Proving myself at this research firm had to be my first priority, and the effort of maintaining a constantly positive attitude and sunny disposition exhausted me. Still paranoid from the backstabbing atmosphere at Contessa, during my honeymoon phase that the new job, I remained alert and nervous. As I became acquainted with my superiors, coworkers, and assistant; I began to relax and take comfort in my abilities. I could do this job without so much as a hiccup of difficulty. I transitioned into my independent role readily and welcomed the mental stimulation unencumbered by slave-driving conditions. After a period of adjustment, I settled easily into the next stage of my career and directed extra energy and concentration toward ice skating.
I met with my new coach regularly, for a half-hour every Sunday morning. Apparently Orville was used to teaching people who already knew the basics or those who learned quickly. He seemed ill equipped to tackle someone who could not get the gist of jumping. He must have faced similar challenges with Georgeanne. However, she seemed more interested in memorizing his advice so she could repeat it to others. Learning to perform the skills herself amounted to a fringe benefit. Georgeanne favored school figures, basic skating drills, and simple dance patterns; elements that made her feel safe and did not require both blades to leave the ice at the same time or for her to rotate quickly.
Orville’s training techniques seemed devised to trick the body into doing a move common sense preferred to avoid. These methods may have been very effective with children who are easily distracted, but for overly analytical adults, it complicated the situation. I had a terrible time learning the loop jump (and virtually every other jump in the skating encyclopedia). Orville asked me to do backward power three-turns, a skill which (for counterclockwise skaters) consists of a right backward outside three-turn, a mohawk to a left back inside edge, followed by a step and push to a right back outside edge, continuing the series with another right backward outside three-turn. I could do this footwork readily in my natural direction, having discovered it accidentally on roller skates in the garage of my adolescence. After dizzying one’s self with several repetitions, the uninhibited skater can spring off the backward outside edge into a loop jump. In theory, Orville’s technique was sound, and it probably worked well on countless youngsters who became carefree with vertigo. At almost twenty-nine years old, I never lifted the free foot to initiate another backward three-turn which would supposedly become airborne. Instead, I stomped down determinedly and jumped, pushing off with both blades. This was precisely the jump I enthusiastically called an “axel” when I first leaped from the garage floor over fifteen years before. I guess there is some truth to the muscle memory hypothesis for child-trained adult skaters. I certainly had no trouble recalling skills I learned as a youngster, worthless as they may have been. Had I managed to land backward on one foot, I would have had something to work with, a humble place to start. But I usually came down forward or slightly passed forward, unable to sustain rotation and demonstrating a mental and physical lack of understanding of the jump axis. My loop attempts resembled an uncoordinated child on a playground trying to throw himself around in the air.
All of my jumps could be described similarly with the exception of the salchow, waltz, and toe loop; which I had learned earlier. I retrieved the toe loop after long months of neglect, but it came back under Orville’s tutelage. My coach tried to teach me all of the remaining single jumps concurrently: the flip, loop and lutz. I seemingly refused to learn any of them.
Another of Orville’s techniques required skating as fast as a cautious adult skater dares into each preparation, particularly the flip jump, which is commonly approached forward. A forward outside three-turn places the skater on a backward inside edge ready to pick with the free foot, vaulting the flip skyward. In Hansie’s little rink, I managed to skate respectably fast for any adult-trained skater. However, all signs of promise dissolved as my pick tapped the ice. Again, I planted both feet, and launched without finding or even acknowledging the existence of a rotational axis. Of course, I landed heavily on two blades, usually short of the desired backward exit.
Parents seeking evidence to support their theories that adults cannot learn to skate or that adult skaters are a waste of precious ice would have found all they required to build a convincing argument at my sessions with Orville. If any of this could be interpreted as funny, which all of it might have been (especially if it were happening to someone else), my lutz lessons qualified as the ultimate absurdity. Poor Orry pulled every possible scheme out of his hat to get me to do a lutz. He suggested approaching on a deep outside edge, a technique almost never used and probably frowned upon by adept judging panels. I twisted my body against the direction of travel, hoping to unwind in a counter-rotational leap. Each exercise exaggerated the components of a lutz, probably to my personal detriment.
I became disgusted with myself for being unable to stumble through the simplest single jumps. Single jumps, though technically defined as 360 degree aerial rotations, actually require quite a bit less turning in the air. Ice skating jumps do not take off from a straight line and land on the continuation of that line. They take off from a curved edge of travel and land on another curve, requiring less than 360 degrees to complete the journey. The facility of this boggled, angered, and eluded me.
Not once did Orville suggest slowing down and walking through the jumps, the method that ultimately resulted in baby versions of each jump on my itinerary. His school of thought favored elaborate ruses designed to trick the unwitting skater into executing the skill against his better judgement. Finally, I simulated jumps in the parking lot of my apartment building when no one was around to catch me engaged in obviously insane behavior. But this only occurred after months of frustration with Orry’s methods.
While Orville failed to teach me to jump, he had much greater success with spins, where Willa Blanchard and nature itself had already laid the foundation. My new coach had a definite starting point for spin work, someplace more appealing than the absolute beginning. I may have learned to spin fast from Willa and even blurred spins occasionally, but Orville turned irreproducible happenstance into dependability. Every time I whipped into a scratch spin, with the odd exception of random error, I drilled a tight little circle into Hansie’s soft ice. The Sunday morning adults often watched my scratch spin practice with Orry. Wearing a t-shirt, the centrifugal force resulting from the spin could be monitored by onlookers. My arms literally turned red, as I pulled my free leg in and pushed it all the way toward the ice before even moving my arms. This technique is extremely difficult to control but produces the fastest spins.
My camel was already reasonably good, though Orry’s pointers and regular practice improved it further. The camel, in my opinion, is the hardest spin. The extended body position is unlike any other forward or backward spin. Orville spent considerable time transforming my measured, even camel into a powerful move. I learned the forward camel from Willa in Martinsville. In its earliest stages, attempting the camel spin embarrassed me because it always fizzled into a single rotation spiral. This may be a normal stage of learning the camel, and many recreational skaters remain stuck for months at this plateau, looping one or two large traveling rotations with a drooping free leg and slumped back. In order to develop speed and a precise center in the camel, the skater must approach the spin on a deeply bent knee and rise quickly into position while hitting the toe pick at the apex of the three-turn. Orville improved my spin by teaching me the combination of arm and body movements that must be executed with perfect timing to result in a first quality camel. Even after years of performing camel spins, on mysteriously bad skating days I cannot do a good camel. It is an elusive move that demands coordination and accuracy.
Orville was pleased with my camel progress and introduced the backward camel, a move I tried previously in the utter privacy of a secluded corner. My experiment resulted in a very sad backward spiral on a shallow outside edge. Attempting such an obviously difficult move without instruction could easily mushroom into bad habits. Orry originally tried to present the backward camel as a combination spin from a forward camel. However, the transition between spins is tricky and may actually be more problematic than the backward camel itself. The changeover requires a wide, powerful push as the free leg rises into position for the new spin. Achieving the proper balance of vigor and confidence to create the backward camel is almost impossible without first knowing how to do a backward camel, making this training method a frustrating paradox.
At some point, Orry must have realized this, though it may not be true for every student. I ultimately learned to initiate a back camel as an isolated element from a left forward inside three-turn, as a clockwise skater enters any basic backward spin. Supposedly, generating speed from this entry is more challenging than the standard camel-change-camel combination method. For some reason, the technique worked for me, and I entered my backward camels with the same commitment and strength that I employed for easy forward spins. I could create as much speed performing a solo backward camel as many competent skaters achieve from a flying entrance. The combination spin followed with time and practice. Once I understood the backward camel, using it in combination became more natural, and I could focus on the efficiency of my transition.
Almost immediately after I demonstrated aptitude for the backward camel, Orville taught me how to tack an illusion onto the end. An illusion is the spinning skater’s trompe d’oiel. By allowing the free leg to swing upward behind the body (ideally attaining a full split) while the torso tips down, the body and leg create a windmill illusion about the hips, hence the appropriate name. My forward camel-change-backward camel-illusion combination dazzled the most cynical adult skaters at Hans Koenig’s Ice Chalet. Even Zach’s eyes widened when I hit a fast camel sequence and concluded it with a dramatic illusion. Zach may have been able to land a remedial axel and double salchow, but my spins were more impressive to the observer, informed or otherwise.
While my camels grew into beautiful creatures, Orville also stressed backward sit spin training. Like the camel, my forward sit was already quite good. I had the lowest position of anyone in the place, coaches included. Orville actually had to teach me not to descend to maximum knee bend, thus facilitating the sit-change-sit combination. He showed me how to execute forward sit spins with my skating thigh parallel to the ice and my free leg extended alongside, straight with the toe turned out.
For his own purposes, Orville employed a less aesthetically pleasing and presumably outdated sit spin technique. As a mature adult, no one would fault Orville for not sitting all the way down when he spun, though I doubt he did deep sit spins even as young man. His preferred method involved sitting in the parallel thigh position and bending the free leg to distribute body mass more tightly around the rotational axis. He actually appeared to be revolving on an invisible barstool. The first time Orry demonstrated this spin, Willa’s voice screamed “Squat!” in the back of my mind. Not exactly a squat spin, Orville’s skating thigh was parallel to the ice, which generally met Willa’s passing standard. However, my former coach preferred a more exaggerated position from capable athletes.
Orry’s compressed pose is widely used by adults, children and competitive skaters. Unfortunately, some elite skaters display this type of sit spin in their programs. While I could accept other adults favoring this version out of necessity, I personally rejected it. I did not need to spin in a less grueling position. Regardless of the proximity of my butt to the ice, I did not need to draw in my free leg to generate speed or squeeze out an extra rotation. Willa, the sit spin policeman, had encouraged me to achieve the best possible stance, and my body cooperated. Orville never pushed me to duplicate his sit spin posture, but he seemed too proud to openly praise the difficult position I actually used. An adult performing an advanced sit spin is about as rare as an adult completing a good axel. It can happen, but it does not happen often.
However, Orville’s parallel sit spin was essential to learning the backward sit, particularly in combination. Trying to transition from a fully bent knee is very taxing to the joint and can result in serious injury if done incorrectly. I actually found the backward sit significantly more challenging than the backward camel. Like most backward spinning skills, locating the proper pivot point adds an extra dimension of complexity to the exercise. I suffered from the common deficiency of spinning too far back on the blade and dragging my heel. This slowed the spin and forced my balance toward the inside edge. Conventional backward spins should be performed on an outside edge, though rotation generally occurs slightly further back on the blade’s rocker than for the analogous forward spin. My battle with the backward sit spin had only begun. Though I could fake my way through a back sit, just as I could sneak through a backward scratch, the skill was not textbook perfect. However, on a good day, it probably could have passed a skating test because my speed was reasonable, center secure, position attractive, and I easily surpassed the minimum number of revolutions.
Coach Orville’s most important contribution to my development as a skater was expanding a basic camel and sit spin into a wardrobe of versatile spinning skills. I learned fundamental combinations and a few variations including a catch foot camel and illusion. We explored arm and free leg positions as I became conscious of the variety of artistic possibilities open to a competent spinner. Each variation, no matter how slight, affected the balance of the maneuver. Though a novel arm arrangement did not necessitate starting over from scratch, it did require minor adjustments to the entrance edge and equilibrium for sustained rotation.
When I met Orville, my spinning proficiency already exceeded the maximum attained by the majority of recreational adult skaters. Many people might have been satisfied to stop there, but I had discovered a potential within myself to excel in a facet of ice skating unreachable by most hobbyists. In contrast to my jumping prospects, my spins seemed almost unlimited. I hungrily tried new things and polished familiar skills. I may not have been ready for every spin in the skaters’ rulebook; but I did not feel restricted by my age, size, or lack of childhood opportunity.
While the new job occupied my time, it could not compare to the serfdom of Contessa Cosmetics. My first month at Consumer Solutions amounted to an apprenticeship where I shadowed and assisted a veteran employee. I had been conducting focus groups since my tenure at Virginia University as a beginning graduate student. I knew the procedure but had to learn the subtleties of this company’s practices. Unlike my previous experiences, Consumer Solutions contracted work from various sources, dealing with many types of products, and I possessed no prior knowledge of most of them. I found this part of the job challenging and viewed it as a resume broadening experience, making me qualified for consumer research positions at companies outside the textile or fashion realm.
Chapter 63 posted 11/16/02
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