March 2000
When I need a break from rigorous skating, I practice alternating three turns on a hockey line. This
After Stanley stumbled, he skated toward his instructor who began to give him advice to improve his half-lutz.
“Some people are so inconsiderate!” he exclaimed.
My brow furrowed with realization as I stepped into the next turn. Stanley faltered and interrupted his practice close to me. He blamed me for his mistake. Only a few weeks ago Stanley griped about other inconsiderate skaters getting in his way during his program drills. Now I was the inconsiderate one. Moi?
I made a point to avoid him, but continued my three turns. During his next run through, Stanley’s coach asked me to move when he approached the blue line. I glided away. A few moments later, the coach skated toward me and apologized for asking me to move. She said Stanley “freaks out” if he has to skate close to someone.
“What bothered me was overhearing him saying I’m inconsiderate. I did not intentionally get in his way,” I explained a little more hotly than I should have.
The woman nodded in consolation.
After Stanley completed his performance, I heard him tell his coach: “Thanks for clearing the area for me.”
While this annoyed me tremendously, I demonstrated my good faith my staying as far away from Stanley as I possibly could for the remainder of the session. I sincerely try to stay out of other people’s way. When a skater is taking a lesson, I vacate the area where that person is working. Maybe I could have stopped doing three-turns and practiced something else, but I did not realize my methodical turns were a hazard to anyone. What troubled me was the fact that suddenly Stanley could no longer skate around me and he thought I was inconsiderate.
I have watched competitive skaters share high level freestyle sessions, and these young atheletes pass within inches of each other traveling much faster than Stanley or I ever will. Sometimes they do have to abort a jump, and it is occasionally obvious that it irks them to have to waste a perfectly good prep. However, this is the nature of figure skating. When several people share the ice, paths inevitably cross. Advanced competitors amaze me by easily cutting through a crowd of other skaters to carve out their choreography as though the rink were completely empty.
Never planning to compete, I preferred not to learn a program, because I have seen many adult skaters turn into monsters when their program music begins. While I appreciate the challenge and difficulty of preparing a routine; the world does not revolve around the adult whose tape is playing. After all, none of us are going to the Olympics unless we buy a ticket and sit in the stands.
Week of March 6, 2000
Playing Dress-Up
Usually I look like a slob when I go to the rink. While some of the women wear skating dresses or dance skirts, I pull on a pair of leggings and a sweatshirt. Since the rink is cold in the winter, I dress more appropriately, considering the amount of time I spend on my backside. Due to unseasonably warm weather, the normally frigid rink warmed considerably. To celebrate the coming of spring, I chose to wear a skirt and tights one day this week. Some skaters believe attractive skating attire contributes to their
After stretching my legs with moves in the field, I began to warm up my usual assortment of spins. From the corner of my eye, I could observe the circle of chiffon fluttering around my waist. It made me dizzy. Fortunately, I could not see the skirt while arched into a layback or stretched for a camel. As I continued to skate, I learned to ignore the waves of fabric. One of the other skaters told me the pretty skirt made my moves look more polished. I do not know if the skirt itself created this aura or if I subconsciously skated better when dressed like a lady.
On my dress-up day, we welcomed a new adult skater to our happy group. She skated as a young person on frozen ponds and had been off the ice for about ten years. With her child starting nursery school, she decided to renew her interest in ice-skating. In spite of the dull, flat blades affixed to molded plastic rental boots, she negotiated her way competently around the rink. She asked me about the availability of private lessons, and I assured her that the rink maintained a staff of qualified coaches. When she asked if I was a coach, I blushed and laughed. I told her I am not, but that she made my day with the generous compliment. I cannot recall anyone ever asking me that question before. Her mother, who watched from the benches, agreed that I was a lovely skater and looked light as a feather. It has been a long time since I actually was light as a feather, but I thanked her for her kindness.
The skating skirt could have influenced their impression of my skills, since these women met me for the first time while I was dressed in skating finery. The leotard and skirt looked professional and probably made me appear more competent. Maybe there is some value in impressing judges with attractive costuming.
Week of March 13, 2000
The Dream
One of the skating mothers, with whom I have developed a friendly relationship, also figure skates recreationally. She and her daughter started skating in the same “Mommy and Me” group lesson. Six years later the little girl can do a double axel, but Mom is still stuck on preliminary moves in the field. While her child warmed up for a lesson with floor jumps, the mother told her that she had a dream about skating the previous night.
“I dreamed that I leaped five feet into the air and flew over about twenty feet of ice. Although I only planned a waltz jump, I had time in the air to decide to do an axel instead. All of the coaches and other skaters stood by the boards watching my beautiful jump.”
“I love that dream,” I interjected.
“You’ve had that dream too?” she asked in surprise.
“I think every adult skater has the same dream.” The axel jump separates beginners from advanced skaters, especially in the adult ranks. Children need triples to be considered “advanced”. The sad axel that I land several times per session is not the same axel in this woman’s dream or mine. In the “axel dream” I hang in the air with time for my mind to function directing my body into the correct backspin posture. I have time to enjoy every degree of rotation. My blade contacts the ice in a smoothly running edge, ready to step forward for another axel.
“I didn’t know I had that dream in me,” the woman continued slightly embarrassed. At forty years old, she felt silly fantasizing about landing axels when many adults would be satisfied to live vicariously through their prepubescent daughters.
I smiled at her warmly. “Of course you do.” More adults should have healthy dreams that involve goals other than professional betterment and financial gain. While those issues may be important, a personal ambition maintained for the purpose of self-fulfillment alone can promote balance and perspective in a mature person’s life. Additionally, working out at an ice arena is an excellent way to relieve stress, stay physically fit and make friends.
The little girl wrinkled her nose, “I never had that dream,” she declared flatly.
Her mother grinned at me, accepting her subconscious ambition as normal and productive, “You don’t need that dream. You can do an axel. You can do a double.”
To all of the adults who dream of axels, double salchows and flying camels…
Week of March 20, 2000
Stag Party
Since childhood, Dorothy Hamill has been one of my favorite skaters. This season, I saw one of her graceful performances on television during which she executed a spectacular split jump from a lutz preparation. I have not done the splits in years, but I worked on stag jumps with limited success with a previous coach. As a little girl, I loved running down grassy hills and flying into the air in a stag position. My prior experience with the stag leap incorporated a mohawk flip-like entrance, and I was disappointed when I could not attain the correct position. My stag leap consisted of a mismatched lifting of one knee followed by awkward kicking of the trailing leg. The movements occurred sequentially creating a clumsy series of steps rather than a unified leap into an attractive pose.
Inspired by Dorothy Hamill, I decided to experiment with a stag from a lutz preparation. I achieved success almost immediately. The basic lutz has never been my best jump, but it has improved significantly in the last year. Practicing the stag variant has actually strengthened my rotational lutz because I skate into it powerfully, pull back strongly with the toe pick and cast my body to the wind like a deer running through an open field. As a side benefit, stags and splits land forward on the toe pick of the opposite foot generally used for landing rotational jumps. The toe pick pushes immediately to a change of feet for an inside edge or forward inside three-turn. Since my landing leg is sore from axels, these jumps result in almost no aggravating impact. I can do them repeatedly without guilt or consequence.
To prepare for a big stag-lutz, I warm up with half-lutzes and stags taken from a loop entrance, which is a variation on the falling leap jump. The stag-lutz has become my favorite jump. It is easily the biggest, most majestic jump in my repertoire. When I showed it to my coach, he immediately assured me that it looked impressive. However, I must concentrate on extending and straightening the trailing leg to exaggerate the height and beauty of the flight position.
Expecting a pathetic outcome, I attempted a stag from the standard forward outside three-turn flip preparation. To my astonishment, I got a big beautiful leap. A couple of years ago, this would not have been possible. Since I have been working with Geoff, my skating has improved dramatically. Of course, all of my singles did not turn into doubles; but my weak jumps have evolved into technically correct, stronger jumps of a respectable magnitude. By improving the overall quality of my skating, moves that I could not do or preferred not to do because they looked so crude, can now become admirable skills.
Week of March 20, 2000; Part Two
Guzzle
Thirst, rather than fatigue, limits my ability to continue skating for extended periods of time. After about
I must have eaten a particularly salty dinner one night this week because the next morning at the rink, I could barely keep myself from the water fountain. Every tempting sip encouraged me to guzzle. That water tasted pure, sweet and delicious. I wanted more but restrained myself. The cool fount tantalized me like a piece of gooey chocolate cake and was even more difficult to resist. My body needed water. No matter how ferocious the craving, the human body does not require cake. At the end of the session, I hung over the fountain drinking like a camel at an oasis. I must have stood there gulping for at least five minutes. Nothing could have tasted better or been more satisfying. My abdomen swelled as though I had feasted at a smorgasbord. I wiped my mouth indelicately with the back of my hand and sauntered contentedly away from the cooler.
Common dietary practice dictates that adults should drink about eight glasses of water per day. I easily reach this quota. However, it seems those of us who sweat profusely in ice arenas may require more fluids. The next morning, I guzzled at home thoroughly hydrating my system before commuting to the rink. Although I enjoyed water breaks during the session, I did not experience the desperation of the previous day. I do skate rigorously, increase my heart rate to aerobic levels and perspire considerably. Many skaters bring brightly colored sports drinks and set them on the boards next to their packets of facial tissues. I have never tried these beverages fearing the sugar would coat my mouth unpleasantly.
Ideally I would like to skate for two hours, refuel with water and a light meal, then skate again for another two hours. Unfortunately, the arena’s schedule does not lend itself to this arrangement. Later sessions become increasingly more expensive and crowded as the timing favors the after school crowd. For now, I am content to leave the ice, replenish my water supply and continue with the day.
Week of March 27, 2000
Ballet Class
After some consideration, I decided to attend a ballet class hoping it might increase my limberness and poise on the ice. As a child, I never took ballet or tap dancing lessons and have absolutely no dance background. Of course, I did not figure skate as a child either. While I accept that I will never become a world class skater, I hope to ultimately be capable of executing a respectable axel and performing an aesthetically pleasing routine to music. However, I never plan to become a ballerina. Ballet will be the servant of my larger figure skating ambition.
Entering that ballet class without knowledge of the terminology, correct body positions and proper mode of dress; I gained appreciation for the predicament adults encounter when venturing onto the ice for the first time. Facing the wall of mirrors to begin warm up stretches, I realized how terrible I looked in my faded old leggings and a brightly colored baggy T-shirt. Dance studios must use fun house mirrors that make clients look fatter than usual so they will sign up for more exercise classes. I do not look that grotesque in the full-length mirrors in the bathroom of the ice arena. For skating, I usually wear close fitting dark clothing, which creates a more flattering streamlined appearance. Next week, I will not repeat that ballet fashion faux pas.
As I struggled to keep up with the barre exercises, I marveled at the commitment adults make to sports. After years of skating, I had forgotten how intimating it is to be a beginner. During the last year and a half at my current home rink, I have seen numerous adults come and go. Some take several lessons then disappear. Others make remarkable progress and frequent the rink as much as I do. Holding onto the ballet barre, I was grateful to already be fairly limber. Otherwise, I would feel like a complete klutz.
After a well designed stretching sequence, we performed dance movements across the floor. One of these steps I recognized immediately as a piece of turning footwork a friendly coach who also danced professionally taught to me a few months ago. I swirled easily across the floor stepping and turning in my natural direction. One of the women in the class commented that she could picture me performing that sequence on the ice. Another noted that ballet will make me a more graceful skater. Many people have remarked that I skate gracefully already. Obviously, my performance on that polished wooden dance floor led my classmates to believe I needed all of the help I could get.
I do not expect to see significant improvement on the ice after only one ballet class. However, the structured stretching program seemed to contribute to greater limberness for the rest of the week. My extensions looked higher and my off-ice stretches were more exaggerated than usual. On the ice, I performed the best illusion spin I can remember. Someone actually shouted a compliment across the rink. I had abandoned the illusion because it made my skating leg sore and I fell often. Because a section of my program music begs for an illusion spin, I decided to dedicate a few minutes of each session attempting to master this difficult skill. I credit the excellence of that illusion to the ballet stretches. As an additional bonus, I experienced no soreness afterward.
I will try the ballet class for a couple of months to evaluate its effects on my skating. My goals are to achieve a more dramatic spiral position and increased stretch in the stag leap. I would also like to start working on a falling leaf split jump.
Week of March 27, 2000; Part Two
Emerging from the Cocoon
During my lesson, I asked Geoff to show me how to do a butterfly. I have always wanted to learn this move but did not understand the technique well enough to experiment with it myself. A butterfly jump basically looks like a derivative of an aerial cartwheel performed parallel to the ice. The legs scissoring in high, sweeping arcs above the horizontal plane created by the body gives the effect of fluttering butterfly wings. Butterflies are often performed in a series, similar to Russian split jumps. A few months ago, Geoff taught me a forward camel-tap-backward camel flying spin combination. The tapping transition, if done correctly, resembles a butterfly sandwiched between two camel spins; making the basic butterfly jump a natural next step.
Geoff did butterflies in slow motion so I could observe his steps and body positions. Then we examined the markings left on the ice during preparation and execution of the element. My first several attempts resulted in flying camels. I threw my free leg around and landed in a back camel missing the scissoring butterfly action entirely. Geoff examined my tracings and scratched the ice with the heel of his blade to isolate the extra three-turn I had performed leading into a flying camel take-off. As I gained understanding of the jump mechanism, my technique improved. Achieving high, exaggerated leg positions will require months of practice, but I am beginning to walk through the element correctly.
Butterflies may be attempted gingerly until the skater fully comprehends the proper sequence of steps and positions. As confidence increases, the skater can attacked the move with more speed and power as the legs naturally kick higher above the ice. This element will be fun to practice when I am fully warmed up and uninhibited. After several axel falls, I enjoy working on a skill that looks impressive but it relatively safe.
The skating lessons I enjoy the most involve learning something new. It can be a moves in the field pattern, jump entrance, spin combination or a completely new skill. I had never tried to do a butterfly before, so this lesson was particularly thrilling. Doubles usually are not as exciting because they are so difficult to master. I seriously question whether I will ever attain a decent double of any sort. However, I have a higher probably of success with countless other skating elements. No skater in the modern era has won a championship because his butterfly was better than everyone else’s, but good doubles do not win titles anymore either. Of course, I would love to do a big, floating double salchow; but a series of powerful butterflies may be equally unexpected from an adult skater and perhaps even more impressive.
April, 2000
Week of April 3, 2000
The Ice Cube Tray
To offset the day of skating that I knew I would miss this week, I squeezed in an extra session at another rink. I used to skate at this other rink until I became fed up with my previous coach and the rink’s annoying owner. I saw an old friend, who also teaches beginner lessons. She told me several of the skaters from the adult session had gotten their doubles. The coach relayed this information to her, so she did not witness the alleged doubles herself. One of the men had a small, crouched double salchow and fetal position axel when I last attended that adult session about a year ago. Another man could skate with speed and fury but lacked control. In spite of his big, wild jumps; he could not complete a decent camel or sit spin. However, I believe this person eventually would learn a double because he was willing to throw his body haphazardly into the air without worrying about the consequences. The third adult, a woman, managed slow tiny singles. I cannot believe she lands doubles. Certainly, she could have improved, but this coach called my two-footed jumps “double salchows” and awarded full credit for under-rotated two-footed axels. Therefore, I am not convinced that his protégé has achieved a legitimate double.
Even as an adult figure skater, I uphold certain standards for myself. I readily admit that my axels and doubles are not commendable and my success with the double salchow has been limited at best. Sometimes I wonder how good these jumps can possibly become considering my age and stature as a “non-petite” woman. However, landing even a small version of these difficult jumps on one foot with the rotations basically complete gives me a sense of accomplishment. The jumps I attempted with my previous coach may have been bigger, but I had no control over my body and no idea where I was in the air. I just leaped and hoped. Sacrificing size and speed for precision, I now understand the technique involved in these jumps and have experienced some success.
Because I am not proud of my axel and doubles, I did not practice them at this rink. I also felt uncomfortable on the foreign ice. My sharp blades sliced through a thin crust that crackled and shattered exposing soft ice below. Drilling a centered spin, the crispy crust fragmented and sprayed leaving a roughly grooved disk behind, ready to trip me if I failed to find a fresh spot for the next spin.
This rink is also very small, amounting to little more than a studio sized sheet of ice. My friend practiced patch on a third of the miniscule surface and another older woman skated back and forth across the other end, while I circled the rink’s midsection becoming dizzier with each successive pass. Respecting the personal space of the other two women, I felt like I was skating in an ice cube tray. My spins left few unscathed spaces in the middle of that diminutive rink. Until my friend finished her patch, I could barely jump at all, fearing a collision with the wall.
Although I left this facility because I was displeased with my coach and the attitude of the owner, graduating from a small ice surface to a full-sized arena was the best thing that could have happened to my skating. On a regulation hockey rink, I learned to skate faster into bigger jumps. Abundant space allowed larger jump combinations and well proportioned moves in the field patterns. With more room to spread out and little concern for hitting the barriers, I naturally became a more powerful skater.
Week of April 10, 2000
Evolution of the Dreaded Program
I admit it; I despise my program. After confessing my true feelings, I can evaluate why the program annoys me. The routine consists of skills that I can do reliably, so falling is not an issue. However, I constantly race against the music and lose almost every time. When my coach tells me to “feel the music”, all I feel is desperation to catch up. Expressing the music is equally impossible as it mocks my slowness. Geoff choreographed this routine as an exercise to teach me to skate faster. As a learning tool, it works. The beat of that music forces me to skate beyond my comfort level; and in that respect, the program serves its purpose. Now I can complete it without succumbing to exhaustion, so it has also developed my stamina.
The learning curve offers a steep climb, and I have yet to reach the summit. My struggle to keep the pace makes me look like a hurried klutz. I prefer to appear elegant and competent on the ice. Since I do not enjoy the program, I practice it infrequently which only compounds the problem. Perhaps I am too self-conscious, but I actually feel embarrassed rehearsing this program. At the end of the session when most everyone else has left the arena, I force myself to run through it a couple of times. I am afraid the other adult skaters might snicker at my ineptitude and mediocre flip-toe loop combination. Although this is not a difficult combination, it somehow becomes castrated in the choreography.
Stars and flying camels are two of my strongest skills and the most impressive part of the performance. I hate to waste them in the shuffle. However, I panic during the stars-into-flying camel element misjudging the time remaining before the end of the first fast section. Originally, we planned three stars before the flying camel. Unfortunately, I often omit the last star to make up lost time, casting my free leg into the flying camel after only two star turns. Stars occur naturally in groups of three, and two never seem to look right. Annoyed that I diminished the impact of the star series, I lose count of rotations in the back camel.
Was that five? I think so. Probably…
Creating a Hamill camel, I lower myself into a back sit spin. Trapped in the position, I tally more than five rotations.
Can I get up yet? When is the tempo going to change? I should have stayed in the back camel a little longer. Maybe I had time for that extra star after all. How much longer do I have to sit here?
Finally! I think as the slow section begins and I rise from a prolonged sit spin.
I have told Geoff that I would like to skate another program to slower more lyrical music suggesting fluid turns and extensions. The fast program does not call for a layback, my crowning glory. A routine that showcases my best skills in a graceful format would build my confidence. I do not plan to abandon the dreaded program, but continue to work on it to improve my speed. However, I need an enjoyable program as an emotional and athletic foundation for more complicated choreography.
Before this week’s lesson, I played my
Week of April 17, 2000
Russian Split
The last jump I ever thought I would attempt is a Russian split. A variation on the basic split jump, the Russian split is generally initiated like a flip jump from a mohawk turn. As the free foot taps the ice, the skater vaults upward to a seated position with the legs parted in a “V” shape. At the peak of the jump, the arms may be held to the sides of the body or the fingers may reach toward the toes. Although it is not actually necessary to achieve a full split, the further apart the legs stretch the more dramatic and difficult the maneuver. In a basic split jump, the leading leg reaches in front of the body while the trailing leg remains behind. This is the split position performed by cheerleaders and gymnasts on balance beam. Skaters who lack the flexibility to achieve a traditional split position favor the Russian variation.
As a child, I could do cheerleader splits. This does not imply that I was a cheerleader, only that I was limber. Until a few years ago, I practiced splits on both legs as part of my stretching exercises. I never consciously decided not to do the splits anymore; although, I still stretch faithfully and have attractive extension. However, I doubted that I could jump high enough or skate fast enough to do a split jump. After conquering the stag leap, my coach asked me to try a Russian split. I grinned at him trying to determine if he was joking. Geoff danced across the ice in a circular footwork pattern including two Russian splits. This man amazes me with what he can accomplish without the benefit of a warm-up.
“Your turn,” he challenged.
“My butt is going to contact the ice.”
I skated around the rink omitting the footwork, dropped a Mohawk and let my legs fly haphazardly.
“That wasn’t bad!” Geoff exclaimed. Had he not told me what to do, I doubt he would have recognized the element.
I have no problem raising the leading leg but struggle to lift the trailing one. Geoff explained that this is a common problem and the weakness of most students' split jumps. He encouraged me to have fun with the Russian split and continue to stretch at home. Limberness alone will not prevent me from mastering the Russian split. I am more than capable of stretching into an admirable position on the floor. The difficulty lies in attaining the position while airborne for a fraction of a second.
Although a good Russian split eludes me, I love to attempt this element. Skating as fast as possible down the length of the rink; I set up, drop the Mohawk, reach back and pick. The rhythm of the move makes me feel like a legitimate skating athlete. With little risk of falling, I do not protect myself by skating slowly or conservatively. My toe pick leaves divot holes in the ice, like those produced by the serious competitors executing triples. Unlike any other jump, except for the stag leap, the Russian split gives me the sensation of flight. Although many skaters have described their sport as flying over ice, I never shared this perception until I learned the stag leap a few weeks ago and experimented with a substandard Russian split.
Week of April 17, 2000; Part Two
A Patch of Her Own
Most adult skaters are very accommodating. They try to move out of each other’s way and respect everyone’s right to share the ice. However, there are some adults who seem to believe they deserve special privileges. Competitive skaters have to be mentally tough not only to deal with the pressure of performing but also to put up with the selfishness and aggression displayed during practice. In the years that I have been skating, I have met a few adults who are just as catty and arrogant as the spoiled brats who act like they own the rink.
Although compulsory figures are no longer part of Olympic eligible competition, some skaters still learn figures, take tests and compete in separate events. However, few rinks devote ice time to this defunct discipline. Dedicated skaters may practice in a corner during off-hours or sparsely utilized sessions. A woman who committed herself to learning school figures attends a session a few times per month where I skate. She arrives early to assure that she is the first person on the ice and marks off the end of the rink as her patch by scratching a line with the heel of her blade. She usually takes a generous section including enough for a second patch to use after the first one becomes too marred to view individual tracings. The adults who frequent the session steer clear of her patch as a courtesy.
This week she was not first on the ice. Two other people began skating while the patch skater laced her boots. As I removed my guards, Florence glanced at the end of the rink with growing concern about their contaminating blade marks. She expressed displeasure that they did not automatically realize she would be skating compulsory figures, as usual, and take precautions to keep her self-designated area pristine. Florence asked me if I would avoid the end of the rink and tell the other two adults not to skate there either. Maybe I should have objected, but I felt backed into an uncomfortable corner where I could choose to politely comply or assert myself by asking Florence if she reserved private ice during this session. I smiled kindly and glided across the rink to my friend, Janice.
“That takes nerve!” Janice exclaimed.
I agreed that I would never tell someone else not skate on my patch. Florence undoubted plans around the ice dancers, choosing a day when they do not skate. The dance coach would never tolerate her self-proclaimed private ice during an open session. Ice dance requires skaters to follow a pre-determined pattern that covers the entire surface. Freestyle programs and many moves in the field also utilize the whole arena. For part of the time, a coach works with Florence on the patch. To my knowledge, the coach is not a regular member of the rink’s staff. However, I avoid cutting through another skater’s lesson whenever possible, and I expect others to reciprocate.
I often take a lesson on the same day when Florence practices, and her school figures interfere with my moves in the field. My coach became annoyed and suggested that I skate my moves right through Florence’s tracings. “This is not a patch session,” Geoff added hotly. He assured me that she had not arranged to use that portion of the ice and does not have the right to ask other skaters to stay clear of it. However, I shortened my pattern because I felt too intimidated to disturb Florence.
Both of us were paying for ice time and a private lesson. Who should have to compromise? If possible, I wait for Florence to finish her lesson before working on moves in the field or my program. Because she had not paid extra to use that section, I could conceivably skate through her patch. This may only compound the problem by making Florence angry and vindictive. An individual who has no qualms about telling other people where they cannot skate and marks nearly a third of a hockey rink for her exclusive use is the type of person who might also intentionally run into or cut in front of the trespasser when skating freestyle.
Since I go to the rink for enjoyment, I would rather not sour the experience by initiating conflict with another skater. Therefore, I keep my mouth shut and compress my moves in the field. By asserting her self-importance, Florence gets what she wants because I am too demure to challenge her. More than her exclusive the use of part of the rink, Florence's attitude bothers me. She behaves as though her practice is supremely important and everyone else should yield to her needs. Fortunately, Florence rarely skates more than once per week. If she skated everyday, hogging a couple of large patches for her own amusement, I would have to say something. Undoubtedly, I would not be the only person to complain. Most people can be considerate up to the point where the demands of another individual become unreasonable and interfere with the privileges of the rest of the group.
Week of April 24, 2000
Airplane Spiral
The inevitable question, “So, are you any good?” comes up whenever I mention my figure skating hobby to friends. This nebulous inquiry requires a qualified answer. Good based on which standards? Good compared to whom? Most people have only been exposed to championship skating on television. Obviously, I am not good compared to national and world-class competitors. Usually I respond with, “I am good for an adult” or “I am a good recreational skater.” However, I never wanted to be accused of skating like an adult.
Stereotypically, people who learn to figure skate after the age of twenty-five appear awkward and sloppy on the ice. They tend to skate slowly with little grace and confidence. A tremendous gap separates young skaters from their adult counterparts. Numerous reasons account for the deficiencies in adult skating that are not limited to age, size and physical fitness. Even an adult in ideal health has less time and energy to devote to skating than a child and scarcer hope of financial reward. Of course, many adults become excellent skaters. Adults can learn multi-revolution jumps, complex spins and interesting footwork. However, it is not necessary for a mature person to complete huge jumps and blurred spins to look impressive on the ice. Simple moves performed with style and assurance can be very beautiful. Personally, I’ll take whatever dazzling jumps and spins I can get though.
Unfortunately, unattractive gawky moves detract from adult skating. A bastardization of the spiral that I call “the airplane” typifies commonplace adult skating. Airplane spirals are usually performed on the flat of the blade either forward or backward but can also be executed on an edge. The skater dips forward, raises her free leg but neglects to open the hip and turn out the toe. Instead, the toe of the free foot points directly toward the ice. Rather than achieving an elegant champagne glass shape, the silhouette resembles a board balanced precariously on a fence post. Older skaters often lack the flexibility to achieve the hip height extension required for a passable spiral; however, poor coordination is often the culprit in an airplane attempt. The skater holds her arms outstretched to the sides fighting to maintain the unsightly position. Like a tightrope walker’s balancing pole, both arms tilt and struggle as a whole until the skater finally concedes and drops her free leg. An adult performing an airplane spiral personifies a child’s crayon drawing of a skater: stiff, clumsy and angular.
Beginners usually graduate from the airplane spiral stage before mastering the correct method. I can excuse a beginner’s airplane. Everyone starts at the bottom of the learning curve. Unfortunately, I know an elderly gentleman who has skated for years but still does the classic airplane. This fellow enjoys entering local adult competitions and includes several ghastly airplane spirals in every routine. He performs them shamelessly both backward and forward on every possible edge. His muscles may have lost the elasticity required to do a textbook spiral. However, I wish he would replace the ugly poses with simpler arabesques. While he is not an advanced adult skater, his presentation could be greatly improved by deleting those airplanes from his choreography.
Adults skate for a multitude of reasons, and some will never be “good skaters” regardless of how much time and effort they invest. An airplane may be the best spiral some people can manage. They often smile throughout the skill demonstrating their love of skating. To put the airplane problem into perspective, a few rungs up the ladder are the more “advanced” adult skaters who grapple for years with the axel and double salchow, jumps children learn in days or weeks. My axels and doubles probably look just as pathetic as the sorriest airplane spiral.
Week of April 24, 2000; Part Two
Back to Back
Pressing the play button on the tape recorder, I committed myself to practicing my program. I hesitated before fully depressing the button because I do not enjoy this program. Diligently, I skated to my starting position and waited for the music to begin. As much as I dislike my routine, the only error I usually make is substituting a half lutz for a complete lutz, because the choreography leads into the jump with more speed than I can handle. Surprisingly, I had sufficient energy to turn an illusion in my final spin combination.
My tape includes a delay before a second recording of the music so I can eventually skate back to back run-throughs. Instead of just skating laps to build stamina during the next piece of music, I decided to walk through the routine again omitting the strenuous jumps and spins. After the second trial, I began to skate the two laps my coach recommends for aerobic conditioning. Breathing deeply, I rounded the end of the rink and headed for the finish line. Thoroughly exhausted, my legs felt heavy. I could barely lift my feet to affect the crossovers. My toe pick caught the ice, and I was too tired to recover from the stumble. I collapsed onto my backside, siding over three yards with my legs in the air. Realizing what had happened, I crossed my legs and pulled them close to my body so I could scramble to my feet as soon as I regained control.
I looked around uncomfortably, but no one seemed to notice. Perhaps the other skaters had decided to preserve my dignity by ignoring the disgraceful accident. I completed the lap and prepared for the five waltz jumps my coach requires as part of the stamina-building post-routine exercises. These were the smallest, most lethargic waltzes on record. Falling when trying an axel or double jump does not embarrass me. Wiping out in forward crossovers is humiliating. Even more humbling is the fact that my routine completely drains my energy.
Fortunately, I reserved program rehearsal for the last twenty minutes of the session. Afterward, I was too tired to work on any difficult elements. My muscles tightened and refused to let me jump when attempting a lutz. I settled for butterflies, which are progressing respectably, and alternating three-turns on a hockey line. At the end of the session I could not summon enough strength to conclude with my favorite layback. I did a slow, halfhearted backspin instead. I have decided to avoid back to back program run-throughs for a few more weeks.
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