January 2001
Having learned my lesson about crowded ice rinks on holidays, I opted for cross-country skiing as my first athletic activity of the Odyssey Year. I had only cross-country skied twice before, both times last winter, and I have never downhill skied. Therefore, I qualify for “raw beginner” status, the skiing equivalent of clinging to the hockey barrier wearing rental skates.
In spite of several patient demonstrations, I could not duplicate my husband’s skillful gait across the snow. Instead, I shuffled along, walking more than gliding, my attention directed toward my feet and the trail ahead. Recreational cross-country skiing is commonly done in tracks laid in the snow by previous skiers. The first unfortunate soul to reach the ski area faces the daunting task of breaking a trail in virgin snow, a feat more closely resembling trudging or stomping than gliding. Each successive skier slides along in the new path smoothing and packing it to form a set of firm tracks into which the skis glide easily like a train on iron rails.
How can anyone move gracefully on these long, unwieldy things? I could ski far more efficiently on shorter skis with metal edges, equipment more closely resembling a skate blade. Cross-country skis are basically long planks made of a polymeric composite with a textured gripping surface directly underneath the footholds. The adept skier pushes with this textured surface against the snow propelling himself forward in a series of strokes and glides, aided by a pair of ski poles. If performed on ice, the cross-country skier’s stroke would result in severe toe pick pushing and lack of turn out.
Few people had skied this trail and it was not well established, yet I forged ahead trying not to get the tips of my skis caught in the snow. Last year, I fell incessantly, and my husband was surprised that I liked skiing and wanted to do it again. Falling into a fluffy snow bank is considerably less painful than crashing onto hard ice after rotating in the air. However, with the long planks attached to my feet, I could not right myself and lay in the snow struggling and laughing at the ridiculousness of my predicament. On the ice, I leap to my feet so fast no one even imagines that I might be hurt. After releasing my boots from the skis, I regained my footing by propping myself up with the handy poles. This year, I only fell once, after catching my pole in a leafless shrub alongside the path. The incident left an imprint in the snow bank that could only result from an unseasoned skier toppling off the trail.
On the return leg of my trek, I finally understood the “kick and glide” method and abandoned my neophyte shuffle step. Skiing competently and developing confidence, I became aware of nature’s beauty around me and enjoyed the soothing sound of skis traversing snow. A family with two dogs interrupted my daydreams, as they stepped aside allowing me to pass. No one wore skis. Pushing passed their party, I realized that these people had decimated the trail, obliterating all traces of the ski tracks with shoe craters. My journey out of the woods would be more arduous than expected. I had hoped to get back to the parking lot without taking another roll in the snow. However, my ankle twisted in a boot pit causing a second clumsy plop. I brushed and stretched my clothing to shake the snow free. I did not want my husband to catch me emerging from the forest looking like a big doughnut dusted with confectioners’ sugar.
Week of January 2, 2001
Oh, Happy Day
During the last couple of months I have devoted several entries to the frustrations of adult figure skating including my disappearing spins, horrible falls, substandard moves in the field, and all around crappy skating. Happily, I have more positive news to share this week. I had a wonderful lesson and some of my very best days on the ice.
Probably the most difficult move I have attempted is the traveling camel, forward variation. More a piece of footwork than an actual spin, it is rarely seen even in elite competition, and (to my knowledge) is not required on any skating test. This move may not appear intimidating to the non-skater, but those who have experimented with footwork can appreciate the hazard of executing fast three-turns in a spiral position. Blade catches are dangerous falls because of their unpredictability. Even those who have mastered the art of falling safely can hit their knees or head tripping in a footwork sequence. I have given myself many adrenaline surges while practicing the traveling camel. This week, I started to do them correctly, physically comprehending the motion necessary to complete the series of rocking three-turns.
Another traveling spin I recently observed in a televised professional event was the “Hillary spin” performed by former American champion, Rudy Galindo. For the counterclockwise skater, this traveling spin consists of a series of double three-turns as follows: RFI3, RBO3, RFI3; into a backward scratch spin. The maneuver may also be initiated with a RBO3. Creating choreographic appeal and drama, the skater may increase the number of three-turns in the sequence covering a large arc around the center of the rink before pulling into the backspin. I can do a darned nice Hillary spin. If I ever test a program requiring an upright backspin, I will probably incorporate the Hillary variant, dazzling the unsuspecting judges with technical difficulty.
Spinning is my strength, and I expect decent spins out of myself during every session. This week’s specimens established a new standard. I performed unusual spin combinations requiring two changes of foot, such as: attitude spin-camel-change-back sit-change-forward scratch. I also worked on a layback variation featured in old footage of former Canadian and world champion, Karen Magnussen*. Following a beautiful layback, Magnussen transitioned to an upright position for a few graceful rotations then returned to her previous layback posture. To a layback fanatic, this is the ultimate spin combination on one foot. I bought it, had it wrapped and took it home.
The flying camel has been a reliable skill in my arsenal for a couple of years. However, my recent flying camels reached a new level of excellence. They meet the requirements for senior competition, according to the USFSA rulebook. In the short program, the senior skater (man or lady) must perform a flying spin with at least eight revolutions in position. Oh, and mine are fast too.
Then there was the sit spin that centered within a four-inch diameter. The compact arrangement of body mass around the rotational axis required for a sit spin allows a very tight center. But four inches? I should carry a digital camera in my skate case. Who would believe a big oaf could twirl on the head of a pin?
Warming up for my lesson, I performed a huge lutz. I have never before used the words “huge” and “lutz” in the same sentence when referring to my own exploits. However, unequivocal evidence lay etched in the ice proving that I had completed a truly big lutz jump. When Geoff arrived, I worked on the butterfly and death drop, getting my legs higher above horizontal to achieve a more spectacular aerial effect. My axels are also improving and I am landing better double salchows. Running through the preliminary moves in the field, I could hardly believe that it was me speeding around the rink in those patterns. Just a few weeks ago, I doubted my potential as a skater because these fundamental steps felt so sloppy. My hours of dedication are starting to bear fruit.
How lovely not to bitch and moan about the miserable quality of my skating for a change!
* Karen Magnussen (Canada) was world champion in 1973 and Olympic silver medalist in 1972.
Week of January 8, 2001
Too Cold to Jump
I have skated in cold rinks before and usually dress appropriately. However, the extreme frigidity of my home rink took me by surprise. Ordinarily, this would simply mean doing my best under the circumstances and wearing long johns to the next session. Unfortunately, this climatic minimum occurred on a lesson day.
Lessons are expensive, so I try to make the most of every meeting with my coach. After a warm up of moves in the field, standard jumps and spins; I tried axels and fell on each attempt. Earlier in the week, I suffered a particularly frightening axel mishap in which my
Unable to endure another bone-crushing fall, I confessed that I reached my axel limit for the day. I tried a few double salchows, a couple of which were not bad. When Geoff suggested the double loop, I began with a
My preliminary moves in the field were excellent, except for the alternating outside three-turns on the hockey line. These turns require fine control, and my sore inelastic knees refused to cooperate. However, dedicated practice has developed my backward crossovers with extensions admirably. Geoff could not believe that I am the same skater who despised this exercise just a few months before. Not one to hand out blatant compliments, the coach praised my pre-juvenile
Progressing to spins, my favorite skills, Geoff prepared me for more complex combinations by starting with flying camels, camel-change-camels, and sit-change-sits. He increased the difficulty to camel-layback-change-back camel, a truly challenging change of leg transition. After a few attempts, I spun slowly but with remarkable balance and center in the back camel position. This will be a beautiful combination someday. Anxious to demonstrate my new Karen Magnussen* move, I showed Geoff a freshman rendition of the Canadian skater’s layback-upright-layback one-foot combination spin. He suggested using my arms to make each position more distinct. The finished product consisted of three crisp positions: layback with arms outstretched to the sides, attitude spin with the employed arm overhead and the other to the side, and a final classic layback pose.
In spite of Arctic temperatures, I enjoyed this lesson learning a new field move, spin combination and polishing my Magnussen layback. Next week, long johns.
* Karen Magnussen (Canada) was world champion in 1973 and Olympic silver medalist in 1972.
Week of January 15, 2001
The Curve of the Earth
With the competitors away at Nationals, the adult group was detoured from the hockey rink to the freestyle arena. Even without advanced skaters performing their multi-revolution jumps, programs and dances, I do not like skating in this rink. None of us favor its soft, slow ice. It also suffers from a problem that I originally attributed to over-zealous ice maintenance. In an effort to smooth dance ruts and toe pick chasms, which no one bothers to fill with slush, the Zamboni driver may have inadvertently shaved the perimeter of the ice more than the center. However, the central hillock does not appear to be a temporary inconvenience, as I also noticed it last season. If the Zamboni operator were responsible, the hockey ice would be similarly deformed, which it is not. The situation may be attributed to poor engineering or warping of the substructure in the freestyle building.
When practicing edges and three-turns across the width of this arena, I actually have to skate uphill for the first couple of lobes and run out of speed before reaching the central axis. The middle is level, but at the end of the set; each downhill push results in more speed than intentionally generated. A spin initiated anywhere but in the center of the rink travels downgrade, regardless of the skater’s aptitude. Similarly, a jump landed on a slight slope causes an unexpecting skater to make a quick, nerve-wracking compensation.
Landing a lutz in the corner, I had to catch myself as my blade wanted to run away like a car improperly parked on a hill. My lutzes have been surprisingly good lately, so I blamed this error on the slanted ice. Annoyed, I stood at the back of the rink evaluating its convex surface. If you study any flat expanse long enough, you might think you see the curve of the Earth. I swear I have seen it on the Yolo Causeway between Sacramento and Davis, California. But this was not a hallucination. If a carpenter’s level were placed on that ice, its air bubble would slide like a block on a frictionless inclined plane.
I wondered why the coaches and competitive skaters do not protest this unacceptable situation. Could properly flat ice feel strange to them after training on this big frozen blister? While advanced skaters are probably less dependent on external factors than the typical adult, television announcers often comment on unfavorable ice conditions affecting the athletes’ performances at important competitions.
This session reminded me of the fairytale, “The Princess and the Pea”. The fair princess’s skin was so delicate that a tiny pea placed under her mattress upset her slumber. My sensitive blades can detect a one or two degree grade that ruins my jumps, spins and footwork. Just when I thought I had become desperately pathetic by trying to blame another day of lousy skating on the curve of the Earth, one of the other adult skaters also complained about the bowed ice and purposely restricted his activities to the center. I could not fabricate a more bizarre excuse for poor performance. Of course, there was the day when I had to look out for bird feces…
Week of January 22, 2001
Idiot’s Joyride
Turning the ignition key, I allowed my car to warm up before changing into skating clothes. I brought my skate case downstairs, placed it by the front door, and reached into the car to release the trunk latch. Grabbing the ice scraper, I proceeded to remove frost from the windows and departed on my merry way to the mall.
Driving down the street, I could not clearly recall putting the case into the trunk, but the trunk icon was not illuminated, so I must have closed it securely after depositing my skates inside. This type of paranoia causes people to rush back home to an unplugged iron or switched off coffeepot. Of course, I brought the skates; I am not a complete imbecile! Proceeding on the forty-minute trip to the mall, the car hit a bump in the road, and the sound of the case shifting reassured me that it was in the trunk. Bounding over another rut, only a few miles from the mall, the trunk light flashed then extinguished. My stomach knotted, fearing the worst. I parked the vehicle and walked around to the back to raise the hatch. It was absolutely empty inside except for a pair of my husband’s old sneakers that must have bounced noisily comforting me with the presence of my skates when in reality I had jack squat. I am a complete imbecile.
The dashboard trunk symbol had remained deceptively dimmed because the cover was frozen shut. I cursed under my breath and sat in the driver’s seat contemplating what to do. Without skates, I would not be practicing my double salchow. I was too irritated to cruise the mall and assuage myself with a frivolous purchase. Infuriated and embarrassed, I started the engine and drove another forty minutes directly back home. Hopefully none of my skating friends observed my display of sheer stupidity as I parked my car, opened the trunk, cussed, and drove away. My dilemma was obvious and laughable.
She forgot her skates. What a dumb ass!
After shoveling snow and cross-country skiing the previous day, being unable to skate did not make me especially angry; although this was usually a good session devoid of highly advanced skaters, spoiled brats, and recreational lemmings chasing each other around the arena. My sore muscles could use some rest, and there would be other opportunities to skate this week. Wasting the long trip frustrated me. I blew a quarter tank of gasoline on an idiot’s joyride. I shook my head all the way home, marveling at my own foolishness. This was easily the lamest thing I have done that did not involve a misbegotten, bleeding-heart college romance.
Pulling into the driveway, I saw the piece of rolling luggage that houses my custom made ice skates and related accouterments. It looked lonely, cold, and frightened like a child separated from his mother in a supermarket. Sitting in the car for a moment, I stared at the case and contemplated the safety of our neighborhood where no one would steal from our doorstep. I considered stowing the case in the car to avoid future absent-minded incidents, but shoving one’s foot into leather that has frozen solid is nearly impossible. Unfortunately, I also learned this lesson at an inopportune moment. In over eight years of fairly regular adult figure skating, I never before arrived at a rink skateless. Nor have I ever stepped onto the ice and skidded like a moron on my blade guards.
I dragged the bag into the house and reluctantly brought it upstairs, hesitant to make eye contact with my cats who must have wondered why I returned home so soon. They appeared to be opening laughing at me. No, they were only yawning.
Week of January 22, 2001; Part Two
Liars!
Last season, sending the adult group into the other rink with the competitive skaters was an infrequent occurrence. This year, the management of my home rink seems to want to combine the sessions at least once per week. They have offered excuses such as low turn out, the high cost of maintaining the rinks, general repairs, and unforeseen emergencies. Driving to a rink without knowing if we will have to skate on a high freestyle is not fair to the adults or the young people who pay for premium ice time, especially when the rink offers a session to separate the recreational contingent from the serious athletes.
The grumpy maintenance man pointed across the lobby and mumbled, “Over there today.”
“Is there a problem with the hockey rink?” I asked innocently.
“Nobody here,” he grunted.
“The kids and dancers will be filing in any time,” I argued.
“Nope, not today. The dancers won’t be here.” The man kept walking, content that he would not have to clean the ice after our session. He could devote that time to sipping coffee, smoking cigarettes and jawing with the other employees.
A few minutes later the senior ice dance team entered the building. “No dancers today”, my butt! None of us have anything personal against these ice dancers or any other advanced skater. We love to watch them, but not while plastered against the barrier when we also paid for ice time and instruction.
Another disgruntled adult skater accompanied me to the front desk to clarify the issue. Both Ester and I had expensive lessons scheduled, and we did not want to waste our money diving to the boards every time the dancers flew by or a senior skater wanted to do a triple. The front desk attendant told us the maintenance man would be working in the hockey rink today. Defensively, she waved our checks and asked if we wanted our money back. We preferred not to stiff our coaches, but we did want to avoid these conflicts in the future. Could we find out in advance when maintenance was scheduled so we could arrange our lessons accordingly? She basically said: “No.” The clerk insisted that she was only passing on information given to her from the skating school manager, and we should voice our complaints to him.
The manager talked to the maintenance supervisor on the telephone while Ester and I stood in his office. He put the receiver down and told us Doug was repairing the hockey barrier. Doug worked on the barrier the previous day, but it did not keep us out of the rink. The adult group has skated many times with someone hammering at the boards. Ester and I are not stupid; we peeked in the rink and found no one working there.
When my coach arrived, I briefed him on the situation. He disappeared into the office and emerged fifteen minutes later signaling for the adults to follow him to our usual skating haven. Geoff discovered that the manager was concerned over the high winter utility bills and decided to save money by leaving the lights off in the hockey rink. They only use half of the lights anyway! Someone had fabricated the repair hoax assuming it would be believable since we saw Doug working the previous day. The manager could have been honest with us, preserving our respect and allowing us the freedom to go somewhere else. Instead, he preferred to lie, supposedly to keep us coming back to the session. Adult skaters are loyal customers who pay their bills on time, but our patronage constitutes such a small fraction of this rink’s gross receipts that they may prefer to keep our business, but ultimately do not care if we go to the mall instead. Although I value this session, I am tired of being jerked around week after week.
A major problem with ice sports in the United States is the limited number of ice arenas and the burgeoning population of skaters. Many communities are fortunate to have a solitary rink within a sensible commuting distance. While I have left my home rink for the mall when the circumstances annoy me, the inconvenience is frustrating and requires at least another half-hour of driving time. Rinks have their skaters in a strangle hold. Most businesses cannot afford to treat any segment of their clientele like garbage. Rinks do it all of the time. If you don’t like it, go somewhere else. Very often, there is nowhere else.
Week of January 29, 2001
Camel Combination Platter
After suffering a few miserable falls, some in the bitter cold, my body has started to ache, especially my landing knee. I have decided to take a break from axels and double salchows, the primary culprits in my woeful skating saga. This does not mean that I have given up on these jumps, never to suffer their mishaps again, I just want to regain perspective and allow my body to heal. Perhaps I need to rediscover the joy of skating, rather than dutifully punishing myself to learn new jumps like a kid preparing for the next competitive season.
Nothing could have been more beneficial! My interest in difficult spin combinations has returned along with ample practice time to work on them. Even the most complex spin combination usually does not entail dazzling wipeouts drawing gasps of horror from my contemporaries. If I stumble out of a spin, I simply try it again. This is not necessarily true of flying spins, but I graduated from the hideous fall stage with flying camels over a year ago. My current flying camel success rate is about 95%.
Last winter, my coach introduced a fascinating flying spin combination that is commonly called a “flip over”. It involves a jumped transition from a back camel to a forward camel or forward sit spin. While the forward sit spin version is somewhat common, I have only seen two skaters (other than my coach) perform a back camel-jump-forward camel. Ilya Klimkin (Russia) executed this unusual element on television last season, prompting my commitment to learn it someday. It is remarkably difficult, more challenging than any forward-to-backward pushed or jumped spin combination.
As a precursor, I began practicing backward scratch spin to forward scratch spin combinations and found them rather simple. Then I started jumping the scratch combination, which is exponentially more difficult. The jump itself feels like a half-loop performed between two spins. It requires excellent timing and precise control to maintain rotational flow throughout the transition. More closely modeling the back camel-jump-forward camel, I began to work on the pushed combination. While many intermediate skaters master the basic forward camel-change-back camel and other forward to backward spin combinations, the reverse varieties are harder to learn. Rarely seen in competition, they are recognized for their high degree of technical difficulty. I have observed many children and adults pushing from a forward to backward camel, but have never seen the opposite attempted on a practice session.
The challenge of backward to forward spin combinations involves preserving rotational fluidity through the change, maintaining or building speed, and achieving aesthetically pleasing positions. A forward to backward transition involves a basic, essentially natural, push that can be completed without severely distorting the spin posture. However, a reverse combination requires a pivot to the new spinning foot and a less facile push. Most skaters have experimented with multiple upright spin transitions or have practiced the forward-to-backward-to-forward sit spin drill. The push to forward must be wide, long and vigorous. The employed blade makes a whirring sound on the ice as it pushes and lifts, heel last, into the free leg position. This changeover must be done at speed and leaves little margin for error. When done correctly, it is an invigorating sensation. Unfortunately, my success rate languishes at about ten percent.
The first example I demonstrated for my coach was deceptively good, probably the best I had ever achieved. From the resultant forward camel, I gained speed pushing into an easy backward sit spin then changed feet again to finish with a forward scratch. Geoff had expected a disastrous combination, which he got on my second attempt. The first specimen had been a fluke. He suggested I try back camel-change-forward sit. After struggling with the cumbersome dual camel version, descending into a forward sit was like eating a scrumptious dessert after coughing down a meal of dry chewy pork chops.
I have become obsessed with these delightful new combinations, always striving to complete one more successfully. I do not miss the condescending axel and its painful side effects. My talent lies in spinning, it always has. Aside from the Beillmann, I doubt a spin exists that I can never learn. Within a month or two, I will try axels again, refreshed and primed for the task. For now, I am enjoying this pleasant challenge that I will be able to conquer in a matter of weeks rather than years or maybe not at all.
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