October 1999
Week of October 4, 1999
Pride of Ownership
This week I finally landed an axel during my lesson. For several weeks, I had told my coach about the few successes I enjoyed during the summer. However, he had seen no evidence to support my claims. He would be justified in wondering if I could recognize an axel if my body happened to do one. After a couple of near misses, I finally completed a legitimate axel while Geoff watched.
“Not bad,” he commented nodding. It was about time. After months of lessons and harness training, which I know became frustrating for him, it was about time for both of our hard work to bear fruit.
I realized the axel was not good, but the fact that it was not bad either delighted me. Rather than spending most of the lesson in the harness then trying to coax me into landing something that might be mistaken for an axel, Geoff focused on quickening my exit from the jump to improve its flow and correcting my rotational posture. Since I prefer not to be deceptive, I must clarify that this is not a big, floating axel that appears to defy gravity as it hovers in the air. It is a small, meticulous axel that rotates quickly and lands embarrassingly close to the take off tracing. However, it constitutes a foundation for further development. From here, I can move on and improve my axel. After two coaches, two rinks and over a year of disappointment, I’ll take whatever axel I can get.
Landing an axel under my coach’s scrutiny was the first step toward ownership of this jump. Landing one on the first try of the session further confirmed my proficiency. However, the freedom to do an axel whenever the mood strikes is the final measure of mastery. After exiting a well-centered layback, I decided that I would like to do an axel. I took a few back crossovers then jumped without any laborious preparation. This incident validated my pride of ownership. The axel became part of my repertoire. When I asked Geoff to choreograph a program for me, he said he wants to include the axel in my program. I may never perform this program for anyone but him, but I have gained confidence that I possess the capability to step up into an axel at will.
Being able to do an axel fascinates me. I do them over and over, amazed by each triumphant landing. I don’t really care that these axels are not spectacular. The possibility exists that someday they may be. I smiled with pleasure at the silent landings that glided easily away from the point of contact between toe pick and ice. I worked on them tirelessly exhilarated by my increasing success ratio.
Early in my adult skating career, I coveted my instructor’s flying camel. I imagined that I would do flying camels continuously if I were ever fortunate enough to learn to execute them. Since I am a competent spinner, flying spins formed a natural bridge to more complicated jumps. After a few attempts, I landed respectable flying camels close to two years ago. However, I find flying camels terrifying and took many appalling falls trying to land and control a leap into a back camel. Consequently, this skill has been inconsistent for me. Finally able to perform flying camels, I realize that I prefer not to do them over and over. While I suffer from mild anxiety before attempting the first axel of the day, I gain confidence with each jump. I also find axels less exhausting than flying camels. Geoff says this is because a flying spin consists of a jump and sustained tension in a spinning position, in contrast to an axel which consumes only a fraction of a second in the air.
I always dreamed of being able to land an axel. My next goal is to convert my little axel into a thing of beauty. Skating is an endless process. There is always another jump to learn, another spin position, a more advanced footwork sequence or a more complicated dance. Without even progressing to more difficult skills, most developing skaters can always occupy themselves by improving the moves they already understand.
Week of October 4, 1999; Part 2
Easy as a Waltz Jump
A skater I had not seen for a month came to one of the morning sessions during the week. She said she had been skating afternoon public sessions due to changes in her schedule. While I took a break to wipe my continuously running nose, she glided over to me.
“Your axel looks good. You must be so proud,” she began.
Not only could she identify what I was trying to do, she said it looked good. Actually, I had not thought to be proud until that moment. I felt relieved, triumphant, grateful, even lucky; but never proud. In fact, I warned my husband that the axels I managed to accomplish did not look like the ones he saw on television. I worried that he might come to a session and I would either be unable to perform my axel or I would land it and he would not realize what I had done.
I told her that axel had been a battle for me as I had it and lost it twice and never landed it consistently or impressively. Then I realized this is probably normal, especially for an adult skater. However, the axel should not leave me again. Every session I land it with increasing regularity and confidence.
“Does it feel as easy as a waltz jump now?” she asked.
Certainly the little axels I performed with great concentration and diligence could not appear facile. I believed they were at best ponderous and at the least unrecognizable. Perhaps I assumed incorrectly. They definitely were not easy. Since I have been landing axels, my efforts have refocused on the waltz jump. I became painfully aware of the lack of distance I cover in this basic jump. Little more than four feet separates my take-off and landing edges. In order to gain distance in the axel, I think the waltz jump must become larger and more powerful. For the last couple of weeks I have invested considerable ice time in lengthening my waltz jumps. Learning the axel has actually made the waltz jump more difficult because I can no longer be satisfied with the status quo. For the axel to grow, so must the waltz.
However, my friend may have coined an effective new expression, “easy as a waltz jump”. I find this phrase much more colorful and intriguing than “easy as falling off a log”. I have thought of several absurd instances when a person might utilize this witty new idiom.
- Passing the bar exam was easy as a waltz jump.
- Giving birth was easy as a waltz jump.
- Finding an apartment I could afford in Manhattan was easy as a waltz jump.
- Getting an “A” on my organic chemistry final was easy as a waltz jump.
Of course there could be countless others more amusing than the ones listed above. Please email your suggestions to me.
Week of October 11, 1999
The Next Level
Now that I have proven to my coach that I can do an axel, less time is devoted to them during my weekly lesson. I land a few axels, Geoff says we have to start making the axel “arc” more rather than just go straight up, then we move on. Although Geoff started teaching me the double salchow during the summer, it was not the focus of our collective efforts. I worked on the jump occasionally and we included in lessons so I would not forget about it, but our primary goal was for me to learn the axel. However, for the last three weeks, the double salchow has gained importance.
Geoff says my form in the double salchow preparation is ideal, and I should have no trouble landing it. He is actually surprised when I miss it because the preparation is flawless. Unfortunately, I have trouble getting height as I concentrate on rotation. I often land in a backspin. Hopefully, next week I will practice the double salchow in the harness to understand the motion involved in lifting into the rotation.
Satisfied with my current progress on the axel and double salchow, Geoff introduced the double loop. The single loop is my strongest jump. I told him several weeks ago that I would like to try the double loop. I thought my first attempts would occur in the jump harness. However, my first crack at the double loop was unassisted. Remarkably, I came close to landing this jump. I landed forward, but on one foot and three turned to find the back outside edge. I suffer from the same difficulty with the double loop as the salchow. I do not gain sufficient height to complete the rotation. When skaters begin to learn doubles, they tend to adjust their preparation to force an additional revolution. Rather than winding up in anticipation of the extra rotation, I should prepare the jump as though I were performing a single. After jumping, contacting quickly into the backspin position increases centripetal speed. Completing a single revolution happens naturally with solid technique. The single jumps can be achieved without pulling in the arms or legs. Large, open single jumps appear to float above the ice. Skaters who are able to jump high with a reasonable amount of speed do not have to attain a tight air position to execute a double. However, at this point, I need the tight air position.
My current goal, in addition to improving my axel, is to land a successful double jump. I do not care which double I land first. During practice, I concentrate on jumping as though I were doing a single. I try to fool myself into believing I am only going to do a single until the moment my blade leaves the ice, then I pull into the rotation. Since I am not so easily buffaloed, my success with this method has been limited. I realize the key to double jumps requires springing into the air without reservation. Trying to curtail my fear of rotating out of control, I find myself popping into petite hops, much smaller than my singles. This is completely unproductive. I will never do a double if I only jump a couple of inches. I am afraid I will toss my body into the air and become lost in rotation ultimately crashing into the ice with no means of saving myself. Fortunately, I have already begun to overcome this ridiculous fear. Only in my wildest fantasies would I over-rotate a double! By the end of the week, I made progress on the double salchow and am beginning to feel comfortable attempting a double loop.
These first doubles represent moving to the next level of figure skating. After these, I will have to learn the double flip and toe loop. I dread even thinking about the double lutz, but it is pleasant to dream of a double axel.
Week of October 18, 1999
Harness Full of Doubles
Since I have had trouble springing into the double salchow and loop, I asked my coach if we could work on the doubles in the harness this week. After warming up with a few singles in combination with loop jumps, I fastened the harness around my waist. The beauty of the jump harness is that it allows skaters to boldly attempt new moves without fear of injury. Rather than being tentative, a skater can leap courageously into the air. This permits experimentation with new skills and promotes understanding of the correct body position and timing required to successfully complete an advanced jump. While I am still more conservative without the harness, it has helped me to recognize my own mistakes during independent practice.
First, I did a few axels in the harness. Harness axels are great fun because I rotate with abandon and often over-rotate the jump. I am finally able to land axels on my own, but an occasional harness lesson encourages me to snap more quickly into the backspin position. After the axel, we moved on to the double salchow. Geoff is amazed by how well I prepare these jumps, yet I have been unable to land them. In the harness, I jumped freely over-rotating the double. On one occasion, I completed the two revolutions and had time in the air to wonder when my blade would contact the ice. Geoff had provided enough elevation for a triple.
Geoff surprised me by suggesting I try a double toe loop. We have never worked on this jump together, and my previous experience with it is limited. I warned him that I did not know how to do a double toe loop, so this would amount to little more than an experiment. Starting with a single did not lead naturally to a double. In my first few attempts when Geoff lifted me, I remained motionless suspended over the frozen surface like a child wired up as an angel in a Christmas pageant. Geoff noticed my perplexed expression and remarked that I should not become frustrated. Actually, I was confused because I did not know how to attain the backspin position after a toe loop preparation sequence. The toe loop is supposedly one of the easiest multi-revolution jumps. Obviously, I have yet to unlock the secret to its simplicity.
Since the harness is attached to a cable spanning the width of the rink, skaters must adjust their jump preparations accordingly. This restriction does not lend itself to traditional loop jump preparation. Clockwise skaters perform back crossovers in their jumping direction before setting up for the loop. However, in the harness, I had to skate back crossovers in the opposite direction, then change edges making a serpentine pattern on the ice before deepening my left outside edge in preparation for the loop. I have never entered a loop jump in this manner. My body felt twisted and awkward. I could barely manage a single loop. Even with Geoff’s assistance, I was unable to spring into the air and initiate the rotation. I hung above the ice, looking over my shoulder, straining to force the second revolution. Without the harness, my performance improved, and I landed forward, missing the jump by half a turn.
The day following the harness lesson, I concentrated on the double salchow. I came so close to success that I landed a fraction short of complete rotation. Pivoting slightly to find the left back outside edge saved several of these landings. I would love to say that I landed my double salchow. However, I am not ashamed to admit that I almost landed it.
To end a skating session on a positive note, I usually perform a fast dramatic layback spin. Since the layback is my best move, and I know I will leave the ice proud of myself if I complete one. However, I gained such confidence with the axel and double salchow during the harness lesson, I jumped without inhibition until the Zamboni emerged from its garage. Then I did a layback.
Week of October 18, 1999; Part Two
Cassette Monopoly
On Friday I shared the ice with only two other people. In contrast to previous days during the week, I executed better double loops than double salchows. Of course, the double loops were under-rotated, but they have improved. I also took an enormous fall on an axel; the kind of fall that fills the rink with the echo of my misfortune.
A woman who I see at the rink once or twice a week approached me to vent her frustration about the tape that was playing. The other skater on the ice, an older gentleman, had been playing his program music for an hour. This person competes regularly in various events and has numerous routines to perfect. He practices them tirelessly, rewinding the tape and stepping through his silly choreography as though he were training for the Olympics. I agreed that the songs had become monotonous. The woman said she would bring her own tapes in the future. I mentioned that I kept a variety of cassettes in my skate case, so she selected one that she liked. After the man’s piece ended for the hundredth time, I changed the tape. We enjoyed more uplifting music for a half an hour before the man removed my tape from the player and inserted his program cassette. He played the same pieces of music repeatedly as he rehearsed his routines.
Since so few people regularly attend the morning sessions, we have all become familiar with each other’s musical preferences. I encourage skaters to bring and play tapes that they enjoy. A wider variety of music keeps the atmosphere stimulating. Probably every skater who attends freestyle sessions has identified at least one piece of music that has become so tiresome that they might vomit if they have to hear it again. It may even be the skater’s own program music. I have memorized not only other skaters’ music, but also their choreography. Since I don’t compete, I have never stood in line to play my program music. In sparsely populated sessions, skaters who practice routines often take advantage of the availability of the cassette player, rewinding there tapes dozens of times. Skaters who don’t compete may bring tapes that are usually ejected from the player in favor of someone else's program music. I become annoyed when skaters remove my tape, play their piece, put my tape back in for three minutes, remove it again, and replay their music. I would prefer that they abandon my tape completely, rather than playing my music for a couple of minutes before interrupting it in the middle of a song to repeat their program selection.
If more competitive skaters shared the session, at least there would be a greater assortment of program pieces. Variety alone would make them seem less tedious. At the rink where I skated previously, one of the adult skaters performed to the same tune as the gentleman who skates at my current home rink. Unfortunately, I have had to listen to that boring song for three years. I have seen skaters perform to every kind of music from waltzes to the theme from Star Trek. While I might enjoy some of the pieces initially, by the end of the competitive season, there is always at least one that makes me cringe. If I ever learn a program, certainly someone will despise my music. Hopefully, that someone will not be me.
October 26, 1999
One Sweet Dream
On Tuesday October 26, 1999; I landed my first double jump. It was a double salchow. My free leg swung as I cut a wild edge to maintain the landing. I had not come to the rink that morning expecting to land a double jump. I had been working on double salchows and loops for a couple of weeks but did not anticipate success in the near future. I had to wipe tears of joy out of my eyes after triumphantly stretching into the landing position. I reacted similarly to my first axel. A few moments later, I landed another. Out of probably fifty attempts during that session, I only landed two double salchows. For now, I will accept those odds, though I would not gamble my life savings on them.
No one saw me complete these jumps. They may not have been recognizable anyhow because these could have been the smallest double salchows ever performed. If you land a double salchow in an empty rink does it count? Not only did I doubt that I had actually done the jump, I wondered if I would be able to do it again. I could not watch myself doing the jump, but I know it was not the lovely type of double in which the legs cross and the body rotates as a column in its trajectory over the ice. However, it was definitely not a single. Single salchows are easy open jumps that do not even require a full rotation. They feel much like waltz jumps. It would certainly be wonderful to suddenly land an enormous beautiful double; however skating does not work like that. Even little kids start with small jumps. They may learn faster than adult skaters, but their jumps also originate as small unimpressive maneuvers. My single flip jump represents an ideal example of jump evolution. It started as a
I simply could not believe one of my dreams came true and I had completed a double. In spite of my amazement, I called my husband at work to tell him the good news. In the lyrical words of Lennon and McCartney,
*(Quoted from the song “You Never Give Me Your Money”, The Beatles Abbey Road album)
Week of October 25, 1999
The day after my initial success with the double salchow, I warmed up for my lesson with Geoff. After a few axels, I started trying double salchows. My coach worked with another adult skater before my lesson, so I decided to practice the double salchow where he could see me. To my delight, I landed three of them in front of him. When our lesson began, Geoff told me he had seen the double salchows and they were “not bad”. Geoff describing a difficult jump as “not bad” constitutes high praise. If he says a skill looks “good”, it is unequivocally good. I know my double salchows were not good, but I was happy he declared that they were not bad.
I alternated between double salchows in the harness and unassisted double salchows for most of the lesson. The salchows I do in the harness feel like genuine multi-revolution jumps. Not only does Geoff provide height; he also carries me along on the pulley providing coverage of the ice. The harness allows me to perform the type of double salchows competitive skaters include in their routines. He assures me I will be able to achieve a jump of this quality once I pass my free leg through before entering the rotation. I don’t know which is more difficult: landing the first jump in whatever condition it may occur or developing the jump into a thing of beauty. In spite of my initial struggles with the axel and double salchow, I believe a greater challenge lies ahead of me.
Eager to return to my work on the double salchow, the following day I warmed up according to my usual routine of edges, spins and jumps. I always do axels before trying a double. My axels have become reliable; not necessarily good, but they are consistent. I learned that my beginning axels may be categorized as “poppers” which go straight up and down as opposed to “skimmers” which achieve distance but negligible height. These represent substandard variants of the ideal axel which follows a high arcing path over the ice. Since I have become comfortable performing a “popper”, I tried to glide a little faster on the preparatory edge before jumping. I also concentrated on jumping outward and achieving a better rotational position. Unfortunately, I fell on the first axel of the day. This bothered me since I had been hitting my first attempts all week. I did only a few clean axels before moving on.
I have been spending a significant amount of time on double salchows during each session. After my first success, I became obsessed with this jump. Perhaps my preoccupation with the double salchow prevented me from doing one during that session. As I became more frustrated, the probability of completing a successful double must have declined. I made the serious mistake of continuing to try these jumps even after I had become disgusted. Once I realize I am not making progress, I ordinarily decide to work on another skill and return to the problematic element later. Stubborn determination prevented me from following my usual philosophy. I wasted almost an hour of ice time under-rotating double salchows. As I became more aggravated, my double salchows got worse. This would have been an ideal opportunity to practice flying spins, which I have neglected lately in favor of jumps.
Maybe I expected too much of myself. I envisioned gradual progress toward larger, more impressive axels and double salchows. I completely forgot the five-week periods I endured during the summer when I could not do an axel. It seems those episodes are over, but I did not consider that I might suffer from similar inconsistency with my first double jump. I also neglected the two in fifty odds of success that seemed acceptable just a few days earlier. I left the rink disappointed. I wondered how long it would take to make my jumps look decent.
Promising myself not to repeat previous mistakes, I returned to the rink on Friday. I spent considerable time on the axel, but progressed to double salchows before kicking myself for the unacceptable tracings the jumps left on the ice. I did not land a clean double salchow that day either, but I decided to be satisfied with near misses. Remembering the negative emotions I experienced the preceding day, I allocated the next block of time to flying spins. I had not attempted a death drop all week and was delighted when one landed in a tightly centered back sit spin. I had never achieved such a glorious center in a back sit before. The small circle appeared to have been made in the ice with a drill. After a week of neglect, I also attempted double loops, some of which were nearly complete. Even though the double salchow and I parted company, I left the rink proud of my flying spins and the few illusions I threw in during the last minutes of the session.
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Double Salchows and Death Drops
