For our last lesson, I demonstrated the one-foot spin I learned from Willa. Janelle showed me how to enter the spin from backward crossovers. Unfortunately, the basic backward crossover preparation is performed opposite the spinning direction; therefore I had to skate backwards counterclockwise. I had been lazy about my reverse direction skills and struggled with the backward skating digging my toe picks viciously into the ice. Janelle nodded her head conceding that I faced a considerable challenge that she would not be around to supervise. We also reviewed turns and spirals. With each exercise, Janelle encouraged me to practice all of these elements on each foot, in both directions. I agreed like a naughty child who would do neither once the authority figure left the premises.
In total, I took four lessons with Janelle O’Mahony. By late October, after my twenty-fifth birthday, I found myself without a coach and a surplus of private lesson certificates bestowed by my fiancé’s parents.
I waited a couple of weeks before asking Pete for a lesson. I did this with considerable trepidation because I did not trust Pete’s intentions. He once asked me out for cocktails, but I politely declined noting his marriage and my engagement. Yet, I preferred Pete to his superficial daughter, Gina. As a group instructor, she had committed to presenting a certain number of skills to the class. Accountable to a dozen students and several parents, she fulfilled her obligation. However, I did not care to subject myself to private lessons with someone who routinely showed off in front of inexperienced adult skaters. Gina seemed to go out of her way to establish dominance of the small ice surface, hampering customers’ leisurely practice. I doubted her sincerity as a teacher when she seemed too insecure to skate among adult beginners without flaunting her abilities.
Pete obviously welcomed the opportunity to work more closely with me. While his behavior was not overt, he did hold my waist and hand tightly while introducing me to ice dance. Having never skated with a partner before, I could not determine whether Pete was flirting or if such a secure grasp was necessary. I enjoyed dancing with Pete, who skated forward guiding me around the rink, encouraging me to feel his lead. I complied by pushing in the correct direction. We circled with ice in a pattern of serpentines until he turned me forward, releasing me into a solo spiral.
Other skaters commented regularly on my improvement, which may have fostered an exaggerated sense of accomplishment. However, I believed the time had come to begin jumping. I asked Pete to teach me a simple half-revolution waltz jump, a move I learned on roller skates in my family’s garage. Pete hesitated and instead showed me a series of three-turns that he called “waltz threes”. I learned the waltz threes readily and awaited the jump. Noticing the absence of jumps in my daily skating regime, an older adult skater asked if jumps frightened me. She assumed that I avoided jumping due to fear. Leaving the ice, even for the simplest of leaps, instills fear in many adult skaters, motivating them to prefer ice dancing or to remain stymied for years with basic hops. However, I had never attempted a jump on ice skates, nor had my instructors broached the subject.
“What is Pete teaching you then?” she drawled.
“He seems to think I am not ready to jump yet,” I admitted, slightly embarrassed. I thought my skills had improved enough to merit a small leap and wondered why Pete withheld this lesson. Rather than doubting my ability, I suspected a less virtuous motive. Pete may have presumed my interest in skating was finite, potentially culminating with a few basic jumps. I might then decide that I possessed sufficient mastery of the sport and discontinue my lessons or quit skating completely in favor of a new challenge such as karate or modern dance. Pete had earned a living throughout adulthood as a professional skater and instructor. He had seen many recreational skaters leave the sport and many competitive athletes graduate to better-known coaches. Given my life long obsession with skating and the limited coaching resources available in Lawrence, I was in little danger of doing either. By doling out new skills gradually, he supposedly could prolong my commitment to skating lessons. I never considered the possibility that I truly had not built a foundation of rudimentary skills to support a waltz jump. Children seemed to try jumps immediately without demonstrating mastery of stroking or crossovers.
While reviewing research data in my apartment, the telephone rang and I was surprised by Pete’s voice. I expected him to cancel my lesson for later in the week, but he told me my new skates had arrived with the afternoon deliveries. I abandoned my work and drove to the Arctic Circle. The blades had come in a couple weeks earlier but were useless without boots. I shoved my feet into the bladeless white skating shoes admiring their glossy perfection. The leather, which Pete described as ‘green’ unstretched leather, gripped my feet restrictively.
“They’re supposed to be tight,” the rink owner assured, reading the concern on my face. “As you break them in, the leather will stretch and conform to your feet. They will be as comfortable as bedroom slippers.”
Of course, I believed every word. Pete extracted my stocking feet from the new boots and took them to the backroom to set the blades. I waited anxiously until he emerged with one glorious skate in each hand. The man grinned at me, as though reliving a childhood Christmas though my eyes. Pete showed me how to lace the skates, leaving the top two hooks unfastened until the boots break in. He quickly put on his skates and we stepped onto the ice together. The evening session had not started and we had clean ice to test the blade alignment. He asked me to glide forward on each foot and watched for pulling to one side or the other. Pete had done an excellent job. The blades glided true and I balanced effortlessly.
I hoped for a few minutes of complimentary instruction to accompany the expensive new skates. Instead, the owner left the ice and returned to his duties allowing me to skate alone on the empty rink. Although Neil had given me a season’s pass, it did not include private ice. I always skated during public sessions with other people, sometimes a lot of other people, so this was an unexpected treat. Gina, Pete and Janelle had all assured me that having my own skates would significantly improve my skating. While that statement did not promise miraculous results, without a frame of reference, I expected to skate better soon after taking the ice in the new equipment. Surprisingly, my feet did not ache immediately either. The boots felt stiff, but I welcomed the stiffness as a sign of quality and support. During my maiden voyage, I experimented with crossovers and backward skating. I did an arabesque and a right forward outside three-turn. These basic movements had been part of my repertoire since I wore disco roller skates. I attributed them to muscle memory. Trying a forward inside three turn on the new boots, a skill I could not rely on years of roller skating experience to complete, gauged my development as an ice skater. In the unyielding beautiful boot, I managed a stiff forward inside turn on my left foot. I did not attempt even a simple two-foot spin, realizing the untested boots required a period of adjustment before performing less familiar skills.
A few minutes later my feet began to hurt in a way they had never hurt before. No amount of warning, regardless of how graphic, could have prepared me for the hideous pain inflicted by brand new skates. A dull ache began to throb, then scream in my arches. Gliding and limping desperately toward the red pipe railing, I finally hobbled off the ice. I sat at one of the round tables and stripped the laces out of their hooks then pulled my constricted feet from the merciless leather. How could these things ever feeling like the soft fuzzy slippers next to my bed?
I hoarded any residual lesson coupons until my feet adjusted to the new skates. In truth, the skates never became comfortable, as Pete had assured. For the first half-hour of wear, the pain compelled me to unlace and re-lace the boots several times. My ankles and heels blistered and rubbed raw. I bandaged them and dutifully returned to the rink at least three afternoons per week ready to shove my feet into the cruel skates. Eventually calluses formed around my ankles preventing further irritation.
As I plopped into a chair to remove my street shoes, a man appeared on the ice from the back entrance near the office. He landed a delayed axel attributable only to Randall Blanchard, the professional who performed in Pete’s grand opening ice show. My eyes followed the compact, athletic figure around the confining rink.
Randall greeted me as I began my warm up laps. He planned to give lessons for the rest of the season at Arctic Circle, and I immediately requested an appointment. Later, I learned from Pete that he had invited Randall and Willa to work at his rink, but Randall chose to come by himself to explore the opportunity before asking his wife to leave her job as a travel agent. I did not know if this invitation was extended before or after Janelle announced her decision to return to Canada. Talented professional ice skater, Randall Blanchard, worked in the Philadelphia area as a waiter at an expensive trendy restaurant where he earned a decent living on tips. His primary occupation left daytime hours available to give skating lessons. Additionally, Willa coached in the evenings and on weekends. This was the lifestyle from which my parents had tried to protect me. Willa worked fulltime then filled extra hours with lessons while Randall waited tables at night because he could not earn sufficient income from coaching and performing. Their existence was not glamorous or enviable.
“I’d like to learn a waltz jump,” I explained to the pro.
Randall smiled and agreed enthusiastically.
That meeting with Randall ended my brief allotment of lessons with Pete. Randall showed me the waltz jump, executing several in a row. His waltzes resembled split jumps as he sailed high above the ice surface. While the waltz may be simple jump for a beginner, it has unlimited potential for more advanced skaters. Doing it may be easy, doing it well could take years of practice. Randall held my hands to assist my first attempts.
“Look at that! You don’t need me at all!” the coach declared jubilantly. He barely supported me as I kicked into the take-off. My version might not have been recognized as an actual jump by an observer who had only been exposed to televised championship skating. Who would have imagined such a tiny hop was even possible? I tested the jump cautiously as my muscles recalled how to complete the element on a set of four rectilinearly spaced urethane wheels. Roller skaters land on all four wheels, but an ice skater makes contact with the toe pick and front of the blade. Initially, I landed with a sharp clapping sound on the flat of my blade.
With each jump, I internalized Randall’s advice and became more secure. He cautioned against swinging my free leg around; instead it should reach forward in the take-off, lifting upward and across the ice. Pointing my toe would eventually eliminate sloppy, flat landings. Practicing alone, I built up confidence before attempting my new daring stunt. From a backward glide, I stepped forward and cast my free leg into the waltz jump, landing correctly but with an awkward start. The sensation caused a nervous adrenaline response, realizing I narrowly avoided tipping forward and catching my toe pick in a dangerous belly flop. My subsequent attempts were more reserved, ranging from a clumsy step to larger haphazard jumps.
“You look so stable,” an adult skater commented. “Your foot just grips the ice when you land.”
Her assessment surprised me because the waltz jump did not feel stable. Maybe it looked better than I imagined or this woman could be impressed by anything short of a complete disaster. Since she was not a particularly secure skater herself, I assumed the latter.
Pete leaned on the railing to observe the skaters on his rink and monitored my progress. “Kate!” he called.
I glided to the red piping and greeted the rink owner.
“If you were jumping over a fence, would you kick your leg straight at the fence?”
Looking at him quizzically, I did not reply, expecting the man to answer his own rhetorical question.
“You would kick it around,” he responded, as anticipated. Pete demonstrated by throwing his leg in a wide arc.
I tried Pete’s method, which resulted in a smaller jump and a deeper landing edge. These waltzes covered little ice and followed a sharply curved path. If strung together as a sequence of jumps, they formed a small, tight circle; unlike Randall’s magnificently expansive demonstration. When Randall observed my supposed progress in our next lesson, he scolded me for jumping around myself. Explaining that I received advice about the waltz jump from Pete, Randall barely disguised an eye roll but forced a pleasant smile. Still naïve to the skating world’s bylaws, I did not equate Pete’s input with a direct violation of Randall’s instruction.
“Of course, there are different ways of doing things,” the pro began politely, “but please trust my way. If it doesn’t work for you, we can try something else.”
I nodded realizing the message my new coach intended to deliver. Randall obviously did not agree with Pete’s opinion of how to perform this skill. I wondered if Pete had planted this incorrect method purposely because he resented my decision to ask Randall for lessons. If he truly wanted Randall to coach successfully at the Arctic Circle, he would have to expect the pro to build a clientele. However, Pete may have preferred that I remained his student, collecting my entire lesson fee for himself. Although curious about Pete’s motivation, I decided not to probe Randall with compromising questions.
Many methods do exist for performing certain skating skills, and Pete’s “waltzing over a fence” may have been one of them. However, superior techniques provide foundation for advancement. Beginners may be able to get away with poor technique in half and single rotation jumps, but they will face the burdensome task of unlearning bad habits when moving on to doubles. As skating evolves as a sport, past techniques are discarded in favor of more ergonomic methods. The cross-legged rotation position utilized by all modern skaters performing multi-revolution jumps was pioneered by coach Gustave Lussi and his students in the 1940s and 50s. Before then, skaters rotated double jumps (no one did triples yet) with their feet side-by-side. Adopting the cross-legged posture, skaters essentially perform fast backspins in the air, making more difficult jumps, such as triples and quadruples, possible. Three-time Olympic champion, Sonia Henie, performed axels that most people would not even recognize in skating’s present context. Pete may have told me to “jump the fence” with the most noble intentions, passing on antiquated technique he learned as a young student.
“You will never get an axel by jumping around,” Randall emphasized.
“Axel?” I repeated absently. “You think I can do an axel?”
Randall’s smile allowed a snicker to slip through his lips, “Well, maybe not today, but if you build up to it, there is no reason why you can’t learn an axel.”
Flattered by Randall’s apparent belief in my potential, I silently vowed to ignore any further comments from Pete, who just recently seemed to think I was incapable of a half-rotation waltz jump. Since I began group lessons, I dreamed about landing an axel, but relegated the notion to fantasy. I did not comprehend the difficulty of the axel, a one-and-a half revolution jump from a forward edge, but knew it held an esteemed position for developing skaters. The mother of three talented girls who skated regularly at the Arctic Circle confided that she agreed to ice skating lessons for her children, unsure if they could break the “axel barrier”. The young ladies surpassed the axel and moved on to double jumps.
I defined a skating goal to master all of the single jumps including the prestigious axel. I did not grasp the loftiness of my ambition.
Before my lesson with Janelle the week following the Arctic Circle Ice Show, she told me that she planned to return to Canada. Officially, Janelle had problems obtaining a visa to work in the United States on a long-term basis. I had hoped to become friends with Janelle, partially because I admired her skating but also because I longed to be part of the skating world. If we became friendly, she might share her memories and experiences with me, allowing me to vicariously participate in the glamorous competitive sport. However, I never desired a relationship with Gina or her father. They seemed too money hungry to form a sincere friendship with a person they viewed only as a wallet full of legal tender. Even at her young age, Janelle was the consummate professional with her leatherette appointment book. She never would have allowed herself to bond with anyone under her tutelage. During that farewell conversation, she dropped her professional distance and complained that Pete had promised her opportunities to perform in shows. Other than the grand opening, those situations did not materialize, providing further reason to doubt the validity of Pete’s Latin American ice show story.
Chapter 21 posted 12/15/00
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