July 2001
The First Two Weeks of July 2001
Summer Vacation
Toronto
My husband had business in Toronto and we combined these few days with our vacation. We stayed at the
The hotel offered a wonderful health club including a swimming pool and exercise room. Of all the equipment I tried, I preferred the stair climber. Actually, I enjoyed weight lifting over any of the exercise machines. I have never belonged to a gym, but would definitely consider it as a way to continue my weight loss program and to build strength for figure skating. Soaking in the spa and baking in the sauna offset soreness from long walks, swimming and working out.
Brantford, Ontario
Brantford, Ontario is home to hockey legend, Wayne Gretzky. We exited the 403 on the Wayne Gretzky Parkway and visited the Wayne Gretzky Sports Centre, a facility boasting three ice rinks, exercise facilities and a swimming pool with a platform dive. I watched a low freestyle session in progress and longed to join the fun, showing these kids how well an old lady can do a layback. None approached my spinning aptitude, though they all managed a sloppy double, something I struggle to achieve.
Exiting the building, we met a man who remembered Gretzky as a four-year-old boy skating circles in the corner of the rink. Even at that age he was a better skater than adults with a lifetime of experience. The man laughed about the “spandex crowd” occupying one of the rinks that remained frozen for the summer months. He also said he still played golf with Gretzky’s father.
My Father’s House
I know very well that there is no ice anywhere near my father’s house, certainly not in summer. The high school has a winter rink, but I have never visited during the winter season. However, he told me a roller rink had opened downtown in a converted bowling alley. Unfortunately, it only offered sessions on Friday nights and Saturday afternoons. I was too late. However, while my husband fished, I constructed a delightful new skating dress. I will have to wear it before my home rinks turn cold again in late fall.
Aunt Mary
Visiting Aunt Mary was a regular part of my husband’s summer vacations as a boy. We have not seen her for three years, when we discovered a beautiful new ice arena a few miles from her home. Unfortunately, I did not have my skates. This time, we packed the skates assuming I would skate while visiting Aunt Mary. Unfortunately, the rink recently closed. My skates never left the suitcase.
My husband even tried taking me to a roller rink near Mary’s house. Several school buses were parked outside and kids milled around the carpeted lobby on rented quads or cheap inlines. A line of children attempted to slide under a limbo bar while others glided across the other end of the rink. Had we brought my freestyle inline skates, I might have stayed for a half hour to try them on a smooth level surface and to experiment with the compulsory loop figures painted on the wooden floor.
Skating on this vacation was simply not meant to be.
Visit:
The Inn on the Park, Toronto
Toronto Zoo
Brantford, Ontario
The Wayne Gretzky Sports Centre
Week of July 16, 2001
Back on Skates
Ice Skating
Sometimes I return from a vacation completely refreshed and ready to take the ice. Bad habits vanish and I can magically do moves that frustrated me a week or two before. That was not the case this time. I stepped onto the ice and glided effortlessly to the barrier to deposit my water bottle and tissues. Beginning to stroke, I approached the end of the rink and realized that I had forgotten how to do a crossover. A simple crossover! My foot rose tentatively and crossed its compatriot with trepidation. Stiffly, I negotiated the end of the rink and focused on long flowing strides. Continuing to circle, each corner became more natural until my muscles regained their memory. Never before had my skating regressed so abysmally.
My reliable spins had not deteriorated, nor had my body forgotten how to rotate on a dime. I spun without prior thought or contemplation. The smoothness of the spin and its effortless center renewed my confidence after a horrifying episode with basic skating skills. Building up to my most difficult spin, I found the inverted backward camel right where I left it. Driving to the rink, I often daydream about backward camels and flying camels. These are two of my best and favorite skills, and my body actually longs to execute them after periods skating abstinence. I can feel back camels in my imagination. They are second nature. I wish I could say the same for the axel and double salchow.
I did not attempt any difficult jumps upon returning to the rink. Like the crossovers, my jumping technique abandoned me. I jumped like a gangly kid who can somehow manage the skill but possesses no understanding of its technique. My free leg dangled at an awkward angle and broke abruptly into an exit pose. The jumps did not flow or feel secure. I practiced all of them slowly, concentrating on precision rather than speed and power. They eventually returned during that session, and I lifted into an excellent split jump in which my legs actually split (more or less). The trailing leg pushed off, propelling me into the air as it rose high and straight above the ice. Achieving an aerial split posture yields an entirely different landing sensation. The trailing leg has to come down quickly from its extended position. This results in a fast, fluid, scary exit from the jump.
Because of summer group reservations, I only figure skated twice this week. Hopefully, next week will offer more ice time.
Inline Skating
I have not worn my artistic inline skates since last August and did not look forward to using them again. When I invested in these novel contraptions, I expected to readily convert my ice skills to concrete. Although the wheels on inline freestyle skates are rockered to resemble ice skating blades and permit figure skating movements, I cannot do anything on them. They feel similar to blades for stroking exercises, but I cannot even manage a decent three-turn or edge, much less attempt a spin or jump.
In spite of lingering misgivings from last year, I stoically laced the boots at the park and toddled down the path toward the basketball court, which has become my inline freestyle rink. Fear of lifting my foot for a crossover on these things would have been appropriate since I was never proficient on them. Surprisingly, I soon skated comfortably on the slightly sloping blacktop, slaloming with the grade and crossing over under the hoop.
On this week’s second day of inline skating, I made a profound breakthrough. Astounding myself with truly acceptable forward outside edges, my confidence and enjoyment skyrocketed. I did not leave the basketball court after fifteen minutes of penance, but continued to experiment. My forward inside edges still require a slight touch down from the free foot, and I am too nervous to try a backward edge of any sort. I skated competently, turning from forward to backward and gliding in upright arabesque positions. It was probably not a pretty sight, but it represents significant improvement over last year.
Quad Roller Skating
Nothing feels clumsier than a pair of traditional quad roller skates, especially after wearing artistic inlines. Virtually stomping down the asphalt jogging path, I required several strides to grow accustomed to the ungainly arrangement of wheels.
Distance roller skating is a solitary sport, more lonesome than freestyle skating, because there is no one to talk to and no reason to stop at a barrier, blow your nose and watch someone else try to do a sit spin. There is only you, the hypnotic sound of your wheels, the sweat dripping down your neck, and an endless variety of crap on the pavement. Somehow I like this sport. Skating a few miles makes me pleasantly tired. Occasionally another skater will join the walkers, joggers and baby carriage pushers on the path. Unfortunately, this one brought her two young children and their bicycles equipped with training wheels. They darted out right in front of me, like clueless kids on a public ice skating session and rode two abreast. When I moved to pass the boys, one swerved to occupy the opening. They looked back at me, pumping their pedals determinedly. They wanted to stay in the lead at all costs. Eventually, their inline skating mother caught up to her children and scolded them for spanning the entire trail and allowing no one to get by.
Aside from these minor distractions, I skated peacefully around the park.
Although I enjoy roller skating and find distance skating to be rigorous exercise, ice skating is my true love. I hope for more ice next week.
Week of July 23, 2001
Three Silly Rink Vignettes
A friend of mine was carving school figures when I entered a rink where I have not skated for over a year. The sessions at the mall have become so overpopulated that I decided to look for other options. I used to skate at this very small rink regularly but abandoned it when I got tired of the owners’ petty behavior, a trend that I have since found is common among rink management.
Joanne came off the ice and greeted me enthusiastically. We were quite friendly when I used to frequent this place. Joanne learned to skate in her forties, took early retirement and began coaching at the age of fifty. As much as I like her, she is not a good skater. She lacks power, speed, grace, and flow; all of the characteristics that make figure skating a beautiful sport. When people say they do not want to skate “like an adult” this is precisely what they try to avoid. While I respect adult skaters of all levels, it stands to reason that few of them are qualified to coach.
We discussed moves in the field, which Joanne is testing to build her credentials. To my knowledge, she has only passed Preliminary. Joanne listed the Pre-juvenile backward cross strokes as one of her favorite moves and described her technique requiring the boots to actually brush against each other when crossing behind. Without this very close step, according to her, the move does not edge properly. On the floor, I demonstrated the basic lilting action of the backward cross strokes that I learned from Geoff and observed on the PSA moves in the field video. Joanne claimed this was entirely incorrect, though all of the kids do it and pass.
“Because the judges know I’m a pro, I’ll fail if I do my backward cross strokes that way,” she lamented.
This sounded like utter nonsense; though I am not a judge, coach or competitive skater. If the judges failed her, it would be due to an absence of proficiency with the skill. They undoubtedly would not believe this woman charges over fifty dollars per hour for her supposed expertise. I am familiar with the argument that the best teachers are not necessarily the best practitioners, but Joanne’s skating skills make me doubt her command of the subject matter. Of course, I have never taken a lesson from Joanne, so I cannot comment on her ability as an instructor. Personally, I prefer a coach who skates well or has credentials proving that he skated competently at some point in his career.
As a scientist, I know better than to declare someone’s conclusions a load of malarkey without citing a credible reference. Therefore, I asked Joanne where she learned her unusual backward cross-stroking technique. She takes lessons from the same flim flam man who taught me the grotesquely wrong stars and tried to get me to do a flying sit spin out of a T-stop. If he were the source of her wisdom, she might benefit from a second opinion. Since his background is apparently in ice dance, he may be passing on a dance technique or using this “boot brushing” method to get her to step correctly. There are many ways to teach and more than one acceptable means of executing most skating skills (though I still question the absurd T-stop flying sit). Joanne said she based her interpretation on the drawings in the USFSA Rulebook. Funny, I have never heard this particular rendition before.
The owner’s wife turned on the sound system and gave me permission to play a tape. I skated warm-up laps around the tiny studio sized rink. The scale of the place made me look like a senior lady ripping up the ice. Echoes of blade noises reverberated off the concrete walls of the old bunker that previously served as a warehouse or garage, offering an impressive sound effect. Returning to this rink once a year reminds me of how far I have come. It used to seem big to me, now I can skate its length in two strokes and have to control myself before hitting the back wall.
A teenaged girl had not even stepped onto the ice when she switched the main sound system to the radio, overpowering my tape. I am tired of being treated like a doormat by rink folk and promptly, but innocently, popped my head out to where the girl was standing with her obese mother, the owner’s wife and a coach.
“Gee, what happened to the cassette player?” I asked naively.
“Were you practicing a program?” the coach asked.
“No, just playing background music. It went off suddenly and I wondered what happened.”
“Oh, I’m sorry. We’ll turn the tape deck back on and take turns.”
The coach may have been genuinely apologetic, but the kid was not. The only two skaters in the small place, she tolerated my music for about fifteen minutes then changed it. I realize lesson skaters have priority for program tapes, but I was not sure the same rule applied to background tunes. Splitting the session fifty-fifty would have also been fair. However, when the girl concluded her lesson and left the ice, the radio continued to blare an obnoxious teenybopper station. The girl never thought that the other person still on the ice might want to listen to her tape again. What is it about a cassette player in an ice rink that brings out the absolute worst in people?
I initially paid for only an hour of skating, when the owner’s wife told me I could start skating early, as long as I remembered to get off the ice five minutes before the end of the session. Although it is not expected, rinks will often allow skaters on the ice a few minutes before the official start of the session, especially if the place is not crowded, but this lady worried that I would somehow steal five minutes from her. As my scant sixty minutes expired, I approached the cash register planning to invest in another hour, when I spied a school bus in the parking lot. Due to a miscommunication, this group arrived an hour ahead of schedule. You can bet they stayed exactly two hours regardless of their originally planned departure time. This woman would never permit anyone to mooch an extra hour of skating. I centered a final layback and left the ice at exactly twenty-five after.
What a fiasco! Maybe I’ll go back again next week.
Read about my last visit to this little rink.
July 30 and 31, 2001
The Grand Illusion
Skating sessions have been discouragingly crowded. I actually became depressed because I cannot skate up to my usual level. Not only do I have to abort jumps and circle like a vulture for a spin patch, simply stroking around the rink can be a formidable task. Kids playing tag dart in front of me breaking my moves in the field pattern or forcing me into a sharp hockey stop. Feeling restricted and confined, I wondered why I even bother to drive to the rink in the summer. These conditions preclude a proper warm up and prevent aerobic skating around the ice, causing my stamina to deteriorate. Not only did I lack the physical space to perform a skill, I wondered if I had lost the fundamental ability to quickly execute that skill whenever the opportunity presented itself. Having to hurry up and do a flying camel before someone crosses my path inviting decapitation completely destroys my concentration and enjoyment.
Thoroughly disgusted and ready to leave, I decided to wait until the Zamboni finished resurfacing the arena and skate for a few more minutes. Amazingly, the mob dispersed and left the building. I shared the ice with only a few people. The previously rutted, pitted and slushy ice had been replaced by a frozen glossy mirror welcoming the edge of my blade. As though nothing unpleasant had happened during the previous two hours, I rediscovered the skater who soared and twirled during the wonderfully uncluttered regular season sessions.
I practiced single jumps and lingered on splits and stags before proceeding to complicated spin combinations. My layback-forward sit is becoming a credible element. I jumped flying camel after flying camel inverting each one and challenging myself to remain overturned for as many rotations as possible. While I do not dare to attempt death drops in a swarming public session, I landed several halfway decent ones on this sparsely populated ice.
Concluding my practice, I decided to turn an illusion, something I rarely do, preferring to end a session on a positive note with a reliable trick like a layback. Illusions are very difficult for me, often leaving my legs sore from overzealous attempts to swing into a full split (and my rear end haggard from unavoidable falls). That final illusion was the best I have ever done. My torso and free leg pivoted like a windmill around my hips, revolving easily and naturally. Instead of finding the telltale mark of a double back three-turn straying from the focus of its initiating backward camel, the trail left by this perfectly centered illusion disappeared into the camel’s tracing and final backward scratch spin.
Following advice given by a sympathetic rink employee, I have decided to skate later rather than earlier, after the crowds tend to disperse. The next day, I enjoyed a similarly productive practice and concluded it with another grand illusion.
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The content of this site is copyright by K. J. N., 1999 - 2001