Of course, there are pleasant skating children, but after school and weekend ice is inevitably packed. Public sessions are crowded with hockey kids, teenage rowdies, and fumbling little beginners cluelessly gliding through the center. Freestyle sessions tend to be overrun with teenagers who think they are bound for the Olympics, while anyone else in the arena stands in the way of their dream. Fearless children who grow up practicing under these conditions adapt and skate with the pack, carving out a place for themselves and intimidating less confident participants. Skating is a fiercely competitive sport both mentally and physically. A thick skin and aggressive attitude insure advancing athletes a patch of ice to land a double jump. Most adult-trained skaters lack the technical skills to battle these conditions.
Now I had almost unlimited quality ice time. Ordinarily, adult skating is restricted to a couple of sessions per week. Often these sessions are crowded with other anxious adults and/or children. The mature skater feels pressured to make progress at every session because his next opportunity might be a week away. If I had a bad skate, I could come back the next day with a fresh perspective. I no longer felt hurried and desperate to accomplish something every time I stepped on the ice. A skating session was no longer a rare commodity. It became a part of my life assuming the regularity of going to work. Often, my body maintained athletic readiness between sessions. I could return the next day without having to endure a lengthy warm-up. I did not regress between infrequent practices, having to build back to where I left off before forging onward. My muscle memory improved and I felt more comfortable on the ice. Blades, more than ever, became part of my anatomy. Stepping onto the frozen surface, I immediately took flight, moving as easily as I had the last time I stepped off.
I did not have to cram everything in my repertoire into every visit to the arena, spreading myself too thin and doing justice to nothing. If I neglected a skill today, I would include it tomorrow. I could spend blocks of time on specific elements, often investing an entire session in increasing speed into jumps. And I made wonderful progress. I learned to fill Chestnut Valley’s Olympic-sized rink, although I previously struggled to transport my slow lumbering carcass around Hansie’s little Ice Chalet. My spirals covered the entire expanse at respectable speed. I skated the length of the rink before jumping, incorporating basic moves in the field as preparatory footwork. I was becoming a good skater, not just a good “adult skater”.
The transition from gawky grown-up to “good skater” did not happen overnight or the first time I stepped onto Chestnut Valley ice; though the transformation officially began at that first inspirational freestyle session. More practice opportunities coupled with improved conditions and superior instruction provided circumstances that furthered my development. Of course, I took advantage of my freedom, driving to every morning session and keeping my weekly lesson appointments. I practiced diligently, even things I did not like. Although I valued the effect moves in the field had on my overall skating, I found them tedious. Yet, I persevered, working each set of moves every time I set foot in the arena. I might have skipped a certain jump or spin combination, but at least one round of each field move was nonnegotiable.
I understood the concept of training and the value of daily reinforcement. Each session built upon its predecessor. Serious athletes skate up to six days per week, supplementing their on-ice regimen with off-ice dance and exercise classes. Skating, in effect, becomes their “job”, filling waking hours not otherwise occupied by schoolwork. I signed up for a ballet class near my home and added regular neighborhood walks to my routine. While I did not maintain the rigorous schedule of a competitive athlete, the difference in my skating and physique became apparent quickly.
As my skating improved, I lost flab and built muscle. I may not have actually dropped many pounds, because muscle tissue is denser; and, therefore, heavier than fat. But my waistline whittled to attractive proportions, and toned muscles outlined my bulky thighs. My derriere lifted and shaped into a robust curve, and my shoulders and arms became leaner and more graceful. I still was not a small person, but I looked strong and athletic. A strong fit body allowed more secure jump landings and more vigorous entrances. As I circled the rink in alternating backward crossovers and shot into the corner for a loop jump, I remembered my old skating friend, Vijay, from Martinsville. I had begun to skate like him. I may not have been attempting doubles and triples, but a foundation of sound basic skills had been laid.
In addition to my contemporary role as a serious adult figure skater, I adopted the old-fashioned responsibility of “housewife”. Abundant free hours allowed me to care for my husband and our home. I prepared healthy meals in our small kitchen and kept the condo clean. I washed all of our laundry and ran our errands. Since I was home during the day, we no longer had to fight evening and weekend crowds to accomplish the mundane tasks of living. Consequently, my husband had more leisure time and we could more thoroughly enjoy his time off. While most modern men do not object to their wives pursuing a career (and the family often requires a second income), Max certainly enjoyed having his wife at home. He had fewer petty chores and lost the weight he gained during our first year of marriage. We still went out on Saturday night, but restaurant binging due to a cramped agenda and accompanying exhaustion was no longer necessary.
He also enjoyed the changes in my personality. I had no stress and no worries. I did not commute in rush hour traffic or have unpleasant discussions with clients. I never came home feeling guilty about massaging data to screw consumers out of their hard-earned dollar. A bad day involved a cancelled session, Preston forgetting our appointment, or having to wait all afternoon for a repairman to come to the house. Katherine Svenssen was a carefree cheerful person, delightful company, and a joy to her spouse.
I went to the supermarket on Monday mornings, the one day Chestnut Valley did not offer an open session. The place was filled with retirees and younger women, many with children in tow, too young to attend public school. Women my age rarely stayed home unless they had children or a home-based business. Some undoubtedly worked odd hours, but few did not work at all, unless they were wealthy. Max and I were comfortable, even without my salary, but we could not masquerade as rich folk.
Trips to the grocery store initially sparked my creative imagination, an asset for any mature person who pursues a skating dream. Harkening back to an era I had only seen depicted on television, I envisioned myself a 1950s housewife. Wearing a full-skirted shirtwaist dress, pearls, and pumps (maybe even white gloves and a hat), I would drive a sedan with a three-on-the-tree transmission to the market to buy food for my family. It was an interesting but inconsistent analogy because I channeled a certain percentage of our household income into figure skating (mine, not a child’s) and held a doctoral degree. Fifties women just did not do those things. Of course the reality of life at any time in history, for most people, was inevitably less idyllic than Hollywood makes it appear.
Yet, I had never imagined not working, not even for a brief respite. I struggled for so long for my education, I never considered not using it. I told myself I was only taking a break to reevaluate my career direction, but I loved the freedom of being a skating homemaker. I really did not want another consumer research job.
My days of irresponsibility did not last long. Early the following spring, one of Max’s receptionists was having a difficult pregnancy and had to take maternity leave sooner than expected. Before he and his partners could scramble to find a temporary replacement, I volunteered for the job. My life of skating and grocery shopping did not necessarily bore me. However, I remembered Max’s suggestion of a veterinary practice in Maple Terrace. He dreamed of someday leaving the congested metropolitan area and becoming a country animal doctor. When that happened, I would undoubtedly run his office. Places like Maple Terrace have little need for consumer researchers. This situation would give me the opportunity to learn the trade. My husband seemed happy with the suggestion and ran it by his partners who were only too willing to have someone with my extensive education behind their front desk.
So I became my husband’s receptionist, a job my mother would have ridiculed as lowly, certainly not suitable for a bright woman capable of more. The person on leave worked part time, and I readily grabbed evening shifts, often trading with the other girls who preferred days. I skated the desirable morning open sessions at Chestnut Valley and headed straight for work from the rink. My new occupation did not consume every hour of my waking existence and did not perforate my guts with ulcers.
I learned more than office management at Maxwell’s clinic. I learned about myself. While I could have unfavorably compared myself to Professor Melissa Kowalchuk, I had been satisfied with my professional achievements. My position at Consumer Solutions did not thrill me, but I felt pleased with my status and accomplishments. I had reached my educational and career goals. In contrast, working a job that required little more than a six to twelve month business course, gave me a different perspective. I enjoyed interacting with the other office ladies. No one expected me to make presentations, prepare reports, or attend superfluous meetings. Everything I did in that office served a distinct and tangible function. Nobody took advantage of my niceness, raping gratis hours of labor out of the new inexperienced Ph.D., as Contessa Cosmetics had done as a matter of policy. My positive attitude and compassion helped people through difficult times when precious pets became ill or passed away. Like Dr. Svenssen, I was doing something genuinely good. Humbly sitting behind the reception desk, being helpful, friendly, and understanding; Mrs. Svenssen became a tiny point of light.
The money and social standing I earned as a Ph.D. researcher did not make me that. People had stepped on me, and I contributed to numerous advertising campaigns that exaggerated and twisted reality to benefit the manufacturer, not the consumer. The veterinary hospital paid me a modest hourly wage, but I had more dignity as a receptionist than I possessed as a consumer scientist. I sincerely liked my little job.
In my struggle to become “someone”, following my ambition to locate the wasted genius that was not invested in childhood skating, I had actually transformed into someone else. I had developed into a modern cultural stereotype, a career woman. I did not realize how dissatisfied and unfulfilled I had been until I removed myself from that situation and tried something else. Scraping away the doctoral parchment, tailored clothes, and impressive job title, I found a person content to serve a more traditional role. My subconscious concocted those 1950s grocery store fantasies as a prelude to an impending epiphany.
Children returning to school in the fall signals the end of summer skating camps and the beginning of the regular competitive season. Chestnut Valley reinstated the adult-friendly morning open session, and I attended each of the four weekdays that it was available. A dramatic step change in my skating performance occurred almost simultaneously with settling into a regular training regimen. This provided evidence that one of the fundamental problems facing adult skaters is lack of appropriate practice ice. Working adults, at least those who work a typical nine-to-five shift, have few options but evening and weekend sessions. Their free time corresponds with everyone else’s, most unfortunately with young developing skaters, who crowd the rink and hog the ice. Following the hockey population, they form the majority of ice rink clientele and, therefore, its economic priority.
Chapter 78 posted 8/14/03
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