February 2003
Week of February 2, 2003
Regained Perspective
I last stepped on ice a month ago, and that was not a shining moment since I was still bothered by a cold and had not skated over the Holidays. Maybe my body had forgotten how to skate. My first few rounds were tentative, not the characteristic tentativeness of an adult skater who is too cautious to push into the ice and gain speed; but the insecure, unfamiliar tentativeness of a beginner. For a moment my feet slipped frictionlessly as only steel can move on ice. These unintentional movements caused me to stroke conservatively, refamiliarizing myself with the rink and its frozen surface. I did not cross one foot over the other until I had completed at least two laps. An observer might have pegged me for a ‘once or twice a year’ skater.
My husband had accompanied me to the rink, which is situated in a shopping mall. He took a therapeutic walk while I skated for the first time in weeks. After a long stressful absence, I was happy to see my skating friends again and to regain some of the normalcy of my everyday life. For the last ten years, skating has been a key element in my existence; and I sorely missed it whenever it had to be sacrificed for other priorities. However, this time, I had more important issues on my mind and never actually ‘missed’ skating.
This does not mean the joy of skating escaped me when I finally felt comfortable enough to attempt my first spin. Amazingly, the spin centered perfectly, as did the subsequent attempt. I marveled at these tracings. Their precision seemed almost ridiculous given my extended hiatus. My mind may have forgotten how to skate, but my muscles functioned as though they remained warm from my last productive session in mid-December. These spins welcomed me back to the ice and allowed me to appreciate whatever I am able to achieve. All of the silly goals and ambitions that once seemed so critical to my skating self-image, lay buried under the simple pleasure of an effortless spin. Equally delightful were a few basic dances that carried me around the rink in patterns of edges and flourishes.
That session involved no goals or dutiful practice. I did not force myself to try anything or work on anything. I skated solely for my own amusement, rather than a quest for documentable achievement. Too often skating sessions become a chore requiring a certain amount of time allotted to this skill or that, usually including something I feel obligated to practice because it is the next expected step toward advancement. At one time, that meant axels and doubles, jumps I almost felt peer pressure to tackle and conquer so I could proclaim myself an adult who can land a decent axel. I hated that pressure, as well as the painful impacts to my hindquarters. This season I have spent little time on those skills, preferring to focus on basic skating. In general, I had less time for skating than in previous years and less enthusiasm. Lack of noticeable improvement and annoying rink conditions contributed to my melancholy.
My husband’s surgery helped me to regain perspective and enjoy a couple of hours of carefree skating. Inevitably, I will set some form of nebulous goal again and will resume work on whatever skills seem important. However, I doubt I will ever beat myself up physically or psychologically over jump deficiencies (or any other perceived limitation). Skating should never become a burden or be stoically endured. If the magical feeling of a self-generated breeze in my face ever ceases to make me happy, I know it is time to get off the ice.
Week of February 9, 2003
Ordinarily, skating twice in one week is no big accomplishment and if done on a regular basis leads to deterioration of skills. I prefer to skate three or four times weekly, for a total of six to ten hours. For me, this level of dedication results in improvement and maintenance of even my most difficult elements. Additionally, my body remains muscularly alert and requires less warm up time to attain peak performance. Of course, it is not always possible to find so much free time for ice skating. Whenever possible, I make up the slack with aerobic dance classes, brisk walks, and outdoor roller skating (during warmer weather). Once my life returns to normal following my husband’s initial recovery period, I hope to regain my former skating expertise and return to somewhat regular lessons.
After a prolonged absence form the sport or only spotty participation, certain skills inexplicably remain about where I left them. I can often pull a good layback sooner than I can complete a smooth pattern of the simple Dutch Waltz. Jumping has never been my strength, and I have to struggle constantly to keep even my basic singles at a respectable level. If abandoned for just a week or two, their height and distance decrease significantly. It has been a long time since I have done a truly big flip jump or amazed myself with a huge loop. Any recent musings with aerial acrobatics do not represent my true ability. However, it is difficult not to be disappointed by sloppy small jumps that were really commendable last season. My focus had been ice dancing, which has retracted from jump training. I do not consider this an unjust sacrifice, because I thoroughly enjoy dance and appreciate the positive effects it has had on the general caliber of my skating. Now that I have achieved some modicum of competence with dancing, I would like to devote more practice time to jumping techniques.
The first flying camel I attempted since early January landed me flat on my buttocks. The next few centered well, one backward camel inverting into an interesting variation. My more complicated combination spins also suffered from awkwardness. Neglect roughened their transitions, slowed rotational velocity, reduced the number of revolutions in each position, and caused me to stumble onto an exit edge. A friend insisted my spins still look very good, though I can sense every little bobble and imperfection. These problems occur primarily in fringe elements, skills that tested the borders of my aptitude as a well-practiced skater. Now that I am out of practice, they magnify my weaknesses.
But I cannot complain too loudly. As soon as my friend glided away, back to her own skating challenges, I entered a backward attitude spin while keeping my expectations to a minimum. To my surprise, it was probably the single best backward attitude I have ever completed. The toe pick hooked, anchoring the spin onto the correct edge, while my free leg swept into the classic curved pose. The spin rotated smoothly as I beamed in delight. A few more like that, and I will be ready to develop this skill into the difficult and unusual backward layback.
I appreciated these two days of skating. Although the sessions were far from ideal in terms of crowding, I felt pleased with whatever I managed to accomplish. I am emotionally recovering from the trauma of my husband’s surgery and look forward to rediscovering whatever potential I possess on the ice.
Photos from this session may be viewed in my photo gallery.
Week of February 16, 2003
Although I considered attending one of the jumbled Presidents’ Week sessions, I decided not to gamble a long drive on a session that would probably be unpleasantly jammed anyway. Besides, my husband was feeling well this week and wanted to go out. His days of disability are nearing an end, and he expects to go back to work soon.
Without skating, I kept up my exercise by shoveling enormous amounts of snow, riding the stationary bicycle, and attending aerobics classes. I warm up for everything, not just skating. I arrive at aerobics early and spend ten minutes stretching my muscles. Predictably, someone encounters me while contorted into one of my stretch postures and comments on my “wonderful limberness” or asks if I was a dancer. That theory probably evaporates with my first clumsy grapevine or chassé step. However, looking around the gym during some of the flexibility routines reveals that I am definitely advanced over all of the other participants. However, my body type does not appear flexible. My muscles are bulky and developed. Limber people usually have long, slender limbs. Their legs resemble lanky rubber bands. Several people in my aerobics class could more convincingly pose as a dancer than me.
I receive the same remarks at the ice rink. Surprisingly, I am one of the few adults who stretches before and after skating. Most of the mature skaters I know do neither. These same people bemoan the lowness of their free legs and marvel at my extension, but they seem unwilling to take the necessary steps to improve their flexibility. Yet, I do not consider myself a limber skater. My spirals may reach beyond the minimum “hip height” standard but not by much more than twelve inches. They are satisfactory; not excellent. Yes, I can do a decent layback, but I cannot double over backwards like many of the elite ladies. A Denise Beillmann spin is so far beyond my boundaries, I cannot even comprehend the magnitude of its impossibility. Beillmann herself, who is not much older than me (but a good deal smaller and profoundly better trained), has to warm up for at least forty-five minutes to perform the spin she made famous in the early eighties. If a former world champion who is still in top athletic condition requires such a long warm-up, what hope can I possibly have of pulling that type of extension?
My flexibility is especially interesting to observe at a ballet barre. I can literally fold at the waist like the flap on an envelope. When my muscles are warm and pliable, I can put my forehead on the floor when standing or sitting with my legs outstretched in a “V”. I can do the splits on the barre and used to do them on the floor as a young person, though I have not maintained this skill over the years. After a productive aerobics session, I can stand almost in a box split, collapse at the waist, and put my chin on the floor. I should join a circus. Unfortunately, this talent does not translate into split spirals, double jointed laybacks, or Beillmann spins. When I have the time to devote to a new and amazing trick, I might apply my bizarre suppleness to learning the inverted “V” spin popularized by current Canadian competitor, Emmanuel Sandhu. This striking and difficult stunt may be a real possibility.
I believe most adults can improve their flexibility. We all have personal limitations, but they are probably not as restrictive as originally believed. Unlike learning an axel or double jump, most adults can already execute some form of spiral and are challenged with developing what they have rather than pulverizing their bodies from square one. In addition to major milestones, adult skaters should also set subtle goals that require a few relatively painless minutes of effort per day.
Week of February 23, 2003
A couple of weeks ago, I ran into my old coach, Geoff. He and I parted on good terms, mainly due to cancellation of my usual lesson session. He told me the session has not been reinstated, but some of the advanced skaters had retired or quit. “Nobody’s there anymore,” he declared but went on to mention a couple of adults who still attended regularly. This sounded too good to be true, but I decided to give it a shot. I liked skating at this rink, although the management and maintenance staff treated adult skaters like garbage, eventually discontinuing our session. Their reasoning may have been grounded in truth but offered a convenient excuse to get rid of a few unprofitable pain-in-the-butt adults. The rink is closer to my home, has a harness, and holds many fond memories of dramatic leaps in personal improvement.
I don’t know what the hell Geoff was talking about. The place was crowded with kids. I am lucky enough to have a flexible schedule that allows a certain amount of daytime skating. This rink was loaded with young people who are either home schooled or privately schooled because skating is their first priority. While the advanced dance and pair skating teams were absent, plenty of very good singles skaters practiced their doubles and some triples in the arena. I do not consider myself a crappy skater; however, I cannot compare to young people who train fulltime and compete favorably at the novice and junior levels. Skating is their “job”. I simply am not (and cannot be) in that league. Coaches, like Geoff, probably do not realize how uncomfortable sessions utilized by serious skaters can be for recreational adults.
I had paid admission, so I might as well skate. While exiting a back camel, I tried to dodge one speed demon by turning the other way, but found another aggressive little expert barreling toward me from the opposite direction. Admittedly, these kids are swift enough to avoid hitting another person; however, they will make absolutely no effort to accommodate someone else. If you cannot handle the traffic, get out of the rink! Granted, I am terribly out of practice; but under these hectic conditions, I felt like a stiff sloppy adult skater. Every time I set up to try something, another person was flying right at me. Looking for a place to attempt a spin or jump made me feel like a wooden duck in a shooting gallery. Avoiding a collision was the best I could possibly achieve, never mind trying to regain some of my deteriorating skills.
I believe a major barrier to adult skating progress is a lack of appropriate sessions. Adults are often thrown on the ice with advanced skaters who skirt them as an obnoxious driver weaves around speed bumps to avoid slowing down. This leaves the adult standing in the middle of the rink like the proverbial deer in headlights: unable to move, get out of the way, and certainly unable to skate productively. Yes, adults do persevere under these conditions, and I applaud their fortitude. However, they may be investing more effort in self-preservation than improvement.
The content of this site is copyright by K. J. N., 1999 - 2003
Fringe Elements
Flexibility and the Adult Skater
A Duck in a Shooting Gallery
