generally crowded, and not conducive to practicing certain skills. I try to complete at least one round of each moves in the field pattern during the first fifteen minutes before everyone takes to the ice. Ordinarily, I delegate a half-hour for this critical activity. I also prefer not to practice axels and double salchows in a crowd. Aside from the embarrassment of relentless falls, the swarms of people diminish my concentration when I should be fully focused to attempt a difficult skill. The most challenging element I will try during most busy summer sessions is a flying camel because the jump has become reliable for me.
While my single jumps can always grow bigger and faster, long powerful set-ups can be impossible in a mobbed arena. I practice all of the basics and work on stag and split leaps, not really expecting the opportunity to let fly, always fearing a little kid might step out in front of me to become rink pizza. So I am left with spinning. My standard spins are really quite good and doing them over and over becomes tedious. Lacking athletic stimulation, I start to experiment with unusual positions. My nemesis is the cannonball sit spin, requiring the skater to grasp the outstretched free leg while placing her forehead to her knee. I cannot get this spin, but I keep trying other variations such as headless sit spin in which the head merely hides between the skater’s arms.
Desperately bored during a packed session, I worked on various bizarre sit spins, grasping my free foot and curling into a ball, only inches above the ice. Someone said this looked cool. For all I know, it just looks weird. I tried unusual arm positions and discovered that deviating from conventional poses complicates the mundane sit spin making it freshly challenging. I moved on to strange camels, reaching both arms straight out in front of my body and ducking my head between them in a headless camel, which is not nearly as nauseating as a cannonball sit. I also like headless scratch spins. These are true thrillers. After centering a very fast forward scratch, the skater’s arms begin to pull upward but stop at the neck. At peak velocity, the skater puts her head back, and it disappears in a blur with the arms. I am particularly good at this, having learned to blur a scratch relatively early in my skating development.
All of this fooling around consumes time, time that might be better spent on the flying sit or death drop, assuming I can find a safe place to try them. It also takes practice time away from spin combinations that need work, such as backward to forward camels, laybacks to backward sits or camels, and other more advanced transitions. It might be wiser to concentrate on these elements rather than goofing around with a funky arm position in a sit spin. However, I often become so distracted in a crowded summer session, that I cannot take my skating seriously. Lighthearted play with a new permutation might be more psychologically rewarding than aborting fifty attempts at a flying sit when someone crosses my path. With so many possible spin combinations to perfect, I may also be suffering from overload, like a student taking too many classes who is unable to excel in any of them. As long as my foundation skills remain solid, I try not to worry too much about wasting time during the summer. My skating time has dropped to about half of my winter schedule, so I cannot expect dramatic progress or to emerge in September with an arsenal of greatly improved skills.
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