Happiness apparent on her features, she glided in a balletic pose before pushing purposefully into a spin. Back arching, the lovely young lady’s ponytail hung toward the ice, creating a continuous curve of body and silky hair. The layback lasted a surprisingly long time as she enjoyed each revolution, not for its speed but for her simple ability to execute it well. It never deviated from its point of origin until the graceful nymph stepped away, carrying herself to another part of the rink to display a second aerial skill. Picking after a fluid turn, her ankle twisted awkwardly, forfeiting the jump. However, she lifted, probably because she was well trained, and attempting the jump was less likely to result in a fall than merely aborting the effort. Only a trained judge or scholar of figure skating could have recognized the salvaged maneuver as a ballet jump. The performer’s arm lifted quickly and her leg kicked, both motions were indistinct and spastic, taken out of habit rather than design.
The smile gone from her lips, she stroked powerfully and extended into a spiral, a long edge cut the ice directly in front of the judges. She looked at them shyly, in stark contrast to the younger athletes who flirted and baffled the judging panel with their personalities. The woman was not a seasoned performer and she felt embarrassed about the sloppy ballet jump, a basic skill of which she was infinitely capable. But the spiral was beautiful, the lines simple and aesthetically pleasing, uncomplicated by flashy colors and the showy sparkle of ostentatious glitter. A salchow jump followed the spiral. A turn led naturally off the dramatic edge and the skater leaped as though continuing the gliding movement. She landed safely and flowed across the ice, visibly delighted.
A few turns, strokes and gliding positions guided the lovely but fallible skater into a sit spin. The small gathering of people who observed her demonstration began to clap. It was not the fastest sit spin, but the posture defied gravity allowing the lady to hover inches above the ice, never threatening to collapse, but poised in a wondrous display of control and athleticism. She did not know that children had begun to line the barrier, drawn by the noise the sparse audience made in response to the woman’s layback and spiral. The youngsters watched in astonishment as the graduate student spun in a position that rivaled those of champions. She rose without straying, anchored to a small round spot on the ice.
Foiling her magnificence with another unnatural step that caused her body to balk, the woman bent low in the knee and exploded from the toe pick into a spin. Her free leg extended straight in front of her body while chiffon encircled her waist. Finally the leg pulled inward, heel pressing down. Her arms remained outstretched to the sides. Unexpected speed tore at her hands as they reddened with bursting fine capillaries. She pulled her arms in, clasping the hands, and reached them overhead. The free boot concluded its journey toward the ice with a click that could be heard over the music.
She had blurred.
“That was pretty good, wasn’t it, girls?” Willa asked mussing Beatrice and Hannah’s hair.
The kids’ wide eyes narrowed as they turned in unison and stomped off, nearly colliding with Randall Blanchard in their haste.
Randall’s brow rose in surprise. “What was that?” he asked his wife, watching as the two little girls strode through the glass doors into the lobby.
“They liked Kate’s spins,” Willa replied with a smirk.
“So did I. Too bad she can’t do a counterclockwise mohawk.”
Haze that had been the vista beyond the hockey barrier dissolved into focus to become a smattering of people clapping politely. I distinguished Talbert and Gwen standing at the boards, each tossing a rose bud wrapped in plastic that they must have purchased from a fund raising concession stand. Bowing stiffly, I acknowledged the judges then raced toward the two flowers, scooping them up gratefully. I hugged my friends over the low wall, just like the skaters on television who give a good performance.
I was not exactly pleased with that rendition of my “no axel” program. The counterclockwise steps made me trip, my waltz was small, and I bungled the simplistic ballet jump. However, I did not fall and my spins were strong. My hands still burned from the final scratch. Rubbing them unconsciously, I skated off the ice releasing it to the next performer. Willa embraced me at the entrance and Randall grabbed my hands, evaluating them critically.
“Welcome to the Blur Spin Club,” he teased.
When the scores were posted I was not surprised to find that I had placed fourth out of six competitors. While I had not entered this event expecting to win, after leaving the ice, I mentally compared my perception of my own performance with observations I made of my contemporaries. I hoped those brilliant spins would offset damage caused by poor steps and facile jumps. However, the juxtaposition may have drawn attention to my deficiencies. The women who placed ahead of me completed a full range of single jumps, excluding the axel. While their step sequences could not be classified as footwork, they did not trip, and at worst stepped cautiously. Their spins were smooth, though not stellar. Similar to Stephanie’s spins, they seemed to rotate on a lazy susan, with even turns but no speed or power. No one else attempted a layback. Most of their sit spins did not achieve Willa’s minimum standard of a horizontal position relative to the ice surface. But their programs were well balanced, indicating an even distribution of command over jumps, spins and basic skating. The two ladies who finished below me fell and performed an overall weaker assortment of skills. Willa confessed that if my jumping and footwork abilities matched my spins, I probably would have won the competition.
Stephanie won her class with her well-matched set of spins, jumps and step patterns. Nothing she did would dazzle the casual observer, but the program was balanced and she completed each element neatly. In her third public performance, Stephanie had become a veteran and deserved to win her group. The other young women in the twenty-five and under category executed a more limited and less difficult variety of jumps and spins.
Vijay was openly glad that he did not enter the “axel” category, as the men in his age group had obviously been competitive skaters in their youth and either remained involved in the sport or returned to it as adults. Not only did these gentlemen perform technically excellent axels, every double jump short of the double axel was attempted and landed with varying degrees of proficiency. Even a powerful skater like Vijay would look like a rank beginner next to these accomplished fellows. Vijay placed second in a group of four men aged thirty-five and over. Vijay matched the victor jump for jump, but ironically the champion was a better spinner.
“Katherine Northcott?”
I turned to face the winner of my group, who extended her hand graciously. “My name is Margaret Timm.”
“Yes, congratulations. You skated very well,” I responded with sincere appreciation. Margaret was a good skater with a pleasing arsenal of skills. Her small golden medal still dangled around her neck contrasting sharply with her sweater.
“I wanted to compliment you on your spins. Did you skate as a child?”
Margaret’s question surprised me. Didn’t my weak jumps and sloppy steps make the answer to that question obvious or was she just trying to be nice? “No, I started a couple of years ago. Spinning comes more naturally to me than jumping.”
“Have you tried a jump harness?” the adult champion asked, obviously aware of the discontinuity in my abilities.
Martinsville did not have a harness and I only vaguely knew about them. Margaret explained the benefits both physically and psychologically of experimenting with jumps while suspended by a rope to the safety of a professional instructor. She urged me to visit her home rink in Charlotte, North Carolina and arrange for a harness lesson. According to Margaret, the harness helped her to overcome fear of jumping, but on a grander scale. She had learned the basic jumps without it, but had begun to use the harness for axel and double salchow training. Although these jumps were not consistent, and she really could not land them without the belt and pulley system, she had made progress and willingly tried them during independent practice.
Margaret Timm handed me her business card and asked me to call if I planned to come to Charlotte. She would direct me to a good coach at her rink. I looked at the card. Margaret worked as a chemical engineer for a plastics manufacturer. I was impressed by this woman’s competence on the ice, but also respected her obvious intelligence and ability to balance a demanding career with her goals as an adult figure skater. I hoped I would become the same type of woman after my graduation from Carolina Tech.
As we were about to leave, Talbert caught me eyeing the plywood pedestals that a young skater’s father had constructed for the event. Painted stark white with large numerals denoting the winners’ final standings in the competition, the podium was crude and almost tacky. In spite of its obvious deficiencies, I had watched Margaret Timm rise to the pinnacle for photographs. Since Skate Martinsville was not a qualifying competition, fourth place was not honored with a pewter medal, and I did not stand on or next to the set of platforms when Randall snapped pictures for the club newsletter and bulletin board. I would have liked to stand on that pyramid, even if it were only on the lowest step, but I finished one place short.
“Go on, Kate,” Talbert insisted.
I looked at him quizzically, interrupted from a daydream in which that sloppy podium took on the nobility of an Olympic victory ceremony.
“Stand up there and I will take your picture,” my friend offered brandishing his pocket camera.
“Yes, Kate, go on,” Gwen agreed with a silly grin flashing over her features.
I faced the mean little homemade structure then turned away in embarrassment.
My friends both waved me on as I stepped up afraid the thing would either collapse or I would get caught posing where I did not belong. I halted cautiously in the third place position, but Talbert and Gwen urged me to continue to the highest dais in the winners’ row. Standing stiffly, I clutched my two wrapped rose buds and tried to remove the guilty expression of an obvious impostor from my face. “But I didn’t win anything,” I protested in one final bout of modesty.
Talbert peered over his camera at me. “The hell you didn’t.”
Familiar music filtered through the public address system, scratching its way past the speakers and resonating in the cavernous building, finally falling upon the ice and causing a lone skater to move. Dressed in basic black, her tall lean figure made a pleasing silhouette against the stark backdrop, a canvas ready to frame her beauty and magnify her errors. She glided slowly and stepped abruptly through a turn as though it did not suit her and should not have occurred. Her muscles forced the turn, as though they preferred to do something else, something opposite. Yet she continued, resolutely, if not joyously. Braced with preparation, the woman cast her leg forward, nearly straight, lifting her frame from the ice. Completing a half rotation, she returned securely to her frozen element.
Chapter 41 posted 11/2/01
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