This statement is not entirely true. I can do a two foot turn from forward to backwards with some fair degree of skill. As I like to say at home, "I can do a 33 Turn!"
But of course, there are no 33 Turns in Real Skating. They are yet another figment of my imagination. I knew I had turns coming, but I was content to go Forwards and Backwards like I was on a perpetual Lazy River. "Turns can come later," I thought. "When I'm ready. My coaches will know."
Well, apparently either my Coaches are slacking off or I am, because I had Three Turns and Mohawks thrown at me in quick succession, and both of which were disastrous.
Why is this such a hard concept for me? Well, think of your skate blade. It's long and thin, and it likes to go forward and back. He simply doesn't support side to side motion. It's like your car. The tires are aligned in such a way that he can go forward and backward, with gentle turns.
Turn too fast, and you get this kind of disaster:
And it didn't help that Coach Snape was saying, "You'd be surprised at how easy this is. It can't help but happen."
Yeah, well, once again my Brain Stem started freaking out. I'd line up a turn, get on that FO edge, get my arms ready, and I'd try to swing around, and I'd think, "YOU'RE GONNA DIE!" And I'd just stay there, paralyzed.
I ended that class in severe frustration.
Okay, semi-privates are next. "Master Shifu will surely not do this to me yet," I think. So we warm up, head on the ice, start normally with stroking and crossovers and life is good.
Then Master Shifu busts out a Mohawk. "We'll do this on the wall," he says.
Oh good, I think. I like the wall.
So we do this on the wall, and I'm wrapping my head around the mechanics of the thing, when he skates away from the wall.
Please don't ask me to do that out there, I'm begging inwardly.
But he does, and it's disaster. And once again I get that paralysis.
Now, bear in mind the lovely lady I'm working with grasped this right off the bat. She's doing mohawks and three turns, and I've been put back on the wall where I'm grabbing the rails for dear life. Every time I try to step away from the wall, I get paralyzed and think "Why can't I do this?"
Eventually I get so frustrated I start to shake, and it's over. Call the lesson done, I have forks sticking all out of me. Master Shifu insists that I'll get it eventually, but with Snape saying, "Oh, it's so easy," and Lady getting it so handily, I feel awful.
I come back later on, where I try again at Public Skate. I get a 2.1 turn on my good side, a 1.5 turn on my bad side, and that Mohawk is nowhere. I try it on the boards, and once again I'm clinging for purchase as my skate slides out from under me, or I land the T wrong and trip myself.
I've taken a few bad falls and come away with some pretty nice bruises. As it turns out, I can take the black and blue kind. What I can't take is a bruise to my ego, and I think that stings more than anything.
Tuesday, July 3, 2012
Monday, July 2, 2012
Backwards Skating, the Riddle of a thousand years
I can skate backwards. Kinda. And it was a long, treacherous road to say "I can skate backwards kinda."
When I see the kids on the ice, struggling to comprehend the bodily mechanics of a backwards wiggle for the first time, oh, how I ache for them. Because I understand. I understand so heartily.
The Brain Stem, he doesn't like to go backwards. Your body doesn't like it, either. No one can see where they're going, the knees and ankles don't bend that way, and your butt is hanging out there screaming at you, "Do you not like sitting? I know you and I don't get along, but is this really necessary?"
I hated going backwards. I hated it so much I made myself do it for entire public sessions. An hour at a time, backwards. Swizzling or wiggling, it didn't matter. I'd just go backwards, to feel the motion, to get used to the sensation of not really knowing where the hell I was going. Eventually I got pretty good at it, toepick scraping and all, so I decided to try to pick up one foot.
Of course, I did it crazy wrong. I'd straddle some imaginary horse and try and lift up a foot at random, leading to a loss of balance and a general awkwardness. It was so bad, I started thinking, "Well, no one really skates on one foot backwards for any length of time anyway..."
Then I remembered this, and sighed, and went back to work.
Eventually I picked up the right idea. Half swizzle backwards, pick up one foot. As with the FO edge, I did this forever. I still do this. (As with FO edges. Or any F edge.) Rink Pal noted me doing it for the bazillionth time and said, "Gee, you sure are getting comfortable going backwards."
"I'm so glad it looks that way," I clipped back.
I still find the sensation of going backwards disconcerting. Even today, after I was done frustrating myself with turns, I polished off the session with some backwards half swizzles. Fast, while listening and feeling to toepicks. And holding out my arms. And being aware of my posture. And solving some algebra equations in my head while I was at it. I solved the riddle by just heading out there, sighing greatly and doing it.
Because I know that one of a Coach's favorite things to say is, "Oh, so you can do that? Great. Now do it backwards."
When I see the kids on the ice, struggling to comprehend the bodily mechanics of a backwards wiggle for the first time, oh, how I ache for them. Because I understand. I understand so heartily.
The Brain Stem, he doesn't like to go backwards. Your body doesn't like it, either. No one can see where they're going, the knees and ankles don't bend that way, and your butt is hanging out there screaming at you, "Do you not like sitting? I know you and I don't get along, but is this really necessary?"
I hated going backwards. I hated it so much I made myself do it for entire public sessions. An hour at a time, backwards. Swizzling or wiggling, it didn't matter. I'd just go backwards, to feel the motion, to get used to the sensation of not really knowing where the hell I was going. Eventually I got pretty good at it, toepick scraping and all, so I decided to try to pick up one foot.
Of course, I did it crazy wrong. I'd straddle some imaginary horse and try and lift up a foot at random, leading to a loss of balance and a general awkwardness. It was so bad, I started thinking, "Well, no one really skates on one foot backwards for any length of time anyway..."
Then I remembered this, and sighed, and went back to work.
Eventually I picked up the right idea. Half swizzle backwards, pick up one foot. As with the FO edge, I did this forever. I still do this. (As with FO edges. Or any F edge.) Rink Pal noted me doing it for the bazillionth time and said, "Gee, you sure are getting comfortable going backwards."
"I'm so glad it looks that way," I clipped back.
I still find the sensation of going backwards disconcerting. Even today, after I was done frustrating myself with turns, I polished off the session with some backwards half swizzles. Fast, while listening and feeling to toepicks. And holding out my arms. And being aware of my posture. And solving some algebra equations in my head while I was at it. I solved the riddle by just heading out there, sighing greatly and doing it.
Because I know that one of a Coach's favorite things to say is, "Oh, so you can do that? Great. Now do it backwards."
Sunday, July 1, 2012
So, how hard is it?
Remember me saying, "gosh, it doesn't look all that hard..." and I'm sure many of you gave me furtive looks through your screens. Well, it isn't all that hard, it's just frustrating. And it's frustrating because once you learn any given skill, there's always someone showing you some way you could be doing it just a hare better. And that little hare ends up tossing you back to square one.
Like forward crossovers. I got those. I could do those with some fair amount of proficiency last year, so I felt like I was walking into this year in pretty good shape.
Heh. Nope. I came into my first class, did a few crossovers, stopped in front of Coach Shape (Stitch had said he looked like Snape, not me...) and smiled, thinking I was ahead of the game.
"That's nice, not bad," says Snape, and then belts out a few Champion style crossovers and says, "But they need to be more like that. Push with the blade of the back foot, not the toepick."
And from that moment on I was forever aware of the constant, nagging, *cross*pick*cross*pick*cross*pick.* And I tried. Lord knows I tried to banish that pick push from my life, but my brain stem had taken over and was stuck in this mode of, "Get that foot out of there before you hurt yourself."
See, your brain stem is the primitive part of the brain. He's concerned with self preservation. When you're at home, packing up your skates and getting ready to practice, and you think, "Yeah, I'm gonna own this bitch today!" That's your gray matter talking. When you get on the ice and you find yourself hunched over in this quasi ball of fear, sweat and self conciousness, that's the brain stem. He's saying, "You can't be serious."
So, when I was trying to hold an outside edge, leaning over into oblivion where there was no foot to throw down and save me, my brain stem was screaming, "AHHHHH!!!NOOOOOO!!!!STOOOOOP!!!" But I knew holding that edge was pretty critical, so I managed to talk him out of his panic, and now I can hold that edge. Fairly well... well enough to throw my free leg back. On my right side. My left side is constantly playing catch up. Anyway.
Once I could hold that edge, I tried getting rid of the pick, but it was still proving to be quite the challenge. My foot kept ducking, and picking out, well beyond my control. It wasn't until I started taking semi-privates with Master Shifu that the light went on. Master Shifu says, "Do this exercise where you swizzle out," he does the half-pump thing, "then bend your leg forward and let the free leg roll out behind you."
I did that for awhile, and that got easy enough, but when I added that to my Forward Crossover Equation, it just didn't work out. For awhile I'd just stare at my skates thinking, "What the hell.." I knew what it was supposed to look like. I had some fair grasp of how I was supposed to do it. But I just could not get my body out of Panic Mode, and allow that free leg to just roll out of the way like so much butter.
Around and around I went, carving circles in the Studio Rink, getting caught in my own edge tracks or whatever, my past self tripping up my present self, cursing and sweating, until finally I got some slight roll out.
Proud of myself, I headed to class and showed Coach Snape. "Not bad," he said in his usual unimpressed tone. "But you need to stand up straighter."
And so I tried again, this time standing straight, and all my extension was shot.
Back to Square One.
Like forward crossovers. I got those. I could do those with some fair amount of proficiency last year, so I felt like I was walking into this year in pretty good shape.
Heh. Nope. I came into my first class, did a few crossovers, stopped in front of Coach Shape (Stitch had said he looked like Snape, not me...) and smiled, thinking I was ahead of the game.
"That's nice, not bad," says Snape, and then belts out a few Champion style crossovers and says, "But they need to be more like that. Push with the blade of the back foot, not the toepick."
And from that moment on I was forever aware of the constant, nagging, *cross*pick*cross*pick*cross*pick.* And I tried. Lord knows I tried to banish that pick push from my life, but my brain stem had taken over and was stuck in this mode of, "Get that foot out of there before you hurt yourself."
See, your brain stem is the primitive part of the brain. He's concerned with self preservation. When you're at home, packing up your skates and getting ready to practice, and you think, "Yeah, I'm gonna own this bitch today!" That's your gray matter talking. When you get on the ice and you find yourself hunched over in this quasi ball of fear, sweat and self conciousness, that's the brain stem. He's saying, "You can't be serious."
So, when I was trying to hold an outside edge, leaning over into oblivion where there was no foot to throw down and save me, my brain stem was screaming, "AHHHHH!!!NOOOOOO!!!!STOOOOOP!!!" But I knew holding that edge was pretty critical, so I managed to talk him out of his panic, and now I can hold that edge. Fairly well... well enough to throw my free leg back. On my right side. My left side is constantly playing catch up. Anyway.
Once I could hold that edge, I tried getting rid of the pick, but it was still proving to be quite the challenge. My foot kept ducking, and picking out, well beyond my control. It wasn't until I started taking semi-privates with Master Shifu that the light went on. Master Shifu says, "Do this exercise where you swizzle out," he does the half-pump thing, "then bend your leg forward and let the free leg roll out behind you."
I did that for awhile, and that got easy enough, but when I added that to my Forward Crossover Equation, it just didn't work out. For awhile I'd just stare at my skates thinking, "What the hell.." I knew what it was supposed to look like. I had some fair grasp of how I was supposed to do it. But I just could not get my body out of Panic Mode, and allow that free leg to just roll out of the way like so much butter.
Around and around I went, carving circles in the Studio Rink, getting caught in my own edge tracks or whatever, my past self tripping up my present self, cursing and sweating, until finally I got some slight roll out.
Proud of myself, I headed to class and showed Coach Snape. "Not bad," he said in his usual unimpressed tone. "But you need to stand up straighter."
And so I tried again, this time standing straight, and all my extension was shot.
Back to Square One.
Friday, June 29, 2012
Where Have I Been?
Well, I've been working a lot. And Skating.
By now, word must have gotten around that Stitch has given up skating. The days were just getting too hard, the complaints too often, and I started to realize I was investing a hefty portion of my resources on something that was making everyone crazy.
Stitch wanted to be around other boys, and do boy things. He asked to join Scouts, and I said yes. And since I'm a "single activity" parent, I let him stop skating. And realistically, there was no way he could do both. Between the meetings and camps and campouts thus far, and Coach Y's insistence "he needs to skate more," I'd have driven myself insane attempting to do both.
Stitch had a good two years of skating. At some point he may indeed come back, I don't know. He came away with some great show experiences, a bunch of trophies, and a slew of friends. Right now he's knee deep in archery, creeks, bugs, camping, pocketknives and dirt. We're marching in the neighborhood 4th of July parade next week with his den or whatever. He's curious about this whole Webelos Concept, as am I. And he can still be a rink guard, which is what he always wanted. At home, we were happier.
But at the rink, it was a hard few weeks. Between people asking where he was, the well wishers who were saying, "You can't let him quit!" and me feeling bad about the whole thing anyway, the last place on earth I wanted to be was that rink.
But I did go back. And often. And I fielded the questions and rebuttals and people who begged me to bring him back, piecing up my heart as I did so. Let me tell you, it was not easy. Many times I sat in the car in the parking lot, steeling myself before I headed in.
Why was I going to the rink if Stitch stopped skating?
Because I had picked it up. You see, although I wanted to skate, realistically only one of us could afford to at any given point. With Stitch now in a Bear Cub uniform, I was free to don the Lycra. And I did. I signed up for a class, I set to practicing on as normal a schedule as I could manage, and before I realized it, I was in Semi-Privates with a Coach.
Now, before anyone goes perclucking, let me explain.... I've been doing this seriously now for about three months. "Seriously" as in "Actually trying" and not just tooling around. I've lost ten pounds and taken three inches off my waist. (Lady Cluck says I am shrinking, and "hot as hell" in her words.) I can put on a pair of stretch pants and not feel like the daily cattle call at People of Walmart. I actually had to take in my original pair of "skating pants." I'm eating better. I'm not drinking as much. I'm actually getting up in the morning and fucking exercising. I've never done this, ever. I'm actually looking into taking a damn pilates class.
And I feel better. In fact, I'm happier and more relaxed than I have been in years. I feel stronger, lighter, faster. Just yesterday morning I did a dance step down the city sidewalk in the middle of rush hour, and I didn't give a damn what anyone thought. When anyone at the office starts behaving like an ass, I just smile lightly and wonder when I can work on improving that extension just a scoche more.
So, if anyone wants to ascribe my motivations to the lost aspirations of my kid, go right ahead. Fact is, I'm having an absolute ball. Yes, I could have slunk away quietly into the shadows, lost to the roster of kids that quit. Sometimes I really, really wanted to, but I'd made too many friends to walk away. I'd always loved the sport from afar, and I started to realize that this might be within my grasp. All I had to do was try, and if there's anything I'm good at, it's trying.
By now, word must have gotten around that Stitch has given up skating. The days were just getting too hard, the complaints too often, and I started to realize I was investing a hefty portion of my resources on something that was making everyone crazy.
Stitch wanted to be around other boys, and do boy things. He asked to join Scouts, and I said yes. And since I'm a "single activity" parent, I let him stop skating. And realistically, there was no way he could do both. Between the meetings and camps and campouts thus far, and Coach Y's insistence "he needs to skate more," I'd have driven myself insane attempting to do both.
Stitch had a good two years of skating. At some point he may indeed come back, I don't know. He came away with some great show experiences, a bunch of trophies, and a slew of friends. Right now he's knee deep in archery, creeks, bugs, camping, pocketknives and dirt. We're marching in the neighborhood 4th of July parade next week with his den or whatever. He's curious about this whole Webelos Concept, as am I. And he can still be a rink guard, which is what he always wanted. At home, we were happier.
But at the rink, it was a hard few weeks. Between people asking where he was, the well wishers who were saying, "You can't let him quit!" and me feeling bad about the whole thing anyway, the last place on earth I wanted to be was that rink.
But I did go back. And often. And I fielded the questions and rebuttals and people who begged me to bring him back, piecing up my heart as I did so. Let me tell you, it was not easy. Many times I sat in the car in the parking lot, steeling myself before I headed in.
Why was I going to the rink if Stitch stopped skating?
Because I had picked it up. You see, although I wanted to skate, realistically only one of us could afford to at any given point. With Stitch now in a Bear Cub uniform, I was free to don the Lycra. And I did. I signed up for a class, I set to practicing on as normal a schedule as I could manage, and before I realized it, I was in Semi-Privates with a Coach.
Now, before anyone goes perclucking, let me explain.... I've been doing this seriously now for about three months. "Seriously" as in "Actually trying" and not just tooling around. I've lost ten pounds and taken three inches off my waist. (Lady Cluck says I am shrinking, and "hot as hell" in her words.) I can put on a pair of stretch pants and not feel like the daily cattle call at People of Walmart. I actually had to take in my original pair of "skating pants." I'm eating better. I'm not drinking as much. I'm actually getting up in the morning and fucking exercising. I've never done this, ever. I'm actually looking into taking a damn pilates class.
And I feel better. In fact, I'm happier and more relaxed than I have been in years. I feel stronger, lighter, faster. Just yesterday morning I did a dance step down the city sidewalk in the middle of rush hour, and I didn't give a damn what anyone thought. When anyone at the office starts behaving like an ass, I just smile lightly and wonder when I can work on improving that extension just a scoche more.
So, if anyone wants to ascribe my motivations to the lost aspirations of my kid, go right ahead. Fact is, I'm having an absolute ball. Yes, I could have slunk away quietly into the shadows, lost to the roster of kids that quit. Sometimes I really, really wanted to, but I'd made too many friends to walk away. I'd always loved the sport from afar, and I started to realize that this might be within my grasp. All I had to do was try, and if there's anything I'm good at, it's trying.
Friday, April 13, 2012
What does Stitch Think?
It's hard for me to comment back on the posts, but thanks for all the encouragement. Last night we hit Public Ice on Thursday for the first time in ages, and I actually made a concerted effort at practicing. I did crossovers until my legs were sore, stroking with my free leg back and not to the side, and backwards half pumps. Towards the end of the session, I got really brave and tried backwards stroking and T-stops. (Holding the wall... does that count?) I want to go back tonight.
Stitch enjoys just playing around, and he was all over the place. He made snow with his friends, ate ice cream, and harassed Rink Pal.
On the way home, I felt pretty good about what I'd done. "What do you think?" I asked him. "Think I could do this?"
"Maybe," he was unsure.
"Doesn't seem too hard. Just a lot of practice. Maybe I could be doing back crossovers by the end of summer. Maybe I could compete someday."
He borked. "You? Compete?"
"Sure. Why not? Other adults do it."
"Uuuh, okay..." He really didn't know about this idea.
"Think I could look good in a skating dress?" I polished off that thought with *after you drop about thirty pounds* in my head.
"Please don't do that," I could hear his dread.
"Why?"
"Because that would be embarassing."
On this point, I have to agree with him. I'll need to come up with something reasonable to skate in.
Stitch enjoys just playing around, and he was all over the place. He made snow with his friends, ate ice cream, and harassed Rink Pal.
On the way home, I felt pretty good about what I'd done. "What do you think?" I asked him. "Think I could do this?"
"Maybe," he was unsure.
"Doesn't seem too hard. Just a lot of practice. Maybe I could be doing back crossovers by the end of summer. Maybe I could compete someday."
He borked. "You? Compete?"
"Sure. Why not? Other adults do it."
"Uuuh, okay..." He really didn't know about this idea.
"Think I could look good in a skating dress?" I polished off that thought with *after you drop about thirty pounds* in my head.
"Please don't do that," I could hear his dread.
"Why?"
"Because that would be embarassing."
On this point, I have to agree with him. I'll need to come up with something reasonable to skate in.
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