December 2001
Week of December 3, 2001
Use It or Lose It
Last season I worked dutifully on the double salchow and was even landing the thing, usually a fraction short, but on one foot with a bit of run-out on the exit edge. Over the summer, I abandoned multi-revolution jumping because the sessions were simply too crowded to be wiping out all over the place, making an obstacle of myself. This fall, I played with the double salchow a few times but did not invest in more than a couple of double jumping lessons. Somewhere in the process, I suffered several very bad falls and many more that were not as bad. The sum total of which battered my body, my confidence, and my enjoyment of the sport. I all but stopped attempting double salchows. Maybe once a month I would try a few in the back of the rink when no one was watching.
This week, I had an extra day to skate. Appropriating this found time, I decided to experiment again.
Before I could condemn myself as the most pitifully inept skater on earth, I thought about my recent progress in other areas including: moves in the field, powerful single jumps, and difficult spin combinations. The time not spent working on a double had not been wasted hanging around the boards chitchatting with other skaters. I had improved in other ways. Although I do possess strengths as a freestyle ice skater, somehow spinning around in the air escapes and terrifies me.
The double must be an all-or-nothing proposition. I either have to practice it religiously every week or not at all. Fooling around with it once in a while is not only unproductive; it is terribly depressing and undermines my other accomplishments. Without regular repetition, maintaining a given ability level seems impractical. Over weeks of disuse, the skill becomes unfamiliar and muscle memory degrades. I either want to build toward a double salchow or I don’t. Now I have a decision to make. Use it or lose it.
Week of December 10, 2001
The Double Salchow: At Long Last
~Day One~
After recent double salchow misadventures, I actually surprised myself by literally jumping right back into the saddle on my first skating day this week. My first attempts were significantly better than last week’s performance, though they would not impress anyone. However, they were probably no worse than what I had achieved when double salchow drills occupied a significant part of my agenda.
Content that I could at least regain a meager level of aptitude, I continued my practice, putting the double out of my mind. Later in the session; I borrowed a stroking, back crossover, and mohawk exercise a young skater had rehearsed during a lesson with a highly proficient, well-regarded coach.
“Do the double salchow,” I thought. “Do it now.” Directly out of the pattern, I stepped into a right forward outside three-turn and jumped. My landing edge connected. It was not perfect, but it felt easy and natural. I landed several more, each time skating comfortably into the preparation, as though I were just enjoying a carefree jaunt around the rink.
~Day Two~
I attended a slightly more crowded session where probably a dozen skaters, mostly adults but a couple of double jumping teenagers, practiced an array of skills. Although this session was not packed compared to summertime or weekend public skates, no one could carve out a private little paradise to review elements undisturbed by others passing through. Under these conditions, I had to skate around and find an opening before jumping, whether I wanted to try a simple toe loop or challenge myself with a double salchow.
So I skated calmly and smoothly until I spied a free spot. Turning the three, I stepped up into a double salchow and landed without incident. Four more decent jumps followed. Although I fell a couple of times and two-footed a few more efforts, my success rate hit an all-time high of about 75%. I had never attained a winning ratio! For the first time, I enjoyed the double salchow, jumping at every opportunity until finally a friend saw what I was doing.
“Was that an axel?”
She had obviously missed the take-off or could not distinguish the jump due to my unrefined technique. I laughed. “No, it was just a double salchow,” I corrected cheerfully.
“A double! And you’re not falling.”
I turned to display the slush clinging to the seat of my leggings. “I am falling but not as often.”
That was good enough for me. I wanted to shout it to the entire rink, but for fear of jinxing this unexpected revelation, I blew my nose instead. I owned the double salchow! At least, I hoped I did.
~Day Three, Lesson Day~
Plagued by congestion and the ill effects of a poor night’s sleep, I dreaded trying the double salchow. Certainly it had vanished, and those previous days had been a pleasant fluke. Finally, after a few big singles and
My coach entered the rink in time to catch the one miserable failure of the day. I aborted a sloppy preparation before jumping. “What was that?” he demanded, hiding his seriousness with a teasing grin.
Of course he had to catch my one serious mistake when I been landing decent doubles all week!
Following that humiliating error, I completed several respectable double salchows with my coach as a witness.
~Conclusions~
No single piece of advice unlocked the mystery of this jump in a moment of epiphany. Geoff has provided valuable tips throughout this long and frustrating process. However, stepping up into the jump such that I can see my knee in my peripheral vision seems to be very important for success. If I can see the knee, it is definitely lifting properly and not swinging around.
Geoff may not have expected his “huge jump” lessons to improve my double, but I believe they did. Geoff never asked me to try a multi-revolution jump during those rigorous and exciting sessions when I discovered that I could fly over open ice like an advanced skater warming up for harder tricks. However, jumping at my best speed helped to overcome fear and inhibition. If I can control the preparation, take-off, and landing when skating like a daredevil; trying a basic double at an even clip is far less intimidating. Previously, I approached the double salchow with ponderous contemplation, over-thinking the three-turn until its flatness restricted an otherwise natural launch. I was not approaching the double the same way as the single. This week, I skated into the preparation at a respectable speed and jumped with confidence.
I own the double salchow. At long last.
Read about the very first double salchow I landed over two years ago.
Week of December 17, 2001
My Precious Double
I can still do the double salchow! It did not deteriorate over the weekend and send me into another yearlong quest through disappointment, self-doubt and pain. The jump is becoming familiar and comfortable. I can imagine myself doing it while driving to the rink. “I can hardly wait to try a double salchow,” I thought enthusiastically, strolling through the parking lot toward the arena. In the past, I rather dreaded the chore of working on doubles until my butt ached and my ego bruised.
In spite of recent success, I still sense a twinge of anxiety before the first double salchow of the day. Some of this stems from a habitual fear of falling, but now the nervousness seems more closely related to a concern for maintaining the jump in my repertoire. Breaking my neck worries me less than losing my precious double. I have not sustained a serious injury yet, but have trained very conservatively. I warm up faithfully with singles, salchow-loops and salchow-loop-loop combinations. I landed the first double attempt of the session. Gliding out, I realized this skill is mine. I still fall, but they are safe falls; not the uncontrolled wipe-outs of an adult skater throwing her carcass into nothingness and hoping to revolve a couple of times. Once my coach arrived, I executed a double salchow as the first element of this week’s lesson without the benefit of an introductory single. I landed easily, as though I knew what I was doing. Maybe I finally do.
Amidst the excitement of owning a double, I must be honest about its quality. It is not perfect, but suffers from only a slight fraction of rotational deficiency. While it is not big, it covers about one foot of ice, which is not especially bad, considering my first flips flew a scant two inches. I approach the jump with confidence, disguising any trepidation. Skating smoothly, I usually perform alternating backward crossovers down one side of the rink before cutting across the width of the ice to turn the three. My air position lacks aesthetic beauty. While I cannot be certain of its precise inadequacy, my coach reminds me to think about “growing tall in the air”. Basically, my humble double is not ready for television. It probably looks like a stereotypical beginners’ jump, but after so much anguish, I gladly accept it as a starting point. A consistent jump can always be improved.
During our last meeting, my coach encouraged me to play with the double toe loop. With his instruction and independent experimentation, I am gaining an understanding of stepping up into the jump from a vaulted entrance. The double toe loop always mystified me. It is supposedly an easy jump; easier than the salchow according to some skaters and instructors. However, I never could conceive of reaching back, drawing, and stepping into the backspin position. If I could only get up the nerve to go for it, I might land the thing. My body is almost fully rotated and have not even begun to pull in my arms or free leg. Don’t count on reading a report anytime soon that I have completed this jump, though. I am still holding my breath and hoping this double salchow revelation is not some type of cruel joke.
Week of December 24, 2001
A Thin Crust of Ice
I learned my lesson the hard way about trying to skate between Christmas and New Years as well as on other major holidays. The crowds are stifling. One cannot move; much less practice productively. A holiday public or freestyle session is usually not worth the drive. In spite of this reality, I definitely miss skating this week. Everyday, I take a walk to get some minimal amount of exercise. I have taken pleasure in seeing ice form on the small pond across the street. It is only a thin crust, absolutely not skateable, but pretty and intriguing causing me to reflect on the history of skating when hobbyists and more serious athletes could only skate a few months out of the year on poor quality ice wearing unsophisticated equipment and cumbersome clothing.
Most winters the little manmade pond does not freeze solid enough for skating, though I did skate on it once about five years ago. My husband drilled the ice and measured its depth, declaring it safe. The pond is not deep, so if I fell through I could just jump right back out, run into the house, and ruin my blades. Nothing compares to the pristine smoothness of a Zambonied rink; natural pond ice being a far cry from a groomed skating surface. Imperfections, bumps and an overall grittiness made the ice unaccommodating. Rather than yielding to my blade, it sprayed and spit almost defiantly.
I was not much of a skater five years ago anyway. All I did on the pond were clockwise backward crossovers, a basic one-foot spin, and some unimpressive falling leaf jumps. Admittedly, I feared venturing into the center of the small outdoor rink thinking my elephantoid leaps would crack its fragile surface. Then my measly repertoire consisted of the following beginner jumps: salchow, waltz and falling leaf. I could manage a sad toe loop that looked more like a waltz jump taken from the toe pick. My spins, which were already decent by adult standards, included the fundamental forward spins, though I might have begun to experiment with the backward camel.
My skating has literally transformed in the last five years. On the grand scale, I may not have accomplished my lofty goals of learning an axel (a good quality axel) and a similarly acceptable double, but all of my basic skills have improved. Work with moves in the field has made me a better all-around skater. My spin arsenal is packed with funky combinations and unusual positions. I have mastered the single jumps and have flirted dangerously with the axel and a couple of doubles. It seems I might even own a remedial version of the double salchow.
If that pond freezes again this season, I expect to perform a more interesting variety of tricks on its rough surface than I did several years ago.
December 31, 2001
The Olympic Oval
By New Year’s Eve, I had not skated for well over a week and longed for the feeling of ice beneath my blades. After watching a ski jumping competition, my husband and I drove into town to skate on the Lake Placid 1980 Olympic Speed Skating oval. The ice was in a particularly bad state of disrepair. The previous Saturday, the Olympic Torch, ultimately bound for Salt Lake City, came through Lake Placid; and the oval was commandeered for a carnival in its honor. Regular skating sessions were cancelled and several attractions were set up on the snowy surface, the ice completely disappearing from view and physical sensation.
Probably nothing had been done to the ice since then, aside from scraping it with a tractor of some sort. Definitely no resurfacing equipment had recently passed over the frozen outdoor track. Snow continued to fall and gather in windswept waves across the already battered topography. Had the session been free, I might not have cared, but we paid admission to skate on lousy ice. Honestly, I have skated on smoother ponds. To the average skate renter, the quality of the ice may have made no difference; although I heard several hockey dudes complaining. The speed skating team was undoubtedly out of town that week or otherwise not training. I watched speed skaters work out on that rink several years ago. Their long graceful strides on delicate thin blades would have been severely hampered by the condition of that ice. I assumed the ice would be improved as soon as the athletes returned to serious practice.
My blades cut through the snowdrifts, which provided surprising resistance. Stroking through dunes of light snow increases the intensity of a skating work out, making thigh muscles burn without trying much of anything. I began to skate moves in the field patterns, specifically forward power three-turns. An ice guard observed what I was doing and promptly told me to stop.
“Excuse me, ma’am. There is no figure skating allowed. All you can do it go around. Sorry,” the young woman explained.
Supposedly, any deviation from stiff recreational skating would pose a hazard. I could understand being scolded for popping into a camel or one of my dubious double salchows, but not for traversing the length of the enormous rink in a pattern of rudimentary turns and crossovers. I tried my luck with alternating forward crossovers and power pulls, the ice being too hard and rough to satisfactorily accommodate either. However, I had not come to the Olympic Oval expecting to refine my freestyle skills. I merely wanted to enjoy a winter sport outside in the softly falling snow. And I managed to build up a sweat. That’s always nice.
View more photographs of my skate on the Olympic Oval in the Gallery.
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