Pete imported a young woman to skate in his ice shows and teach at his odd little rink who had been a competitive figure skater in Canada. Janelle professed that in her heyday she could perform triple toe loops and salchows and double axels. At only twenty-three years old, how long ago could this period of glory have been? She seemed too young to reminisce about the best days of her life. Janelle did not outline her career as a Canadian amateur, but I had never heard of her. Of course, I probably would not have recognized a foreign skater who did not place in the top three at the world championships or Olympic Games. Television networks showed very few skaters who did not represent the United States or win a medal. Passed her self-proclaimed peak, Janelle still performed praiseworthy double jumps and single axels. To all of the people in Lawrence, myself included, she looked like a phenomenal skater. I took my very first private lesson from her at the age of twenty-four.

I asked Gina if a continuation of the beginning skating class would be offered during the fall. She explained that the beginner class would be available again and a more advanced class might be proposed if sufficient interest existed. Unfortunately, the advanced group never materialized. After a couple of weeks of pestering Gina and her father during every session I attended, I decided to inquire about private lessons. Pete introduced me to Janelle O’Mahony, the former Canadian competitor. Dressed in jeans and a sweater, Janelle smiled warmly. We were about the same age. She opened a professional-looking leatherette appointment book and penciled my name in for Thursday afternoon.

Simply scheduling that first private lesson made me feel like a legitimate skater. On a path toward my childhood dreams, I went home from the rink imagining how skating would become an integral part of my life. Even though I had some experience with recreational ice skating, I did not comprehend the slope of the learning curve. Now committed to miraculous private lessons, the secrets to skating’s most exciting jumps and spins would be revealed. Of course, my natural talent as a freestyle roller skater would translate directly to ice and I would have little trouble mastering every move presented by Janelle. Although I went to campus daily for classes and my research assistantship, the rink became the emotional focal point of my existence. My self-worth began to differentiate itself from academic and intellectual achievement, transferring instead to attainment of figure skating goals. While I remained conscientious about schoolwork, thoughts of ice skating preoccupied my thoughts.

Neil accompanied me to my first private lesson capturing the experience with his fancy camera. I wore a pair of cotton leggings, an oversized acrylic sweater, and rented skates. I had never taken a private lesson for anything in my life; not music, sports or dance. Although Janelle charged a modest fee, the lesson seemed decadent. My parents would have never indulged me with such a superfluous expense. Fearing their commentary on a foolish waste of money, I waited a few years before telling them about my private skating lessons.

During the thirty-minute lesson, Janelle critiqued my crossovers, stressing the importance of keeping my toe picks out of the ice. She showed me forward inside and outside three-turns from a standing “T” position, and I struggled predictably with the counterclockwise variants. To conclude the lesson, we worked on spirals. First, I glided down the long axis of the rink on the flat of my blade. Janelle showed me how to skate backward and step forward into an outside edge spiral. When I first began skating at Arctic Circle the previous season, I experimented on my own, stepping from backward to forward in both directions. I found this to be a surprising challenge, especially on dull rental blades whose edges did not grip the ice. The blade often slid sideways, missing the edge completely. Now a regular customer, Gina identified a sharp set of blades for me and set them aside so I would not have to adjust to different skates every time I took the ice. With a decent sharpening and skills learned in the group lesson, I stepped forward easily, hesitating for an instant to find my balance before extending into a spiral.

I could hear Pete hooting and cheering from the boards. He was giving a private lesson to another young woman whom I did not know. After my lesson, Janelle opened her sophisticated little binder and scheduled my next appointment. After twenty years of waiting, my first private lesson ended too quickly, but I eagerly anticipated the second one the following week.

Pete glided over and patted me on the back affectionately. “That girl I was working with said you’re good, and she’s been skating since last year.” While I took the group class the previous spring, this woman started immediately with private lessons. Although I had probably seen her at the rink, our paths crossed infrequently and we had not met. Stephanie measured her movements with caution and precision. She did not stroke fast, step suddenly, or achieve dramatic positions. A patient, meticulous skater; Stephanie’s conservative approach would yield admirable results. My counterclockwise skills continued to suffer, but I skated backward in my own direction with confidence and power, entering that outside edge spiral at a respectable speed and achieving attractive extension.

Encouraged by Pete’s comments and those received through the grapevine, I practiced spirals regularly improving my extension until Gina remarked one afternoon as I turned in my skates to leave the rink, “Those spirals are high. They’re almost as high as mine!” Although Gina intended to compliment my skill by comparing it to her established standard, I detected a note of amazement and jealousy in her voice. She clearly did not expect a twenty-four year old woman endowed with little practical training, other than a basic class, to show promise in any area of ice skating. I had a long way to go before spinning or jumping, but many children who can perform impressive feats lack the flexibility and diligence to focus on finer points such as glides and extensions. It is not uncommon for a teenage skater to complete a double jump and push into a droopy, lackluster spiral.

The next time I came to the rink, Gina handed me my skates, pulled the blade guards off of hers and stepped onto the ice while I watched from the tables. She stroked across the rink with long strides, stretching her legs and pointing her toes after each push. ‘This is how to stroke, Kate,’ she seemed to say with her actions. Gina turned backward curving her long slender arms like a ballerina to circle the rink in flowing backward crossovers. She glided in an arabesque pose before stepping forward into a spiral. Her shapely leg reached high above horizontal, higher than usual, as if trying to instantly improve so that I could not surpass her. ‘This is a high spiral, Kate,’ she silently intimidated. ‘Now you try it.’

Perhaps I was overly sensitive or self-conscious, but Gina seemed to glower at me after demonstrating her expertise. I tied the brown laces into a bow at my ankles and looked at the rental skates with disgust. I prepared to share the ice with this young woman who earned a living as a professional skater in her father’s two-bit operation. Gina learned to skate and walk concurrently, yet she obviously felt threatened by me, or anyone else, who could perform even one exceptional element. I may have had a good spiral, but it was only a spiral. Yet, I wanted to jump like Gina, who claimed to hate jumping, but flashed across the tiny rink demonstrating big floating single loops and flips. I had to buy my own skates if I ever wanted to achieve competence and respectability as a skater.

After Pete told me the horrible truth about the cost of skates, I considered the magnitude of the commitment I planned to make to figure skating. I had already taken a group class, skated countless public sessions, and arranged for more than one private lesson with Janelle. Discussing my options with Neil, I wondered if I should start with an inexpensive pair of department store ice skates, comparable to the roller skates I used as a teenager. Neil admitted that he planned to give me a season’s pass to Arctic Circle for my birthday the next month and his parents decided to buy me a gift certificate for private lessons. These were easily the finest gifts I had ever received, with the possible exception of my engagement ring. Neil encouraged me to put my money toward a good pair of skates that would perform well and provide adequate support as I developed into a more advanced skater.

Still skeptical, only because I earned so little money, I asked Pete how long a good pair of skates might last.

“A good pair of boots can last you a lifetime,” he stated enthusiastically, eager to make a sale. He did not guarantee that they would last that long, but I was too excited about owning genuine skates to interpret his misleading advertising language. His claim justified a desire to spend beyond my means.

My whole life? I thought. That certainly is excellent quality. Of course, I knew nothing about skating equipment, having never own viable athletic gear before. I believed Pete when he said a good pair of boots might be a lifetime investment. He neglected to mention boots breaking down, which they eventually do depending on the amount of wear inflicted by the skater. Pete must have planned this sales pitch especially for the small town folk of Lawrence, who had no previous exposure to elite sports and were generally not wealthy. I was not the only sucker to order a pair of skating shoes that would be appropriate for landing double jumps at some unforeseen time in the future. At my level of skating, I did not need such expensive, sturdy boots. A step above recreational grade would have carried me through basic spins and simple jumps for the next couple of years, when I could reevaluate my abilities. On a quest to recapture missed childhood indulgences, Pete did not have to force me; I went along willingly with his suggestions.

Before my new skates arrived, a time period that seemed eternal, I discovered the wonders of the left forward inside three-turn. As a roller skater, I had never executed an inside three-turn of any type. This marked my first break from roller skating. I learned a unique skill on the ice. After Janelle showed me the turns from a standing position, I understood the technique well enough to perform them while moving. Actually, my first inside three resulted from happenstance rather than aptitude. Gliding forward, I placed my left foot on the ice and lifted my right in an effort to stroke like Gina in long graceful movements. Unfortunately, I lost my balance and my right leg swung behind me, inadvertently shifting my weight to the inside of the left blade. This combination of unintentional actions caused me to turn on the left forward inside edge, completing an awkward inside three-turn. I tried the turn again, ultimately mustering the courage to skate fast down the length of the rink and trust my body to rotate on the unfamiliar edge. Rather than doing the left side variant for the rest of the session, I should have begun to explore the right forward inside three-turn, but I did not.

For my second private lesson, Janelle suggested working on spins. Although she was also a clockwise skater, Janelle demonstrated an anti-clockwise two-foot spin. She had also coached in Canada and adapted many of her more basic skills to the rotational direction preferred by most people. I quickly interrupted and told her I naturally rotate to the right based on my prior roller skating experience. She smiled with relief, obviously more comfortable displaying even the most fundamental elements clockwise.

The previous spring, Pete came on the ice and noticed my valiantly attempts to spin. He suggested I spin the other way, assuming my results would improve. Although I entered the spin differently, we discovered that I could spin in both directions. He tried to convince me to adopt counterclockwise as my favored direction, but I stubbornly resisted. Outlining all of the skills I used to do on roller skates, clockwise rotation had become entrenched in my equilibrium and provided the basis for higher level coordination. The thought of leaping to my right leg in a waltz jump made me dizzy.

Janelle stood on the ice with her feet shoulder width apart and twisted her body opposite the intended spin. Releasing her potential energy, she rotated smoothly on both blades and gently pulled in her arms to increase speed. I copied these movements readily, though my spin could not match Janelle’s effortlessness. Eventually, Janelle initiated a basic spin and lifted her left foot stork fashion touching the side of her boot to the calf of her skating leg. Balancing gracefully, the former competitor revolved like a miniature music box ballerina. I remembered asking my childhood instructor, Beth Van Buren, how to spin on the toe pick, which I believed resulted in the amazingly fast spins performed on television. Like Beth, Janelle turned on the ball of her foot, an area of the blade known as the “rocker”, the roundest part of the blade’s curvature. Ideally, the skater should remain centered over the rocker; not falling backward toward the heel of the blade or grinding the toe pick into the ice. Rocking on the blade causes a spin to travel, leaving a curlicue pattern on the ice. As a child, these scrolling marks captivated me, and I presumed they represented a standard of excellence. None of the skaters at the public sessions I attended could create a perfectly centered imprint that appeared to have been created with a large drill bit. Janelle left a small circular scar on the ice that I examined in wonderment.

Spinning from a standstill, I tried to lift my free foot but either rocked to my toe pick or lost my balance. As a roller skater, the rocker concept was new to me. Spinning on a roller skate results from lifting wheels off the floor, in a method unrelated to finding the proverbial “sweet spot” on a freestyle ice skating blade. Roller skaters perform a camel spin variant by lifting their front wheels and revolving entirely on the two heel wheels. While advanced ice skaters execute outside edge camel spins toward the back of the blade, this method is not generally recommended for beginners, nor is it used for other forward spins. With the one-foot spin, I moved deeper into territory previously uncharted as a former artistic roller skater.

Spinning fascinated me and I spent hours of ice time twisting into two-foot spins in a corner of the Arctic Circle ice rink. Neil gave me the season’s pass a month before my birthday, and I came to the rink every day, if only for an hour. Because I covered the ice with speed, three-turning and stretching into beautiful spirals, I appeared to be a better skater than actually I was. And I honestly believed I was more accomplished than unbiased, knowledgeable evaluation would indicate. Other adults envied my ability to leave the safety of the railing and skate freely in the center of the rink, frolicking like a dolphin in a pool. Skating was play for me, relief from mentally arduous academic work. I avoided troublesome skills that did not develop readily, preferring to spare myself the frustration of learning uncomfortable counterclockwise elements. A focused and painstaking university student, none of those behaviors followed me off campus and onto the ice. Meanwhile, persistent Stephanie practiced slow backward crossovers into two-foot spins, eventually lifting her free leg into the stork position.

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