December 1999
December 1-3, 1999
Scenes from a Test Session
I have taken many tests in my life, culminating with the final oral examination to earn my doctorate. The sole purpose of the oral is for the professors to walk down the corridor during the break and hear the candidate dry heaving in the restroom. Now, that was a difficult test. The USFSA* Pre-preliminary moves in the field and freestyle tests were easy by comparison. I arrived at the rink an hour early to warm up before my test. After completing a perfect run-through, I considered leaving the ice before I made mistakes and became upset. However, I remained on the ice fooling around with the elements until Geoff called me to the testing rink.
Since pre-preliminary students do not skate programs to music, the three of us had to perform our moves in the field and freestyle elements simultaneously. The other two people were little girls, but that did not make me feel embarrassed or uncomfortable, as previously expected. While I felt slightly anxious all morning, I got nervous when I started skating. I did not anticipate having to avoid other people during my test. The kids rushed through their tests with little regard for holding exit edges. Since I like to take time presenting each skill, I also felt rushed. I wish I could have performed a better half flip and salchow. The half flip is an awkward jump for me, and I hurried into a tight preparation for the salchow. My final element, the scratch spin, centered perfectly; but as I rode the outside edge away from the bull’s eye, I realized the judge had seen enough and already walked off.
She passed my moves in the field without comment and encouraged me not to neglect my edges even though I passed this test. “Backward skating is important,” she assured. She commented on the salchow and half flip, but wrote “Very nice” on the evaluation sheet in the spin column. Of course, once the judges left, my salchows returned to their normally decent state and I purged the evil half flip from my memory by completing full flips until my legs hurt.
A woman loitered about the rink after the test session and turned to me. “You got lucky,” she stated flatly. “They failed everybody.”
Lucky? Bah! I skated competently. I was angry that she attributed my passing report to luck. I prepared diligently for that test. I wanted to offer a biting reply, but decided to remain above her pettiness.
“They failed my daughter,” she continued abruptly. “She was crying.”
Now I understood the motivation behind her caustic remark, which did not excuse her from trying to diminish my achievement.
“Those judges failed everyone,” she repeated.
“Not the little pre-preliminary skaters?” I asked incredulously.
“No not them.”
“Well, I’m sorry for the other kids,” I politely admitted. “It must be very difficult for them.”
She had tremendous nerve taking out her frustration on me. I saw her daughter warming up sloppy doubles and a shaky flying camel. I also noticed that the child was in tears after her test. I assumed she failed but was not surprised. Maybe the girl cried because she disappointed her mother and dreaded her harsh criticism. The mother probably pressured her daughter who subsequently felt like a failure after missing a couple of skating skills. This girl competed at Regionals in the Open Juvenile category, a non-qualifying competition for skaters over thirteen who have passed the juvenile tests. In this attempt, the girl did not graduate to Intermediate level. Her mother will have to swallow a bitter reality pill because a teenager stymied in the juvenile ranks is unlikely to compete at the Olympics. Not everyone goes to the Olympics. Why should I be the only person to deal with this fact? The mother should have been comforting her child rather than spitting venom at the only adult skater in the arena.
In spite of the bitchy parent who tried to belittle my accomplishment, I relished passing my first skating tests. The barrettes didn’t fly out of my hair, the crotch didn’t rip out of my tights, and I survived the forward stroking without catching a toe pick and diving face-first onto the ice. I actually worried about these things. After the test session, I logged another two hours of ice time and practiced the elements for the next tests then resumed work on my traveling camel.
Also read the journal entry about preparing for this test.
* United States Figure Skating Association
Week of December 6, 1999
Signature Move
This week I decided that I needed a “signature move”, a skating element that is uniquely mine. Many competitive and professional skaters have signature moves that appear in almost all of their programs. These moves do not have to be outrageously difficult. They may be as basic as a spiral position. Conversely, the move may be an interesting spin position that requires unusual flexibility, a complicated spin combination, or a dazzling jump variation. While other skaters could readily adopt the more basic signature moves, they are often avoided because the element is so closely associated with someone else. In the most profound cases, elements are named for their inventor or the skater who popularizes the move. Two notable examples are the Beillmann spin and the Hamill camel, named after Denise Beillmann and Dorothy Hamill, respectively. These skills have become important additions to the sport of figure skating. Other signature moves remain unnamed or are named based on their appearance or component parts.
Certainly no skating maneuver will ever be named after me and performed by future generations of champions. However, because my hopes of landing triple jumps and most of the doubles are severely limited, I have become motivated to develop another skill that observers will stop to notice whether I am skating during a public session or on freestyle ice with senior competitors. The move must be unique and difficult enough that I must work diligently to perfect it. Even the best skaters should not be able to perform my move on the first or second try.
Years ago, one of my first instructors demonstrated a spin for me which I have only be able to execute since last summer. The spin consists of a fast upright position with the free leg extended to the side. Rather than pulling in to blur a fast scratch spin, the skater rises momentarily to the toe pick to pivot into a camel position. The spin must be initiated with great speed because most of the momentum is lost as the body lowers into the camel position. While experiencing the first glimmers of success with this combination, a competent adult skater stopped to admire the element. She said she would not dare to try it herself. This could be promising for my signature move.
Lately, difficult and unlikely spin combinations have fascinated me. My coach is a master of rare combinations and can convert readily between the most unexpected positions. When I asked about the forward sit to forward camel transition, he grunted that it is very hard to do and did not demonstrate. He wasted no time on the subject and refocused my attention to moves in the field. I decided that I must learn this combination and added another promising signature move to my list.
While no one was watching this week, I tried to do a forward sit spin to a forward camel. I have never seen this combination performed in person and only rarely on television. I could not rise directly from the sit to the camel. Instead, I passed through an upright position with my free leg extended as though preparing to finish with a scratch spin. In mid-rotation, I recalled the pivot to camel transition that the other adult admired but feared. I hit my toe pick and assumed the camel posture for one pathetic revolution. On the second attempt, I successfully rose from the sit spin, through the upright transition and pivoted into a camel that I maintained for at least three revolutions. Encouraged, I changed to a back camel and completed the combination. The spin left me disoriented and nauseous. I controlled the urge to vomit onto the ice and glided to the barrier to evaluate my achievement. Because all subsequent attempts to repeat this combination failed for the next three days, I knew I had discovered my signature move. I have never seen anyone else perform this combination. Since I have only completed it a few times, I know it will require serious dedication to perfect and display with confidence.
December 10, 1999
Personal Best
Since my husband planned to leave work early so we could spend the afternoon together, he dropped me off early in the morning at a rink near his place of employment. I felt like a child skating before school. Since I have skated at this arena only three times, I don’t know anyone there. I stretched and tried to strike up a conversation with a mother who was more interested in mouthing commands to her child through the windows than chewing the fat with me.
The ice was smoother and softer than the surface at my home rink. I enjoyed gliding without interruption from hockey ruts. Alone on the ice for at least fifteen minutes, I practiced my new moves in the field for the USFSA Preliminary test. A teenage girl joined me to work on double jumps with her coach. She skated on one end of the rink while I occupied the other. Our paths only crossed as we rounded the middle of the rink to prepare our jumps.
During the second hour, a pair team and several junior or senior level female skaters came on the ice. There were enough people skating at an intimidating rate to frighten me into a corner, which was not a safe place either. Like a beginner, I skated close to the walls. Although my skating skills have developed to a respectable level, I am no match for a sizable group of competitive teens. I tried to find a place to spin in the middle of the rink. As I emerged from each spin, a fourteen-year-old compounded my dizziness by flying passed me on her way to a triple. The more nervous I became the worse I skated and the more inept and elderly I felt. I wondered if I was old enough to be the parent of any of these kids.
When the session concluded, I inhaled a diet shake and a couple of breakfast bars. As my hunger dissipated, I decided to skate the next hour and make the best of whatever crowd utilized the ice. The pair departed and I skated by myself for a while before the girl with whom I equitably shared the ice that morning rejoined me. We reverted to our routine of respecting each other’s space and practiced our jumps. After twenty minutes, several advanced skaters entered the arena including a pair and single lady who compete internationally.
Rather than running to the safety of the barrier, I decided to skate my best and prove to myself that I did not have to appear foolish among great skaters. During the previous hour, I allowed myself to suck more than I really did. I would not waste another hour of ice time feeling pitiful and looking incompetent. I might even learn something from these champions.
During that hour, I had the skate of my life. I landed beautiful flying camels that rotated with speed and fluidity to compare with the world caliber skaters around me. I could not match their jumps, and would not bother to try. I am a good spinner and their motivating presence heightened an ability that previously lay unchallenged. I propelled my body into the fastest layback I have ever performed. I did jump camels that gained speed in the landing. My sit-change-sit was almost as fast and low to the ice as those performed by the male pairs skater. And I hit my signature move over and over. Watching the world class female skater prepare her triple salchow, I mimicked her body movements and added an extra foot to the flight path my single.
As I left the ice at the end of that magical hour, I walked up the ramp into the viewing area on my blade guards. I had held up my end of the session to the best of my ability and surprised myself.
I must never forget how to skate like that.
Week of December 13, 1999
Curly Jump Disorder
In order to prepare for my next freestyle test, my lesson this week focused on improving my technique for basic single jumps. Years ago, I learned to do a salchow by watching other people and discovered the right forward outside three-turn (RFO3) by accident. Now I realize this was a mistake. The combination of my three-turn preparation into a salchow results in an overly curved jump that I have been struggling to correct for years. I am not the only skater who suffers from Curly Salchow Disorder. I have seen kids do salchows that look like a step out of a sickly spin. I’ve watched many adult skaters jump little salchows that go nowhere but around. Not up, not out; just around in a tight circle. If I concentrate, I can often overcome this deficiency and cover a decent amount of ice. Typically my salchow consists of a right forward outside three turn; a short, curved right backward inside edge; then my free leg drops quickly inside the circle forcing a premature jump which travels about four feet. I can generally get away with this and even land doubles when I am in the correct frame of mind. This week I had a particularly good session and landed at least a dozen double salchows. However, I’ll never get a big double with this technique and a triple is out of the question (which it probably is anyway).
Geoff has taught me various exercises to improve my salchow technique. I practiced these for a few weeks then by-passed them in favor of more interesting axel exercises. I can do a salchow from every preparatory technique known to mankind. Geoff suggested that I avoid the typical backward crossover preparation in my natural jumping direction leading into a RFO3 followed by the jump. This preparation is ideal for students who have difficulty rotating. Rotation is not my problem, control is. Now I must perform back crossovers in the opposite direction before stepping into my RFO3. This facilitates control over the three-turn. I must hold the entrance edge into the turn and the exit edge, creating two long flat arcs before the take-off. Some people find this easy. It becomes significantly more difficult for those of us who learned the salchow incorrectly as beginners.
To illustrate the proper technique, Geoff completed one of the biggest single jumps I have ever seen. I am fortunate to have found a coach who skates with me. He demonstrates every move setting a standard I have only been able to covet. We studied the ice where he prepared and executed the salchow. His blades cut long edges before and after the three-turn perpendicular to the length of the rink. My shorter edges curved more deeply. With each subsequent trial, I attempted to keep my free leg behind my body to check the three-turn creating a long flattened edge before the salchow. We analyzed each mark for improvements and errors.
The flip jump is closely related to the salchow and has been described as a “toe salchow”. My flip suffers from the same Curly Jump Disorder as the salchow. The RFO3 preparation is not long and flat enough. Geoff’s flip flies over six feet while I am lucky to cover two. He told me the turn should actually be more like a rocker. Unlike a three-turn, a change of edge does not occur in a rocker. Therefore, a forward outside rocker begins on an outside edge and remains on an outside edge after the turn. This tends to straighten the preparatory path of the jump, contributing to an increased flight trajectory. Because the free foot taps the ice in a flip instead of coming around to step into a salchow, I could maintain a flatter edge exiting the “rocker-like” three-turn. I experienced less difficulty correcting my flip problems.
After the lesson I performed dozens of salchows and flips, studying the tracings created by each jump. I have always been critical of my blade tracings and discovered my own errors by viewing them. Geoff has urged me not to examine every mark when the effect is frustrating rather than informative. For example, the pattern left by my axel is unimpressive and I should not preoccupy myself with it. I check the imprints occasionally when I focus on increasing the distance of my axel, but try to avoid obsessing over the inadequacies they reveal. However, careful examination of salchow and flip tracings can contribute to improved jumping at this point in my skating development because I can do these moves in my sleep and only wish to refine my technique.
I would encourage any skater to avoid the temptation to teach one’s self. Finding a competent instructor is critical to developing proper technique. Skating presents sufficient challenges to even the most coordinated people without having to correct self-inflicted deficiencies like Curly Jump Disorder.
Week of December 13, 1999; Part 2
In the Way
The same twenty-five people frequent the morning sessions when I skate. Some days are more crowded than others; particularly the days when the adult ice dancers take their lessons. However, most people respect each other’s space and avoid cutting through another skater’s lesson. I have never seen a collision on this session. While our session is not designated as an “adult session”, usually only adults utilize it. Just two of the twenty-five regulars rehearse programs, and the dancers take lessons to musical selections appropriate for the tempo of their patterns. Otherwise, people bring tapes they enjoy to fill the cavernous space and drown out the toe pick scratching. One skater enjoys practicing his numerous programs to the exclusion of other people’s music preferences. Although some skaters express displeasure, they are too polite to complain and tolerate his repetitive music.
During one session this week the three women who shared the ice with the music man (who I shall call Stanley) and I left early. After ten minutes of silence, I decided to play a tape. My tape had not run for more than two minutes when Stanley approached me and declared that he planned to practice his program and needed to play his music. I was irritated. Why couldn’t he let at least one complete song from my tape play before changing it? Perhaps he simply does not care for my music, but I leave the funky selections at home and only bring pleasant contemporary tunes to the rink that should be acceptable to everyone. I rarely play music and have not approached the tape player for over three weeks. I told Stanley if he intended to practice his routine repeatedly that he should just play his music and forget about putting my cassette in for a couple of minutes at a time. He assured me he would not do this. However, he just did. Although I was annoyed, I do not feel comfortable telling others what they can and cannot do. If someone has the nerve to inform me that he must play his music only a minute after I started mine, disagreeing with a person who is that selfish and unreasonable cannot be productive. He wants to practice his routines at his convenience, and to hell with everyone else.
Stanley seemed to realize that he struck a nerve with me and made sure that at least one song from my tape played to completion before he popped it out. I channeled my irritation into the ice performing the biggest flip jumps I have ever attempted. I skated powerfully in spite of his boring tunes. At the end of the session, Stanley approached me saying he thought sharing the cassette player with me worked out favorably. “Yes, it was fine,” I agreed pleasantly. I was happy with how I skated and know that I have to get along with Stanley at least two days every week.
Confident that he had not jeopardized our friendship, he began to express his feelings about the session. “Some people don’t know anything about rink etiquette,” he began. “You and Janice are fine but those other women don’t know to get out of the way of the person whose program music is playing. Usually coaches teach this to their students.”
I was absolutely appalled. The skaters who were the object of his frustration were raw beginners. “Those women probably couldn’t get out of your way if they wanted to. It is difficult for beginners to dodge suddenly. Those ladies can barely stand up. They are doing the best they can.” I did not want to start an argument, but Stanley was being particularly unreasonable. He spoke as though he was preparing for the Olympics when he is little more than a beginner himself.
“I try to go to the edge when people practice their programs. I stay out of the middle,” he explained.
My temperature rose a few degrees. Stanley plays those tapes a lot. The other skaters would be forced to the walls throughout the session. They paid the same admission fee as Stanley. Just because they don’t rehearse programs, they should not have second rate privileges. I am aware of freestyle session etiquette, which requires skaters to yield to others who are taking a lesson or rehearsing with music. However, those rules were devised for sessions where serious competitors train. I never realized there was a problem with our happy little group. We are supposedly adults skating for recreation. Yes, Stanley competes, but he should maintain his perspective. I stopped suffering from delusions of Olympic glory at about the same time I abandoned the fantasy of becoming an astronaut. I certainly never wanted to be known as an adult skater who takes herself too seriously.
Determined for me to concede that at some time I must stand by the boards, Stanley asked how I handle skating with junior and senior level competitors. More advanced athletes manage to share the ice and skate around each other. I have discovered that I prefer not to skate with high level freestyle skaters and purposely avoid these sessions.
Stanley realized that he would not receive any sympathy from me and walked away.
If I continue to take tests, I will have to learn a program. I hope that I will be able to keep my sense of humor and not degenerate into an egocentric snot. Self-absorbed skaters should remind themselves of the following: Someone cannot get in your way if you are not also in his.
Week of December 20, 1999
Click!
As I improve my freestyle skills, I forget that blades grip the ice only precariously and the smallest imperfections in the surface or technique can upset my balance. Falls from axels or flying camels do not frighten me as much as unexpected falls that occur due to lack of concentration or what seems like random misfortune. Every time I spring into an axel, a significant probability exists that I will fall. My body prepares for the fall by relaxing and dropping safely to the ice. However, when the accident catches me by surprise, I often land on my knee earning an unsightly bruise and considerable discomfort.
While warming up with backward crossovers in a figure eight pattern around two hockey circles, my blades clicked together and I slid across the ice. Click! I dread this horrible noise, which is the skater’s equivalent of fingernails on a chalkboard or gears grinding when the clutch is not fully depressed. Last week I wiped out in front of my coach preparing for a salchow. I stroked backwards around the rink confidently until click! With the metallic sound still tickling my eardrums; I dropped to the ice, rolled on my stomach and slid several yards; to my utter horror and humiliation. Nothing cleans the ice like polyester fleece. I left a pristine path that a Zamboni could not improve.
Fortunately, I am an expert at falling and suffered no injuries from these recent mishaps. During the figure eight incident, I was actually relaxed enough to wonder how close I was to the wall and if I would hit it. The laws of physics brought me to a gentle stop a foot short of the barrier.
When I started skating over seven years ago, I did not know how to fall. I knew how to do back crossovers in my favored direction and performed them with great pleasure at my best speed. Click! The fall was hideous. My feet flew out from under me leaving my helpless, rigid body to drop cruelly to the frozen surface. I landed so hard on my backside, that my torso snapped backwards causing my head to slam onto the ice. The noise caused a terrifying echo to reverberate through the building. That was the worst agony I have ever experienced. Although I swooned from the pain, I got up and continued to skate as though nothing had happened; not because nothing had happened but because I didn’t want anyone to confront me about the fall. The spot on the back of my head swelled and ached for weeks. After that I became more tentative on the ice and developed an irrational fear of jumping, although I never hurt myself jumping. At three-week intervals, I repeated the same error during back crossovers and crowned myself two more times before the ordeal finally ended. Since that unfortunate season, I never hit my head or clicked my blades again.
Seven years without a click! is not too bad.
I hope to skate next week, but I have found the holidays do not yield the best figure skating conditions. If I do not post a new entry next week, I’ll see you again in the year 2000!
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