October 2001
Week of October 1, 2001
From a Mohawk
My two-hour practices follow roughly the same formula every skating day; warming up with moves in the field followed by basic spins, basic jumps, and then more difficult elements. Love of skating prevents my routine from becoming tedious, but this week I decided to try something different. After thirty minutes of moves in the field, which I consider non-negotiable, I began to experiment with one of my programs. I have not practiced a program since last spring, and then only sporadically. Since I do not compete and only test as a curiosity, I am not especially motivated to learn programs and tend to devote my efforts elsewhere.
While I only worked through sections of the choreography, I was surprised by how my speed and flow had improved. I credit this almost entirely to diligent work with moves, though practice and experience are obviously involved as well. Drawing from newly acquired abilities, I substituted a flip jump taken from a three-turn with a mohawk flip. The mohawk entrance transformed a previously sloppy sequence of preceding steps into a fluid thread of motion. It also contributed to a bigger jump in that context. Last season, I learned mohawk-based flips in series with split jumps, symbiotically improving both skills.
A teenaged girl, who probably skates at the novice level, joined the session that is usually occupied by adults. In her program, she utilized a mohawk entrance to a double salchow, though she aspired to a triple but plummeted to her hindquarters on those attempts. Beginning with a backward power three-turn, the girl stepped to a backward inside edge as though she intended to initiate a series of power-threes. Instead, from this edge she lifted gracefully into a very big double salchow. I have seen this step sequence frequently leading into a loop jump. The young lady performed it beautifully, lending the salchow an unexpected elegance.
Of course, I hid at the back of the rink and experimented with this entrance into a single salchow. I have done many salchows from mohawks, but never with the attractive backward three-turn as a prelude. My backward power-threes have improved greatly, and I have begun to practice the juvenile figure eight pattern consisting of power-threes in both directions. Unfortunately, executing one large backward outside three-turn that does not curl back on itself, but maintains a wide arc of travel from which to launch the salchow, is not trivial. Even this simple variation will require significant effort. Assuming the girl were not preoccupied with her own rehearsal, I doubt she would have considered me a copycat. What I was doing probably could not be recognized as an emulation of her lovely footwork into a salchow.
Week of October 8, 2001
Memory Lapses
Memory Lapse #1
Hitting a beautiful flying camel, I could not, for the life of me, recall what I had wanted to do with it. I had executed this move planning to use the resultant fast backward camel spin as a prelude to something else. Now I could not remember what the heck I planned to try. I stood there, spinning and sorting through a list of possibilities. Bounce spin or illusion? No, that wasn’t it. Layover or inversion? No. Unable to solve the riddle, I pivoted out of the spin, sorry to have wasted such an excellent flying camel. As a general rule, I rarely perform spins as isolated elements, particularly good ones. I prefer to combine them with other spins to develop my transitioning skills.
Standing by the barrier blowing my nose, my wits finally sharpened and I remembered wanting to achieve a very fast backward sit spin from that flying camel in order to attempt a catch-leg variation. In a recent lesson, my coach showed me how to rise from a backward sit while grasping my extended free leg with both hands. Surprisingly, I could do this, though not especially well. While not a trivial undertaking, practicing this move could yield something impressive.
Memory Lapse #2
After performing several decent butterflies, my coach instructed me to do a tap-over camel, which consists of a forward camel, tap of the free toe pick on the ice initiating a butterfly, and landing the butterfly in a backward camel. I learned to do this two years ago as a training exercise for the basic butterfly. While this jumped spin combination is not particularly easy, it readily teaches the skills required for a butterfly to students whose flying camels are already strong. Aside from its value as a precursor for a dramatic skating element, the camel-tap-camel is an unusual and exciting move.
But I had not practiced it lately. Hooking my forward camel, I wondered how on earth I would transform this spin into a butterfly. Jabbing my toe pick into the ice, I stopped abruptly.
“I forgot how to do this,” I admitted.
Geoff walked through the steps and encouraged me to try again.
This time, I placed my free foot down and conceded, revolving wide-legged like a drunk twirling on a barstool.
The coach told me to bend my skating knee before picking. “If you try to jump form a straight knee, you won’t leave the ice no matter what you do with your toe pick.”
This time I focused on every phase of the combination. Camel, bend deeply, tap, lift with scissoring motion of the legs, land in a backward camel. Perfect.
Another coach had witnessed the success.
“That really looks good,” she admired. “I would keep that if I were you.”
Good advice. The camel tap-over has become the latest addition to my daily practice agenda.
Week of October 15, 2001
Spin Gallery II
After a day of miserable skating that consisted primarily of dodging a couple teenaged girls’ pairs lessons followed by putting up with their snotty dispositions, I needed a good session. I simply do not skate like myself when intimidated by paired skaters or when bratty behavior annoys me. As much as I try to stand my ground and practice my own skills, kids whizzing by within inches of me, as though I were not even there, causes me to lose my concentration. Maybe one has to grow up skating under these conditions or have nerves of steel, something I obviously lack.
My next trip to the rink was for the wonderful session that is utilized by friendly, supportive adult skaters. I brought my digital camera along planning to ask someone to photograph my inverted backward camel, which I never did. However, the first spin of the day - an attitude - was wonderfully centered. Only a couple of rotations strayed from the initial three turn, bringing the spin back to its point of origin. These revolutions traveled less than one foot, as shown in the photograph to the right. Though not technically flawless, it was a great way to start the spinning and jumping segment of my practice. Ideally, a spin should occur entirely on top of its initiating three-turn. Any deviation, even a couple of rotations that circle the nucleus of the spin before finding center, are an error. Perfect spins fitting this definition are rare, even in elite competition, especially when performed in combination. Since spinning is my strength, I strive to make my spins as good as possible and keep this strict standard of excellence in mind.
Enthusiastic, I entered a camel, hooking and rising into position. The spin rotated very quickly and I drew my leading arm inward, crossing it over my chest while the other arm remained outstretched. This action increased the speed of my camel and I descended into a fast forward sit spin. While transitioning to the seated posture, my free arm grabbed my unemployed leg, guiding it into position, extended straight in front of my body. The other arm reached forward. Ascending from the sit, I pulled my free leg in, grasped the skate blade, and rose to an upright corkscrew spin. I had never done a corkscrew in this context before, and only rarely as a separate element, without achieving much success. However, this combination’s tracing ranks among the best my blades have ever created. All evidence of the initiating forward three-turn had been completely obliterated by subsequent overlaid etchings. And a fellow skater confirmed that the component positions were attractive.
Sadly, the next camel-sit-corkscrew traveled about two feet. It did not deserve to occupy memory in my digital camera. The third effort approximated the beauty of the original. An unexpected new spin has been added to my repertoire. I left the rink that day happy as a clam.
Visit my first spin gallery.
Week of October 22, 2001
The Skater's Bell Curve
Never was I more aware of the inconsistency in my skating skills than during preparation for the two tests I have taken (pre-preliminary and adult pre-bronze). Inconsistency does not necessarily span the dichotomy between falling and landing cleanly. I can honestly say that I never fall on certain moves, such as the salchow and toe loop. I cannot remember the last time I wiped out doing a toe loop or a salchow. And I do these moves well, without fear or conservatism. On an ordinary day, they are huge jumps. Yet there is a distribution in their quality.
Like any population of samples, whether they are skating movements or chocolate chip cookies, a quality distribution can be observed. Some cookies contain more chips. Some are gooier; others more golden. Some are bigger. Those are my favorites: the big, gooey ones with an inordinate number of chocolate chips. Salchows are not especially different from chocolate chip cookies. Some are bigger, achieving greater height or covering more distance. Some are graceful and controlled, while others are reckless with speed and power. Any given skater might perform all of these variations during a session. Averaging his trials represents his standard level of ability, and most of his attempts will hover around the arithmetic mean. Yet, certain examples will fall short of the norm and others will reveal the skater’s latent abilities that he has yet to harness. Of course, the absolute disasters show up at test or performance time, and the beauties occur in a vacuum when the coach is distracted and everyone else is gossiping or going to the bathroom.
Anyone who has studied fundamental statistical concepts is familiar with the “bell curve” frequency distribution, which graphically represents the mean of a sample population and the probability of deviations thereof. On the ass end of the spectrum, are the horrors: the humiliating fall that crashes into the boards invoked by catching a toe pick while doing crossovers, a skill the skater could perform with a hangover and a runny nose. The miracles occupy the lofty extreme: the perpetual spin that centers on a dime or the axel that lands absolutely clean. The bell curve allows for all possibilities, in addition to the common average ones, including the embarrassing catastrophes and one-in-a-million revelations. No event has a zero probability of occurrence, though some asymptotically approach zero, such as the likelihood of me landing a triple. Because I do very strong singles and can kind of land a double when the planets align, I am more inclined to complete a triple than a rail-hugging beginner. Therefore, the event’s probability must be greater than zero, but not by a heck of a lot. I would be better served by purchasing a lottery ticket.
The layback-sit, which I consider the most challenging forward spin combination in freestyle ice skating, made me contemplate the Skater’s Bell Curve. I do not generally execute this element well, though I can do it without unintentionally impacting the ice with my backside. However, my layback-sit would ordinarily not win any prizes. Distracted by other priorities, I had not worked on this combination for a couple of weeks. In the moments preceding my lesson, I remembered the neglected spin and decided to fool around with it before my coach called me to task.
A perfect example; the spin was fast, centered, and effortless. I gained speed through the obscure transition and descended into a deep sit spin that continued for several revolutions. Rising from the position, I wondered if this ranked among those implausible phenomena at the favorable end of the bell curve or if my average ability with this combination had actually improved, shifting the curve toward superior results. My instructor approached for my lesson before I could test this hypothesis. Next week.
The Skater's Bell Curve is not stagnant. It dynamically represents improvement while offering glimpses of future triumphs and keeping us in touch with our humble origins.
No, the title does not refer to my hip measurement, a recent fall, or my appetite; though I suppose it could. Surprisingly, it denotes the size of my jumps. I have done acceptable singles for a few years now, and they continue to grow in small but steady increments. My first flip jumps about five years ago, were modest hops whose landing edge was offset from the toe pick imprint by no more than two inches. My current average spans about three feet. This did not happen overnight. It resulted from fine-tuning my technique and developing confidence that led to increased speed into the jumps. I have made similar progress with all of the singles.
This week, I had not planned to practice jumps with my coach, but he had observed me working on half-loops and half-loop-salchow combinations. Since I aspire to a split half-loop, Geoff offered a few tips to lengthen my airtime, eventually accomondating a split position. Next he suggested trying a half-loop-salchow-half-loop-salchow combination. All of the jumps except the first half-loop felt tiny and awkward. I will have to devote time to this skill to increase the size and power of each jump in the sequence.
I enjoy performing isolated half-loops and have begun to approach them aggressively. Following this trend, Geoff suggested a loop-loop combination. I skated fast alternating backward crossovers down the side of the rink, cut toward the corner and launched. The second jump matched the size and intensity of its predecessor. Those jumps did not seem small and clumsy. Geoff confirmed that they were indeed very nice, and I should strive to attack every jump in my repertoire with that brand of vigor. He asked me to continue with a flip. It was a decent flip, but Geoff said I could improve it by deepening my knee bend during the vaulting step. The resultant jump amazed me. I suspended in the air for a measurable instant then announced excitedly upon landing: “Wow! That was fun!” It was an absolute blast! The jump easily covered four feet and ranks as the biggest flip I have ever done. It could easily be a double. Or perhaps even…dare I say it?… better not…
I hit a waltz-loop that nearly blew my mind. I carried sufficient speed into the waltz, that muscle memory rather than thought had to create the loop. Instinctively, my free leg lifted, carrying my body up and across the ice in an action so natural and easy, I experienced a tremor of fear while airborne. The loop was enormous. Geoff even glided over to examine the tracing. At least four feet. For me, that might as well be a mile.
He posed the salchow-loop as my next challenge, and my legs responded by creating backward crossovers that reached vigorously for each stroke in preparation for the jump. Just the speed of that backward skating surprised me. I was skating as fast as some of the people who intimidate me. How would I execute a three-turn at this velocity? In a moment of panic, I skidded the three and my salchow popped up, covering relatively little ice, but I still managed to tack a loop on the end. The next attempt was cleaner, without sacrificing speed.
We did splits, split sequences, and I began to work on a split half-lutz. The stag half-lutz has been among my favorite skills for over a year. Geoff hopes to improve my split to the point of achieving full-rotation split flips and lutzes. I find that prospect tremendously exhilarating.
I can hardly wait to get back to the rink next week to work on high speed, long distance jumps. While I suspected skating skills never achieve absolute perfection and can improve indefinitely, this lesson proved the point. Previously, my jumps were laudable, even envied by other adult skaters; but this week’s examples attained a new level of excellence. Geoff can jump over six feet in a single flip. Matching that standard no longer seems like a pipe dream. Without ever landing another quasi-double, I now realize that I am capable of brilliant speed over the ice and thrilling aerial hang times. Somewhere inside of me a set of doubles is screaming to be released.
Endnote:
That wonderful layback-forward sit spin combination described last week was no fluke. I have repeated the element several times, demonstrating my average performance of this skill has improved.
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