November 2006
Week of November 5, 2006
Little Goals
Every week, I set a small goal for myself, something I can accomplish that will build my confidence and welcome skating back into my life in spite of current difficulties. Under these circumstances, motivation can be a problem. Skating is not as fun as it used to be when my body moved freely and without hesitation over the ice. Common sense estabilished my limitations rather than ankle flexibility. The journey back to strength is a battle; a kicking, screaming climb up an unrelenting hill. Sometimes I wonder if I am up to it.
My goal the previous week was to improve my stroking, which I accomplished. I held my edges and balanced competently on my bad foot. That was all I wanted to do, and I did it. It wasn’t much, but it sufficed that day. I went home with a positive attitude knowing somehow I would get back to where I was before this injury.
This week, I became more aggressive. My goal was to skate backward. I warmed up with a simple set of beginner exercises that included swizzles, scooter pumps (one-foot swizzles around a hockey circle), shallow outside edges, and forward stroking. Once I confidently felt the ice under my blades, I claimed a hockey circle, turned around, and began to scooter pump backward in my good direction. It felt great to glide over the ice with my back straight and head high, arms poised looking attentively over my shoulder. I moved with power and grace. Those simple pumps could have been crossovers, but I was not ready to take that step. I actually did a forward crossover without thinking and scared myself because my damaged leg was not prepared to hold the understroke. My body wants to skate; knows how to skate. It just needs the strength to follow its instincts.
The other direction fell short. While I can pump well with the recovering foot, it lacks the stability to securely bear weight. This is where I need work. So, I do twice as many rounds in the difficult direction, standing as firmly as possible on my uncooperative right foot while swizzling with the left.
Making progress, I felt confident enough to two-foot backward skate around the rink. I started with a two-foot slalom that transformed into backward stroking without quite lifting my feet off the ice. Eventually, I willed my feet to leave the safety of the ice in gently pointed extensions. This naturally developed into shallow backward outside edges and more graceful movement. I felt pretty skating around the rink; although I still was not crossing over. However, I realized I must look like an experienced skater, one who chooses to skate simply rather than one who has no choice. My arms stretched and flowed with every stroke. My knees softened. Some of the old, healthy me was out there on that ice happily backward stroking.
Although I did not plan it, I felt good enough to do forward outside swing rolls. They would not have impressed anyone, but I demonstrated sufficient control over my edges to manipulate my free leg and express musicality. I was smiling and having fun. This work was no longer drudgery. I was skating and enjoying myself.
Sunday November 12, 2006
On My Way
As I have stated before, I set little goals for myself each week. Actually, I did not know what my goal would be until I skated. My plans were nebulous; only to skate better, maybe to try crossovers. However, once on the ice, I realized crossovers were not in the forecast. My recovering foot just does not possess the strength to handle the deep edges required for crossovers, particularly the understroke.
I focused on skating strong, even with the most rudimentary skills at my disposal. I pumped powerfully around the hockey circles and did figure eights of one-foot swizzles around the circles holding a controlled gliding transition between circles. Poise became a priority. Unable to perform the skills of an advanced skater, I might as well look like an advanced skater demonstrating the fundamentals for an eager audience. Adult beginners watched me. We actually performed the same elements, but I obviously elevated them to a higher level of excellence. I looked like an ice dancer simply stroking around the rink. My knees bent softly, and my arms stretched like a ballerina’s. My back straightened and I did not glance at my feet. I displayed confidence in every simple step.
Pushing for more speed, I stroked the perimeter of the rink forward and backward stretching into glorious extensions. I completed forward outside and inside edges and the corresponding swing rolls. My edges cut deep and ground the ice making that delicious noise of expertise. Obviously I knew how to skate. I commanded the ice from my humble station. I was an expert recovering from an injury, not a beginner struggling with the easiest moves in the book.
Out of nowhere, I began to turn in two-footed grapevine steps. My feet freely explored the ice and experimented with movement. I struck a dramatic pose in a hockey glide and pivoted into a two-foot spin. True to form, the spin centered. Since I have not skated in months, the basic maneuver made me a little dizzy. Conditions more serious than dizziness have held me back recently, so I ignored the vertigo and spun again. These rotation tricks centered perfectly. I recall my early adult skating days over ten years ago when the only spin in my arsenal was an easy two-foot. Regardless of the easiness of this skill, it attracted a crowd of admirers. I did a two-foot spin like a champion who might pull a camel combination next. I reached heights I never imagined back then, though all of the other spins in my considerable repertoire are temporarily absent due to physical limitations. However, I pushed powerfully into a hockey glide, hooked a two-foot spin and twirled fast as a show-off pro.
I was on the ice. What I could not do did not matter. No one would ever know I could not do something. I skated with authority, control, and pride. I hit these beginner spins as though then were level four stunts in the new-fangled code of points. Some of the old aggressive me was out there, taking command of center stage. In a triumph of determination over physical sensibility, my left foot lifted from the ice, skimming only inches above the frozen surface in the most babyish one-foot spin. At least it might have been babyish if it were slow, lopsided, or sloppy. This one foot spin gained no points for exquisite position, but rotated quickly with perfect center. I am coming back. My damaged ankle held the spin with centripetal force lending a helping hand.
Although I limped after I left the ice, it was worth every awkward step. I am back. My spirit still lurks in this afflicted hull of a body plagued by atrophied muscles and a seriously damaged joint. After skating, I felt great self-satisfaction. I still love this sport. My will is still greater than my limitations. I want to push for more. Inner strength has kicked the ass of physical strength. I am in control and can continue to climb, whatever the obstacles. Skating will always be part of my life. I am on my way.
Week of November 19, 2006
The Older Woman
My skating is coming along. I did backward crossovers and a little bit of playful footwork. The footwork did not involve my right leg to any great extent. Since I broke my right ankle doing a turn on my right leg, a little hesitation is understandable. Not that I am actually afraid; I am just aware of the limited strength and flexibility of my right ankle. My goal now is to return to a reasonable comfort level on the ice rather than to challenge myself technically. Opposite direction footwork has never been easy for me and is not a priority as I make my return. Too many other necessities must be conquered first. I have to do forward crossovers with strength and conviction. I must be able to skate fast around the rink backward. Spinning again would be nice too.
During my previous skate, I rediscovered the two-foot spin and centered it beautifully. Now I am working on raising my free foot off the ice into an attractive stork position and holding a one-foot spin. Although I am not entering the forward spin from a three-turn yet, I can maintain rotation in a decent position. As a clockwise skater, I perform forward spins on my right foot, the foot I injured over the summer. I consider this small measure of spin competence a victory. Next time out, I will try to enter a one-foot spin without the two-foot precursor.
Feeling very confident about my progress, I decided I would be ready to start teaching groups for the beginning of the next set of lessons. I saw Kurt, the skating director, standing by the entrance to the ice talking to someone. I glided over to him and waited a respectful distance away after making eye contact that signified my need for a moment of his time.
A female adult skater I know vaguely from another rink happened by and asked about my recovery. I answered her question pleasantly and continued with a polite inquiry about her skating. Then she asked if I had a bone density test. Okay, she knows I broke a bone. No, my doctor did not recommend a bone density examination but has taken numerous x-rays. She refused to let the issue drop. She told me older women should have this particular test whether or not they experience a bone injury. I laughed. Older women? Just how old do I look? I could not help shooting this question off at her, and she deserved whatever sarcasm may have accompanied it. She assumed I was over forty, pre-menopausal, in fact. She even asked if I still get my period. None of this was whispered, mind you. The whole rink probably heard her. Kurt may have even heard this embarrassing exchange. I tried to laugh her off and get rid of her. She held onto this conversation like a pit bull with a tasty chew toy. The woman proclaimed her nursing expertise and talked about the doctor’s office where she worked and continued to insist I have this test performed because I am older and, therefore, at risk of osteoporosis, which may or may not be true. My doctor never brought it up. As a nurse, how can she not understand the confidentiality of medical information? She did not care if every person in that rink knew my age, status of my monthly cycle, condition of my injury, and general state of health.
I was furious and humiliated. The whole world is going nuts around me. Still, I tried to be civil. What is wrong with me? Is it ever appropriate to tell someone to f*** off and go away? My guess is that was probably it, and I missed my chance.
When I finally talked to Kurt, I felt rattled and probably did not present my desire to teach from the most enthusiastic perspective. He basically blew me off.
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