When Willa took me to the boards to demonstrate the exact technique for grazing my skating leg with my free boot to build speed in a scratch spin, I knew I had graduated from the “something is better than nothing” stage. She began to mold an inkling of comprehension into true mastery. Even without precise technique, Willa commented on the aptitude I had developed with this spin, originally introduced by her husband at the beginning of the year. The coach walked through the spin stressing the simultaneous motion of free leg pressing down and arms pulling in. When I tried to duplicate her series of movements, the surprising speed they created caused me to lose the spin.

“That’s right, Kate!” Willa exclaimed, almost excited by my progress.

I repeated the spin a few more times, displaying increased control over its newly discovered velocity. My one-foot spin had become a legitimate ‘scratch’. The previous Christmas in Gatlinburg, I believed this spin would transform me into a real skater. After months of effort, I owned a fast forward scratch spin. Willa polished it with precise placement of my legs and arms, signaling when to pull in and when to push down and how to lock my blades together creating stability at the bottom of the spin. The next step would involve developing a scratch into a blur.

Obviously pleased with my improvement, Willa proceeded to another element.

“As you step into the spin,” she began concurrently with physical demonstration, “Rise to your toe pick at the peak of the three-turn. Complete a full turn on the pick before dropping to the rocker of the blade. This method is called ‘hooking a camel’, and it was developed by the famous coach, Gus Lussi.”

As Willa allowed her spin to dissipate, I admired the ease with which she dipped into the camel position. The ‘hook entrance’ efficiently converted linear momentum from the step into angular velocity. Willa actually gained speed as she hooked her camel. She had introduced the basic beginners’ camel to me a month before, in early November. My initial attempts resembled Stephanie’s: a spiral on a deep back inside edge. My first camels were so bad, that I felt ashamed to practice them in front of potential witnesses. Had I followed this model exactly, I would have practiced very few skating skills, because most of them were not especially good. However, my camel was particularly embarrassing. I simply could not squeak out more than one or two revolutions on a productive day. I often worked in a corner; secluded from prying, judgmental eyes.

My instructor guided me through the hooked three-turn and into the camel position. It rotated instantly, startling me with its unexpected simplicity. Willa explained that the hook entrance is most often used with the advanced outside edge camel. After hooking, the skater completes a back inside three-turn to spin on blade’s forward outside edge. I was not ready for this version, but the hook worked equally well with a basic inside edge camel.

Satisfied with my camel progress, Willa presented a new spin, an upright variation. She hooked this spin also but remained in a vertical position. Instead of pulling her free leg in to generate speed for a scratch spin, she extended the leg straight to the side with the toe turned out. Willa’s arms echoed the free leg position. The free arm stretched to the side, parallel to the extended leg; while her other arm reached directly overhead. The graceful pose created a long elegant line, making Willa appear taller and leaner. She called this an “L-spin”, because of the angular positioning of arms and legs. The L-spin probably has no proper name and would simply be identified as a variation in a competitive program.

I copied the L-spin enthusiastically. Willa’s version had been beautiful and dramatic, the type of artistic move that could make a limited skater like me appear more advanced. Although I missed the toe pick hook on the three-turn, Willa encouraged me to achieve the desired pose.

“Point your toe!” she demanded in friendly exasperation. “Thank you, Kate. Just pointing your toe improves the quality of your spin.”

I reached my arm high over my head, or at least I thought I did.

“Straighten your arm. It looks lazy.”

Unbeknownst to me, I had allowed the limb to curve in a subconscious effort to be graceful and balletic. Willa corrected my failure.

“That’s pretty, Kate. You have a very pretty L-spin. Try to hit the toe this time, just like the camel.”

We spent the rest of the half-hour on L-spins. Willa had unlocked a great mystery with the Gus Lussi hook. I learned the camel and practiced it unabashedly during the weeks to come. I embraced the L-spin as my signature move. The first move I perform every time I step on the ice is an L-spin. The ‘L’ is not particularly easy. Pulling the right arm overhead can cause the spin to travel. The hook must anchor the spin, but the arm and shoulder motion cannot distort its center. I had a knack for the L-spin, usually centering it after one or two attempts. Confident, I would move on to a scratch or camel.

That autumn, Willa also evaluated my sit spin and found it seriously inadequate. Although I had learned shoot-the-duck glides from Randall, I could not achieve a seated position while spinning.

“Ugh,” Willa would grumble glancing away, as though my ugly spin made her eyes burn. “Kate, you are squatting,” she declared in dismay. “Please don’t do that spin if you can’t sit all the way down. I cannot permit squat spins.”

I did not realize how bad the sit spin must have looked, but she informed me in no uncertain terms, that it was not as good as I might have believed. But how did Willa expect me to learn a proper position if she did not want me doing a sit spin until I could sit all the way down? Actually, Willa did not want me to claim ownership of the sit spin until the position had improved. The miserable specimens that passed as sit spins for tests and competitions, including elite competitions, disgusted Willa. The coach could not tolerate even an adult skater getting away with a substandard sit spin. So I continued to practice, careful about drawing attention to my inferior position. At least Willa told the truth. When she praised a commendable L-spin, the praise was genuine. Willa did not coddle me with flattery. As an adult, she assumed I could handle honest criticism. She might not have been so straightforward with an impressionable child. As her student, my skating reflected Willa Blanchard’s teaching. She wanted me to learn to skate to the best of my ability and develop a sincere understanding of my accomplishments.

To that end, Willa taught me several exercises aimed at improving my coordination on the ice. These included forward and backward crossovers in both directions around the entire arena or in a figure eight pattern around two hockey circles, various edges on a hockey line, and a step sequence including every imaginable spiral. She showed me various gliding postures such as the arabesque and attitude (an upright glide with a layback leg position). She usually asked for one of each jump in my repertoire during every lesson. Willa seemed to monitor their scant progress with quirks of interest. Although I still felt uncomfortable jumping, these simple exercises built a foundation of edge skills enabling gradual, almost imperceptible, improvement.

Jollier than usual, I left Carolina Tech for Martinsville. Dr. Butler had been out of town all week and I had reserved an airline ticket to visit my father in California for the Christmas holidays rather than spending the break with Neil and his family. I looked forward to visiting with old friends and my sister, Carole, who would be home from medical school. Productivity on the ice with the camel and L-spins trickled down to the laboratory where I made progress with my research. I had stopped actively hating the work and treated Dr. Butler with the same cool neutrality that Neil occasionally directed toward me. Free from the emotional turmoil I previously allowed the research to inflict upon me, I approached it with detached professionalism. That doctorate no longer represented my life’s work, self-esteem, and only opportunity for fulfillment. More than ever before, it became a part-time job for which I was poorly compensated but could arrange to suit my skating schedule.

On the ice, I warmed up with Willa’s routine of coordination exercises. They had become noticeably easier in the months since she first presented them. I glided through the spirals, changing edge and direction without favoritism. In the middle of the arena, I centered an L-spin, snapping off the toe pick and stretching my arm toward the ceiling. It was a good spin, the first of many including camels and forward and backward scratch spins. My fine mood motivated me to jump a few times, experimenting with all of the jumps I had learned, even the previously forgotten Mazurka and ballet hop.

“You’re skating well tonight,” Stephanie commented. “What is that spin called?”

“Willa calls it an ‘L’,” I replied.

“I’ve never seen anyone do that before.”

With finals pending, Stephanie and I had not crossed paths at the Community Center for a couple of weeks. She had not watched the evolution of my new skill. “Thank you,” I returned modestly, but glowing with satisfaction.

“It looks good, Kate.” With that, Stephanie returned to her training. She had decided to take a basic freestyle test and Randall choreographed a simple program for her. She struck her starting pose, and pushed off silently, hearing the opening notes in her head.

I watched Stephanie for a moment before returning to my spinning regimen. Since we met, I had become more diligent about practicing, though I lagged behind Stephanie’s jumping skills. While none of her elements could be classified as excellent, she completed them with crisp confidence. Also addicted to skating, Stephanie decided to postpone committing to a full-time elementary school teaching position after graduation. She planned to spend a couple of years as a substitute and skate on her days off. Stephanie proclaimed that she would not be able to dedicate herself to skating once she married and had a family, which she anticipated in the not too distant future. Until then, she wanted to learn as many skills on the ice as possible and document her achievements through tests.

Since my break-through lesson with the scratch spin, hooked camel, and L-spin; my comfort level had increased. I felt proud of some of the moves I had learned and encouraged about my progress. Not every lesson resulted in significant improvement; most did not. However, Willa’s method of basic edging exercises coupled with focus on spinning while maintaining a peripheral interest in jumps, provided the necessary formula for growth. My scratch spin had reached a critical phase where Willa could transform it into a credible skill. Buoyed with confidence, I was receptive to the subsequent hooked camel lesson. Willa added the L-spin realizing I could digest new material. Every day the three spins improved, but I was far from closing the gap with Stephanie. She had learned the lutz and combined all of her jumps with either a toe loop or loop. Randall even showed her how to push from a forward camel into a back camel, though my friend’s spin still languished in the non-rotational spiral stage.

As Stephanie skated mechanically around the ice, focused on her program, I returned to my spins. After hooking several respectable camels, I decided to play with the L-spin again. My toe pick jabbed the ice furiously as my free leg arced around and into position, straight and high, almost parallel to the ice below. My arms unfurled, completing the dramatic pose. Gazing upward, I watched my hand rotate while pointing at the lights overhead. Still spinning, I drew my arms inward to settle on my chest. My free leg had moved backward and my held tilted up. The lights danced on the ceiling, as I watched with pleasant fascination.

“Nice layback!” someone shouted.

Chapter 26 posted 3/1/01
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