January 2000
January 4, 2000
First Skate of the New Millennium
I am already so tired of the phrase “The New Millennium”. However, I fear the number of times it will be used this year may be most conveniently expressed in scientific notation. Marketing gurus believe the wealthy, trendy folk will cast off all that they own to replace it with stuff designed especially for The New Millennium. The only costly item I plan to replace is my skates, which are worn far more than I thought they would be after a year of use. I blame the increase in my jumping repertoire for the scars and creases in my beautiful skates.
Today I skated for the first time in the year 2000 after nearly two weeks off during the holiday season. I never worry about what I might lose after a lengthy break from skating, preferring to consider an unavoidable absence a time to heal and gain a fresh perspective. My first spins made me dizzy but were quite fast and well centered. I lost nothing in the spin department. I landed secure single jumps that covered a respectable amount of ice. Nothing seemed to be missing there either. I considered avoiding the axel and moving along to flying spins, which I did anyway after falling until my butt got sore. Out of at least a dozen axel attempts, I only landed one. Since I didn’t have high hopes of discovering a magical floating axel after my holiday sabbatical, I was not particularly disappointed. The axel is the most difficult move that I do regularly. Had I fail to land at least one, I might have been really nervous. The one axel I completed assured me that nothing serious was wrong. I just needed to get back into my usual training routine.
Before the holidays, I made significant process on my traveling camel. The traveling camel is the most frustrating, blade-catching element to which I must sacrifice my kneecaps before achieving success. During my last session before Christmas, I took a lesson with Geoff and experienced a revelation. To my surprise, I could actually perform a couple of traveling turns before locking a centered camel. I’m happy to announce that this move accompanied me into The New Millennium!
Week of January 10, 2000
Lutz Happy
An adult skater who does particularly good single jumps told me that no matter how tired or out of shape she might feel, she can always do a lutz. “Lutzes are so easy!”
For me they are not easy. I have been able to do something loosely resembling a lutz for a couple of years, but jump was never big, powerful or attractive. Of all the single jumps, I find the outside edge take-off terribly uncomfortable and unnatural. Of course, most people probably do; hence the difficulty of the triple lutz in competitive skating. Skaters have different talents and strengths. What is difficult to one, another attains with ease. My “lutz friend” does a miserable layback. I can step onto the ice cold and stiff and center a stellar layback. However, my lutz sucks.
A previous coach made me try lutzes from bizarre preparatory sequences often winding up my body into contortionist poses to prepare for the counter-rotation. This accomplished nothing. My wonderful coach, Geoff, taught me a proper lutz shooting straight into the corner of the rink. While never achieving more than a remedial jump, I rode the flat of the blade deepening to an outside edge before vaulting. My error came in hesitating prior to picking and bending too far forward. This combination of problems prevented me from pulling back into the jump and achieving a decent air position and flight path. During lessons I often could barely do a lutz. This amazed Geoff, who watched me land axels (though not the best axels in the world) and a plethora of interesting flying spin combinations. Yet I could not do a satisfactory single lutz. Some days were better than others, but the inconsistency of this jump frustrated both of us.
I had to force myself to practice the lutz usually at the end of the session after I had paid my dues to every other move in my repertoire, including the dreaded axel. This went on for months, yet I remained faithful to the lutz. Finally the gods of figure skating rewarded my devotion by giving me a lutz. Rather than gliding on a flat until an instant before tapping my toe pick for the vault, I cut a shallow outside edge into the jumping corner. The sound made by this edge can only be described as “delicious”. I am a sucker for the reverberation of a deep grinding edge, sudden hockey stop and solid landing. When such a noise comes from my blades I am delighted! Somehow that edge put me in the ideal position to initiate and land a strong lutz. The distance of the jump lengthened from a few pitiful inches to a couple of feet. My technique became so reliable, that I easily added a loop on the end. Hungry for that wonderful blade sound and feeling of triumph, I practiced lutzes with renewed vigor and enthusiasm.
Geoff saw me land one of these marvelous jumps and said we did not need to work on them during my lesson. After missing a day of skating due to my fear of driving in a snowstorm, the rhythm of the lutz abandoned me. I have skated too long to panic over what I have come to accept as the nature of figure skating. Difficult moves come and go before settling into permanence. The lutz will be back and I will recognize it when it arrives.
Week of January 17, 2000
Ice Worshipper
As a child growing up in California, I rarely experienced snow or freezing temperatures. Yet, I don’t usually complain about the cold. As an ice-worshipper, I could hardly dislike freezing weather. Wind is another story. I tried to skate outside in the wind several years ago. It was unpleasant partially due to the wind biting my exposed facial skin but more importantly because centering a layback during a good gust is nearly impossible. I am also accustomed to skating in unheated rinks. Most of the year this is not a problem as the temperature tends to reflect the weather outside. During warmer months, I wear skating skirts with tights; however, I would not dare to do this in the winter. I skate in polyester fleece leggings and shirts, which are remarkably warm. As an additional benefit, they shed water. Since I fall more often than I would like, this prevents my backside from getting wet, cold and ultimately chapped.
This week the rink was particularly bitter. The outside temperature hovered around ten degrees Fahrenheit during my rink-ward commute. My usual session is held on a hockey rink that is barely heated, if at all. In the neighboring rink where the competitive figure skaters train, a more favorable temperature is maintained so they can practice in their short skirts and spaghetti straps. I have not felt so cold in a skating facility for a long time. Although my heartbeat rose to an aerobic level, I could not leave my jacket off for more than fifteen minutes. I despise skating in a jacket. It makes me feel bulky and awkward. However, I decided to compromise a lithe silhouette in exchange for warmth.
In addition to off-ice stretches, I follow a regular warm up routine of moves in the field and spins before trying any difficult skills. In the frigid rink these measures were inadequate to limber my legs, which continued to ache during spirals. After two other women took indelicate falls; I decided not to practice hazardous elements: axels, doubles or flying spins. My muscles felt so stiff that I feared I could not rebound from a major wipe-out. This left plenty of time to work on basic spins. During laybacks my sinuses drained down my throat. With every upright spin, I resembled a lawn sprinkler. It was a miserable session. Even with minimized risk of injury, the severe cold left me sore and tired.
I cannot stop practicing axels until this cold snap passes for fear losing whatever proficiency I have struggled to attain. Since I don’t expect the rink to be balmy for a couple of months, I must dress more appropriately. Bundled in long johns and fleece, I tried axels the next day. Even with an additional layer of clothing, I managed to wrench my shoulder to the point of throbbing. Skating under these unpalatable conditions adds to my respect for skaters who trained and competed years ago in unheated facilities or outdoors. Many skaters still train under unfavorable circumstances. It is remarkable what past champions could achieve while they were freezing their butts off.
Week of January 24, 2000
Fifteen Minutes of Fame
The office manager stood in the doorway to the rink and announced someone from the newspaper was coming to do an article on local skating. Refocusing on my lesson, I assumed the reporter would be more interested in the prodigies training in the neighboring rink than a few adults gliding around in the cold. When the photographer arrived, I glanced at her with mild interest expecting her to disappear by the next time I looked in that direction.
My coach, Geoff, ignored her completely. Geoff has an impressive resume and enjoyed his share of publicity during his competitive career. His name still appears in the paper when he makes an appearance at the rink’s homespun ice reviews. One photographer from a community newspaper did not distract him, nor did he expect it to distract me. Since I was paying a healthy sum for a lesson, I concentrated on my skating and nothing else. A friend skated over to us and asked if we would continue the lesson where the reporter could take better photographs. We saw no harm in this, so I did a few spin combinations in a more accommodating corner of the rink.
Concerned that the spin photos would not turn out well, she asked me to do some other moves and balanced awkwardly to suggest a spiral or arabesque. “Yes," Janice agreed translating her gesture, “Do a spiral.” Geoff recommended that I perform spirals around the hockey circles changing legs whenever necessary. She asked for other poses and I readily glided around smiling like a celebrity. I remembered seeing photos of Dorothy Hamill in newspapers and magazines before she competed for Olympic gold in 1976. I was just a little girl then, but I wanted to grow up to be like Dorothy Hamill. For the briefest of moments I enjoyed a taste of attention usually bestowed upon elite skaters.
Geoff stood back allowing me to relish my fifteen minutes of fame. My only prior moment in the spotlight occurred when I was stranded in an airport during a blizzard and had the dubious honor of being interviewed for the six o’clock news. The woman took my name, and Geoff asked her how we could get copies of the photos. He obviously dealt with the press regularly and knew what to say. She told us the feature was about adult
When the reporter left, Janice apologized profusely in case she had embarrassed me by suggesting this woman take my picture. Actually, the experience flattered me. Being shy and unassuming, I never would have volunteered to pose for her article; but when asked to represent adult figure skating for a local newspaper, I happily complied. It confirmed that I was a figure skater worthy of exemplifying the species. Only kids going to nationals after a good showing at a sectional or regional competition get their pictures in the paper. I never understood why adults compete until this impromptu photo shoot. It awards the adult skater with a measure of success usually reserved for children. This does not mean I plan to compete any time soon, but I will snatch up as many of those papers as I can find.
February, 2000
February 1-4, 2000
The Weak Link
Knees are the weak link in most athletes’ bodies. They are the shock absorbers that allow people to jump, run, and move with agility. Years of stress on the knees can lead to injury and lingering pain; an effect not limited to figure skating. Tennis, basketball, skiing, aerobics and other sports can wreak havoc on the knee joints. Unfortunately, I started to feel pain in my landing knee last summer when commitment to the axel started to yield success. Since then I have worn a support on that leg to ease the punishment of jump landings. If youthful competitive athletes at the peak of physical fitness can experience stress fractures and knee injuries; so can older, larger, less ideal specimens. Early this week, a particularly rough axel landing caused shock waves to run up my leg and settle in my knee. Landing on the flat of the blade is an event to be avoided. I went through a period of doing this with loop jumps, which have since become one of my best moves. However, the axel still languishes in a state of inconsistency and sloppiness.
I may never master a beautiful axel because my knees simply cannot tolerate prolonged practice. After about a dozen legitimate landings (butt landings excluded), I have to move on to a lower impact skill. During the same session as the unpleasant axel landing, I worked on loop combinations building up to attempts at the double loop. I probably should have avoided loop jumps during that session, but the loop is my favorite and best jump. Because a loop takes off and lands on the same leg, unassisted by toe picking or throwing the free leg; the skating leg sustains the entire burden of the jump. Although I have not actually completed a double loop, I enjoy rotating this jump. Since the jump requires no change of axis, it centers effortlessly. I actually experience the sensation of performing a backspin in the air.
To prepare for a double, I usually warm up with loop-loop combinations occasionally performing three loops in succession. I also enjoy loop combinations initiated from a waltz jump. Squarely over my rotation axis, I continued to string loop jumps together like a carefree seventy-pound child. After a waltz jump, I landed four loops, but stepped out of the fifth. I don’t know what I was thinking, because my knee already ached from axels. Instead of starting on doubles, the naturalness of extended combinations distracted me. Like a prize idiot, I decided to try the waltz-loop series again.
After swallowing a couple ibuprofen tablets, I slept that night with a pillow under my left knee; but I landed a strong six jump combination. Had these jumps been double loops, I would really have something!
Week of February 7, 2000
Some Assembly Required
My coach, Geoff, still laughs about how I did stars before receiving his guidance. A previous coach taught me this move completely incorrectly. I knew it didn’t feel right and could not possibly look like the stars I see on television. I cannot believe I paid money for someone to teach me a skill incorrectly. Shortly after the star debacle, I left the offending coach and found Geoff at a rink closer to home. Geoff watched my stars with a furrowed brow wondering how I had come up with such a shameful bastardization. Since then, he taught me the correct method to perform a star and I mastered it with minimal difficulty. I routinely center a camel at the conclusion of a multi-star series. Geoff stated that he would ultimately like me to build up to a flying camel.
Lately, my flying camels have been good. In a moment of inspiration or courage, I decided to try a star series concluding with a flying camel. The stars flowed easily across the rink and I threw my free leg forward and landed in a surprisingly fast, centered back camel. Astonished by the simplicity of this combination, I repeated it and finished in an even faster spin. Stars mimic the motion of entering a flying camel. With each turn, the free leg pushes from the ice driving the travelling star turns down the rink. After pushing, it swings upward into the camel position. A sequence of stars provides fluency of motion making a flying camel a natural extension of the series. Instead of the free leg pushing, rising, then reaching for the ice to initiate the next turn; the free leg can sail directly into a flying camel. Competence in stars and flying camels made this combination a convenient addition to my skating skills.
Many recreational skaters gain proficiency in a wide assortment of skills. Assembling them into more complicated maneuvers is worth the effort. Some, like my star-flying camel sequence, will be surprisingly straightforward. Others will be frustrating. In spite of considerable effort, I have not conquered the backward camel to forward camel transition, which sounds like it should be easy. Adult skaters can benefit from taking inventory of their skating competencies and identifying novel ways to link individual elements into impressive combinations. A few basic spinning skills can grow into an extensive repertoire of combinations. Different step sequences give single jumps a fresh sense of drama and beauty. I enjoy experimenting on the ice and searching for new ways to become a better skater with the skills I already have. Often a basic move performed exquisitely can be more attractive than a sloppy double jump. This week, I actually found myself admiring another woman’s half flip.
Week of February 14, 2000
Perspective Lost
A skating instructor with whom I have formed a friendly relationship, glided toward me. She glanced uncomfortably toward the other end of the arena. “That woman is really upset about her axel,” Elizabeth commented.
I had heard someone shouting, but that was not necessarily unusual. Coaches often shout instructions to students while they run through their programs. I have also been known to let out a yelp as I plummet to the ice in a failed flying camel.
“After she stopped arguing with her coach, she lost control of her emotions. Now she’s over there crying. I think she has lost perspective.”
I sighed and agreed.
“Greta actually skates very well,” Elizabeth continued. “Her axel didn’t look bad. It probably would have come back soon.”
I have seen Greta taking lessons for months. A woman of about forty with a healthy build, she commands the ice with power and speed. Her jumps cover impressive distance and her spins are well centered. During this particular lesson, much of her time focused on the axel. It was obvious that no amount of waltz-backspins, falls and two-foot landings would result in a perfect axel. Greta has performed axels for a couple years, but axels come and they go, sometimes for no apparent reason. That is the nature of skating, especially for adults. When kids lose a jump, they lose a triple flip. An adult can lose a salchow, a one-foot spin or a three-turn. Advanced adults lose axels. Axels are the first jump to forsake skaters who take a break from the sport, even if those athletes are younger. The axel's forward take-off combined with the extra half turn required to land on a backward outside edge, makes it the most difficult jump to master.
Elizabeth and I skated as far away from Greta as possible until she tearfully gathered her tapes, jacket and tissues to leave for the day. Neither of us wanted to approach her. I felt sorry for Greta, though I have never personally cried over a skating move. However, I have felt lousy when heroic efforts did not result in a double salchow. Since then I have learned my lesson about forcing moves. Occasionally, I struggle though a session when I cannot center a camel to save my soul. This signals the need for a fresh blade sharpening. Actually, I have never seen an adult cry in a rink. Kids pitch fits all the time. I have seen little girls leave the ice nearly hysterical when all of their attempts at doubles resulted in wet tights and a sore backside.
Since Greta learned to skate as a grown woman, it is unrealistic to have the same expectations as a child or adolescent athlete. Adults who learned to figure skate as children are in a different category from adult skaters like Greta and me. While they usually do not retain or relearn all of the difficult jumps they could do as fourteen-year-olds, they skate with amazing speed and fluidity. Their single jumps are huge, indicating that they were once doubles or triples. In the quest to improve, adult skaters often forget how far they have come, how much they have learned and the obstacles they have surmounted. Of course Greta wants her axel back. She simply forgot how fortunate she is to have done it at all.
Week of February 21, 2000
Friendly Advice
As I got off the ice to have a sip of water, I smiled at one of the ice dancers. “It seems we are working on the same Moves in the Field test.”
“Yes,” Lydia agreed. “I am taking the test next month.”
“I wish I could say that. My power three-turns are very scratchy.” In fact, they are quickly becoming the bane of my existence.
“If I weren’t ready to take the test, I would never say anything, but…”
I am cautious about whose skating advice I consider because I have been given plenty of bad advice over the years. One man I knew at another rink loved to comment on every move I made, particularly during the first few minutes of the session before I had even warmed up. He remarked on my first camel attempt of the day when his own camel was insufficient to free him from a wet paper bag. As much as I tried to ignore this person, who genuinely wanted to be helpful, he would not go away. Because Lydia qualified her comments, she had obviously suffered from the same annoyance. Everybody on the ice has an opinion. For some people it seems to make them feel more accomplished than they are.
While my power three-turns felt fast and furious, Lydia’s looked meticulous and controlled. I decided to listen to what she had to say. As she launched into her explanation of what I was doing wrong, I felt embarrassed. Some of my moves in the field are shamefully below the level of the rest of my skating. Sensitive to my feelings, Lydia encouraged me by saying I possess the skills to succeed with these moves. Since I never learned compulsory figures or took an ice dance lesson, my skating lacks the edge quality that could have been gained from these disciplines. Only last summer did I start learning moves in the field. Even with my limited accomplishments, moves in the field have increased the overall quality and confidence of my skating.
As Lydia demonstrated improved carriage while I duplicated her movements, we talked about our experiences with skating. She began ice dance as a mature adult and skates very gracefully. She suggested I consider competing at Adult Nationals, a thought that never crossed my mind. She insisted that I would do well. I have never taken an adult skating test and doubt I will compete in the foreseeable future, but I appreciated her compliment. I continued to work on her suggestions until the end of the session when I thanked her for her help, which seemed to have corrected some of my weaknesses. She confirmed that my power three-turns had improved.
As a general rule, I do not hand out advice to fellow skaters either. However, it is possible to learn from friends. Lydia’s perspective as a student of ice dance provided me with useful input. However, skaters should exercise caution when accepting advice from their contemporaries. Even the most impressive recreational skater is not a substitute for a qualified professional instructor.
February 24, 2000
My First Program
Geoff brought a tape of program music to my lesson today. He insisted I would not have to use it did not appeal to me. I worried that I could not skate fast enough to keep pace with the pleasant classical piece. Geoff asked me to simply skate around to the music and do a few jumps.
“Enough. Stop!” he called.
I skated over to him trying to catch my breath.
“If I had told you to do a salchow, you would have skated around the rink,” he began mimicking my lackadaisical style, “and done the salchow at your convenience. With this music, you skated much faster and approached the jumps with speed. This program will improve the quality of your skating.”
He went on to explain that there is nothing more tiring than doing a program. Skaters can jog, exercise, lift weights, etc.; but nothing replaces full run-throughs when preparing for competition. As he demonstrated the opening of the routine, I wondered how I would remember all of those steps, much less perform them with speed and grace. I followed him around the rink watching his feet then copied his spiral sequence. With each effort, I memorized more of the steps and turns and flowed through them with greater ease. Many of the steps involved odd edge changes that I never intentionally attempted. I found myself stepping from one edge to an unexpected edge in my unnatural direction. This routine should increase my agility and ambidexterity.
The flip is one of my better jumps; however, when placed in the context of a program, it felt slow and clumsy. Determination alone added a toe loop to its landing edge, because the jump lacked the fluidity to lead naturally into a combination. Without a program, I practice isolated elements and can catch my breath before progressing to the next repetition or skill. A routine does not allow the luxury of breaks. Even in the slow section, I must stretch into a spiral and ride a controlled edge to the red hockey dot before setting up for a loop-loop.
After Geoff moved on to his next lesson, I rehearsed the section he taught me in back-to-back trials until I committed all of the steps to memory. Pausing to remember which way to turn or where to place the back crossovers made me feel like a clod. I aborted several run-throughs after forgetting to include the flip-toe loop or omitting one of the stars. After about five run-throughs, I no longer had the strength to hurl my body into the flying camel following the star series. I glided to the barrier panting and wiping perspiration from my face. I have not even seen all of the choreography yet, much less skated the entire program. Now I understand why skaters walk through their programs to memorize them. I can also relate to the skaters who look bedraggled as they force themselves through the last thirty seconds and collapse after striking a final pose.
For a day that comes only once every four years, I skated unremarkably. There were no breakthroughs or moments of brilliance. Today would have been a great opportunity to perform a rare jump like a double salchow or to land my first double loop. However, I did not even attempt these jumps. I spent the bulk of the session circling the rink engrossed in moves in the field. Although they are improving, I do not feel the rush of satisfaction when I complete a decent pattern of power three turns as I do after landing a solid jump. In a lack-luster mood, I did not experiment with anything new or practice unusual spin combinations. I put my nose to the proverbial grindstone and concentrated on those monotonous patterns. Many of the adult skaters I know, who have less developed freestyle skills, could easily kick my butt in a Moves in the Field contest. I need to stop fooling around and learn to cover the ice with confidence.
Since my knee hurt, I did not bother to try an axel. I preferred not to jar my tender joint with a “flat o’ the blade” landing. Those can be more painful than a fall. I did practice all of the basic singles as well as the combinations in my new program. Although I avoided running through the part of the program that I learned last week, I rehearsed all of its components. My flip-toe loop needs work. I favor jump combinations concluding with a loop jump to a toe loop. Toe loops are supposed to be easier, but the loop is my best jump. Funny how people like what they are good at doing and avoid areas of weakness. I actually despised the elementary salchow until Geoff showed me how to control my entrance into the jump. Now I love it and cannot approach it with enough speed.
I wished Leap Day could have been a day of great skating for me. Although I did not have a bad session, I did not light up the arena either. So many of the hours skaters spend on the ice are devoted to routine practice, building strength and experience rather than taking a quantum leap forward. On these ordinary days, I try to identify something that I did well to prevent the feeling of stagnation. This also contributes to my sense of accomplishment. No matter how mediocre my performance, I can usually recall some element that I did well. Because there have been unfortunate occasions when I could not; I always perform my best move, the layback, before the Zamboni chases me off the ice. If nothing else, I feel satisfied with my layback. However, today my stars were good.
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