July 2000
Week of July Fourth
First Steps
Although I could not get to a roller rink or other smooth surface, I wanted to try my new artistic inline skates while at our lake house for the holiday week. I ordered a frame and wheel set that my husband attached to an old pair of figure skating boots. Forcing my feet into those boots, I remembered why I nicknamed them
The fresh asphalt looked absolutely level, but my wheels detected a slight incline causing me to roll with increasing speed. I realized that I could not stop without testing the efficiency of my crash gear. Fantasizing about my first time on these magical skates, I picturing myself stroking easily and winding up into my favorite spin, the layback. Although I consider myself a competent ice skater, I moved like a beginner on those inlines. My knees almost knocked together as I struggled to remain upright. My husband brought the camera capturing the humiliating moment, which should have been glorious. I might have fared better in a roller rink grasping a railing until my body adapted to edging with wheels instead of blades. Additionally, I had to deal with rough asphalt that caused my muscles and joints to vibrate, pebbles threatening to catch already insecure wheels, and the enemy of all street skaters; automobiles. In a rink, the skates themselves would have been my only performance-inhibiting variable.
Rolling out of control down an infinitesimal grade, a motorist stopped, realizing I had obviously never been on skates before in my life. He did not want me to hit a rock and wipe out in front of his car creating a speed bump. Another car approached from the opposite direction preventing the first driver from maneuvering around me. As the considerate driver finally passed on the other side of the narrow street, I waved appreciatively imagining myself diving into the culvert to avoid a collision. After that incident, no rational person would believe that I could actually perform a flying camel on ice. As the one or two-degree slope lessened to horizontal, inertia stopped me. I turned awkwardly and stroked uphill. Regulating my own motion, I skated more confidently, as planned.
I probably should not have tried my new inlines for the first time on the street. I would have preferred the local tennis courts, but a sign decisively prohibited use of the courts for skating. My next adventure will take place on an outdoor roller rink about fifteen miles from my regular residence. Minimal interaction with rocks and a smooth surface will allow relatively safe experimentation with familiar skating movements. Of course, I hoped for better results from my first outing. No matter how similar these skates may be to ice blades, they are somewhat different. The degree of that difference may depend on various personal factors such as prior experience with inline skating, athleticism, adaptability, agility and courage. Skating in a controlled environment on a forgiving surface may minimize difficulties.
“I guess I won’t be taking any pictures of you doing a layback,” my husband teased returning the camera to its case.
“Not unless we go to an ice arena.”
Week of July 10, 2000
A Skate in the Park
After a disastrous first attempt with street skating on my freestyle inline skates, I decided to try again at an outdoor roller rink located in a park about fifteen miles from my home. I arrived at the park only to find a lock on the entrance to the rink, which must be reserved for organized roller hockey. However, situated alongside the rink was an inviting basketball court paved with smooth blacktop material. It appeared flat, but of course,
Slaloming with the grade of the court, I became accustomed to the skates and finally forced my foot to leave the ground executing a crossover. The crossover felt surprisingly natural and easy. Alternating crossovers down the long axis of my little rink, I rounded the court in both directions. I skated circles then figure eights. Unfortunately, I failed to perform basic edges on a straight line. Only willpower and swift shoulder action forced a couple of forward outside three turns. I did manage to skate backwards rather competently in my natural direction, but with more difficulty the other way. Analogous to toe picks scratching noisily on the ice, the inline toe stops left evidence of my ineptitude in the form of rubbery marks on the painted basketball court.
Although skating on rockered inlines may be more closely related to ice skating than traditional quad roller skating, it still seems to be a unique sport. My experience on ice facilitated performing basic stroking exercises on the inlines, but I am many hours of dedicated practice away from even thinking about the simplest spin or jump. Feeling comfortable with edgework and turns is a prerequisite for progressing to a more advanced maneuver. Not even expecting to do crossovers that day, this minimal amount of improvement pleasantly surprised me.
A true skating fanatic, I also brought quad roller skates for trail skating on a path that encircled the park. Several people walked, jogged or pushed baby carriages along the path, but no one was skating. The quick transition between vastly different skates disturbed my equilibrium. I wondered if I could even move with the boxy sets of wheels on my feet. They provided a large secure area of contact with the asphalt; which was level, well maintained, and relatively free of debris. Pushing forward tentatively, the quads felt like self-propelling platform shoes. Completing the circuit around the park numerous times, I skated cautiously at first adapting to a different skating format, then with speed pushing into long powerful strokes. The polymeric wheels made a pleasant sound as they rolled. As a child, I could actually spin on quads; not just sloppy two-footers either. I did camels and sit spins, having learned exclusively from watching other people. Now even a few crossovers seemed awkward, but I contented myself by skating fast on the trail, passing joggers with little fear of falling. A couple of warm-down laps concluded my workout.
Taking off my skates, I noticed how filthy they had become. The landscapers had turned on a sprinkler, dousing part of the trail. Mud splattered my pretty white boots as I carefully rolled through the puddles. While a towel is a standard accessory in most ice skaters’ equipment cases, the need to wipe off my roller skates never occurred
Week of July 10, 2000; Part Two
Compliments
One of the finest compliments I ever received came from a coach who asked if I learned to skate as a child then explained that teaching adults to spin well is difficult. Her comment implied that I do not skate like a stereotypical adult. Fortunately, she saw a display of spinning prowess. Had she observed a few of my remedial axels, she probably would not have approached me at all.
This week I attended a couple of skating camp freestyle sessions at the mall rink and received the second best compliment from a teenage girl, who also skated quite well. She asked me to demonstrate a layback for her. The girl commented on the beauty of my leg position and overall quality of the spin. I had the pleasure of helping this talented young lady develop her layback spin. When a young freestyle skater admires my abilities enough to request advice and wants to emulate my movements, I know I have achieved a respectable level of competence on the ice.
Several of the other children at the session told me, “You are really good!” and wondered how long I had been skating. Assuming a gifted spinner is also an advanced jumper, another girl requested suggestions to improve her lutz, axel, and double salchow. While able to do a decent lutz, I am in no position to evaluate anyone else’s axel and doubles. However, the girl made such fundamental mistakes, that I explained her errors and demonstrated the correct technique by walking through the jump without actually doing it, a method many coaches use to teach more challenging skills. My proficiency with spins would lead an observer to believe that I can perform at least a couple of attractive doubles. However, my spinning ability far exceeds my mastery of jumps.
The little jumper asked me to do an axel. Unfortunately, mine is not the type of axel she really wanted to witness. However, she seemed truly thrilled to watch me land one of the sad little things and even more impressed to catch me collapsing out of another. The fall must have completely obscured the identity of the jump because the girl thought I had tried a butterfly. A flailing uncontrolled free leg accompanied by a futile struggle with a tight landing edge may indeed have resembled a helpless butterfly impaled on a pin.
Practicing one of the opening moves of my new program, I executed an inside Ina Bauer into a flying camel. Two kids shouted “Wow, a flying camel!”. It was an exemplary fast back camel that I might have sacrificed to experimentation twisting into a layover had the two children not applauded through the entire spin. I could not disappoint them with a substandard variation when they so obviously enjoyed the precision of the basic version. Concluding with a back scratch spin, I graciously thanked them for their kindness.
During the regular season I practice in a vacuum with adult skaters of various ability. We all know each other and often acknowledge one another’s progress. However, most of the time we become so engrossed in our own work that we do not notice what anyone else in the rink is doing. The young people at the mall rink greeted me with open admiration and friendship, eager to learn from my years of experience. This unspoiled feedback provided valuable information about the quality of my skating. Children who participate in freestyle ice skating readily discriminate between an adept performance and an inferior one. I was flattered to discover that they enjoyed my jumps as well as my spins.
Week of July 17, 2000
Schedule Conflict
Entering the mall rink, I glanced at the dry erase board announcing the daily events. To my horror, the public session had been delayed and reduced from two hours to one. I tried to call the rink to confirm that the session would be held, because the management cleverly covers its butt by noting on the printed schedules that sessions are subject to cancellation without prior notice. This allows the rink to make more money by renting the ice to a group rather than keeping it available to the public. Unfortunately, every time I telephone, an answering machine responds and does offer the option to talk to a human being or leave a message.
“You should call before you come,” the girl at the desk droned when I asked for clarification.
“I did call, several times, and no one picks up the phone.”
“There is usually someone here during the public sessions.”
I had thought of that and called during the afternoon and evening sessions the day before. As a doctor of philosophy, my problem solving skills are well developed. I tend to come up with the obvious on my own.
“Is there another number that someone answers maybe in an office?”
She stared at me helplessly, with big doe eyes outlined in silvery blue making them look even sadder. I have not seen anyone with eyelids like tropical fish since Dynasty was cancelled. She looked harried and annoyed, wishing I would vanish back into the mall. She probably hears this complaint regularly but cannot fabricate a sensible response.
A manager heard our exchange and asked the girl about the schedule problem. She handed him a piece of paper that he evaluated quickly. “This is for yesterday,” he concluded flatly.
The poor girl crumpled the paper in humiliation and tossed it into a trash can.
“So is this schedule right or not?” I asked finally, pointing at the board.
“No,” the manager replied. “We have regular hours today.”
“Would you mind checking the sessions for next week?” Noticing the young woman’s obvious embarrassment, I added apologetically, “I’m sorry to bother you, but I drive forty-five minutes to skate here. If I lived a few miles away, it wouldn’t matter so much.”
Now I know when to make the trek to the mall next week; although I will continue to telephone
Week of July 17, 2000; Part Two
Impromptu Lesson
While tightening my laces in the penalty box of the mall rink, an elderly gentleman asked who coached me. He had watched my warm up of stroking exercises and a few basic spins. I told him about Geoff, although I have only taken lessons from Geoff for less than two years. Either a coach or an adult skater, the man wore a jacket embroidered with the name and logo of a prestigious arena. He said he competed as a young man and joined the coaching profession when his children expressed interest in figure skating.
Commenting on my spins, which he concluded were generally quite good, he showed me a different method of pulling in my arms to generate speed. Since I did not know this individual by name or reputation, I took his unsolicited advice with a grain of salt. However, I decided to experiment with his technique. It felt strange but did result in a considerable amount of speed. Unfortunately, the unfamiliar movements caused me to travel an embarrassing distance away from my original center. I rarely do this, usually only when my blades need sharpening or on a mysterious “bad day” when I fail to do anything correctly. Ordinarily my blade cuts the ice with the accuracy of a drill boring a hole through a wooden plank. The coach did not witness the best demonstration of my ability. Saving face, I centered a layback with which he found no fault.
He asked to see my loop, which is my best jump. I performed a very large loop from strong backward crossovers at the end of the rink. The coach identified an imperfection in my take-off then showed me how to sweep my inside arm upward providing elevation into the jump. Geoff never mentioned this detail, though more than one method exists to execute many skating skills. I tried the interesting motion, lifted into the air, and landed short of an unintentional double loop. I laughed with surprise and amazement but failed to recapture that first uninhibited attempt.
“Stop turning your head into the jump!” he called. “It causes your body to twist off-axis.”
The coach was absolutely correct. My head prevented precise rotation every time. Now I know how to improve, and perhaps land, my double loop. He also made recommendations for the salchow, sit spin and lutz. In five minutes, this man improved my lutz take-off. Geoff had tried to force the same suggestions down my throat; but for some reason, hearing the skill described from another viewpoint made me more receptive.
Eagerly, I asked for his thoughts on the axel. The coach did not want to open that can of worms. He seemed to be of the mindset that dictated axels are at best extremely difficult, and most likely impossible, for most adult skaters. However, he bragged about his mature student who does a good axel. I would buy a ticket to see a forty-year-old woman, who learned to skate as an adult, land a good axel! She supposedly also performs excellent hydroblading glides, which the coach taught me to do that afternoon. Not exactly ice dance quality, but I did get close enough to the ice to touch it.
I enjoyed the impromptu lesson as did several children who watched me throughout most of the public session. “Look at her!” one exclaimed as I wove a serpentine path across the rink in a change-edge spiral. They also discovered my spin marks. A little girl happened upon a particularly well-centered one and called her companions to admire it. They formed a circle around the imprint poking at it with their toe picks. Their heads followed me in unison, like a group of kittens watching a piece of string, as I breezed passed. “Wow!” I heard them say. With my back safely to their small assembly, a grin broke on my face, but I managed not to laugh. As a child, I had done the same things. I am grateful to finally be the one making those tracings.
Week of July 24, 2000
Eye of the Hurricane
Until this week, I have been fortunate to skate during sparsely populated public sessions at the mall rink. My luck ran out when everybody and his brother decided to attend an afternoon session. I have never seen such a massive gathering of uncoordinated people. Their arms flailed overhead as they struggled with dull rental blades, feet treading the ice in desperate attempts to remain standing. Ultimately, the poor souls conceded, dropping agonizingly to their backsides. The most rowdy adolescents intentionally threw themselves to the ice, sliding for home plate. Some of the young people displayed almost rabid behavior screaming and flinging their spastic bodies to the frozen surface. No rink guard patrolled the session protecting these kids from themselves and
A woman I knew from another rink set up traffic cones marking the center for figure skating. This did absolutely nothing to preserve calm in the eye of the hurricane. Children grabbed and kicked the cones, belly flopped onto them, and pushed them around the rink. My friend, who showed no signs of improvement since the last time I saw her over a year ago, actually took a lesson during this mayhem. Of course, my skills may have appeared equally stagnant as the throng of maniacs prevented demonstration of my more advanced abilities.
However, I carved an area for myself in the middle of the rink and practiced skills that required little space, primarily spins. I worked on opposite direction spinning, which is progressing decently, though I am far from my preposterous goal of centering one blurred scratch spin followed immediately by another in the opposite direction. When the mob crowded the boundaries of my modest domain, I pulled a very fast scratch spin to keep the lunatics at bay. The worst of them loitered in the center, attempting nothing but juvenile conversation. One little fellow decided to mimic my friend and I with an absurd ballet pantomime. He lifted his leg like a dog about to urinate and reached his arms sloppily above his head. The boy’s father found his antics brilliantly amusing. These clods had no appreciation for the difficulty of freestyle skating, though a few of them tried to spin and failed miserably. By the end of the session, several of the klutzes redeemed themselves with flattery.
As much as I dislike skating in public session zoos, I probably prefer them to crowded freestyles. I can still maneuver around most of the stiffs, and a good spin works like mosquito repellent. For the first time in years, I left a rink with blood freckles on my hands from those fast scratch spins.
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