Current Skate of Mind

When I first started teaching group lessons as a teenager, I was stiff as a corpse and about as fun as one, too. I commenced each class standing very straight, with clipboard in hand. I took attendance with the stoicism of a 1950′s schoolmarm, consulted my syllabus, then methodically went through the proscribed elements in a manner I thought exuded professionalism and demanded respect.

Well, I found out pretty quickly that this was a Recipe for Rambunctious. The more strict and serious I tried to be, the more monkey-like the kids became: I had to chase them down, stop them from crawling up the plexi-glass, and even pull a few down from the rafters. The amount of intentional falling that transpired made it look as if I was teaching a stunt class. Conversely, and surprisingly, the goofier (and more monkey-like) I became, the more they tended to pay attention, line up like little soldiers, and march obediently the length of my coned-off lane.

And, so “if my friends could see me now” on Fridays for my Snowplow Sam 3 class, they might see me on my hands and knees barking like a dog, marching through “the swamp” while growling like a Mud Monster, or ribbitting as I hop merrily along. Just about everything I say ends in an exclamation point! And the amount of obvious questions I ask – such as, “Can you count to 2?” and “Do frogs say ‘oink’?” – has convinced my young students that I am either an A-1 jokester or a certifiable idiot. Probably many of you are reducing yourself to equally humiliating tactics. And these are probably standard-issue methods for pre-school teachers, parents, or caregivers of young children, but I am none of these, so I had to get here on my own; thank heaven I did. 

A few years ago, I heard about something called the FISH philosophy, a set of workplace principles based on the wacky antics of the fish throwers at the Pike Place Fish Market in Seattle. I guess it all started because it was easier and faster to fling the fish to each other across the vast fish counters than to carry the fish all the way around. This resulted in a lot of laughs on the part of the workers and the customers. (I think it has been scientifically proven that flying fish are objectively funny, even more so when the catcher misses, or gets bonked in the head.) In short, people were HAVING FUN AT WORK and customers were responding. Someone from Minnesota took note of this and ballooned it into a whole motivational lesson for corporate America.

Don’t worry, I’m not contemplating flinging fish at any of my co-workers (though there are one or two clowns who deserve to get cold-clocked, and I think you know who you are) and I’m not going to start throwing fish at my students, either. But we spend so many hours at work, so sometimes it’s necessary to conjure the image of those fish throwers, to remember that it’s not about just getting through any particular day, it’s about enjoying it.

And if this requires making a fool of myself, then I’m obviously game. My crazy group lesson routine keeps things fun for the kids and it’s also an entertainment mechanism for me. I only teach two beginner group lessons per week, but there was a time when I taught 12. Those half hours felt like eternities until I loosened up and reverted to my child-like self. Now, I look forward to Snowplow Sam 3 as a nice oasis from the higher-level hoi polloi (the entertainment aspect for those lessons gets pulled from a different bag of tricks.)  I’ve also found that the younger students bring into my life a delightful number of non-sequitors. (Case in point: see this week’s Skater Quote of the Week, over to the right). Besides, beginners do literally bring us back to basics. There is value in watching the weeble-wobbling of four year-old boys in hockey skates beyond the comedic: they help remind us how slippery ice is, how strange, and unnatural and downright funny it is to try and balance on it, especially at first. 

The main thing I’ve realized lately is that, like many of you, I’ve pretty much abandoned all the original terminology and replaced it with my own, or an amalgam of lingo I’ve picked up from coaches in adjacent lanes, over the years. In fact, if you were to consult the Basic Skills Manual to try and follow along with me, you might not be able to decipher which class I’m teaching. I just make sure to sneak in the more traditional, “correct” terms toward the end of the series, as we near evaluation day, so that when these kids graduate onto the next coach’s class, they have some idea what is going on.

So I’ve written up my own Group Lesson Lexicon (specific to Snowplow Sam 3) in order to justify my questionable behavior on Fridays. It seems like a good document to keep in my pocket in case they storm the rink and come at me with a straight jacket. This, I believe, will Explain Things, and confirm that there is a method to my madness. (Of course, this explanation could tip the scales in either direction – it might prove my sanity or quite the opposite…You be the Technical Specialist.)

GROUP LESSON LEXICON

(Note: This terminology has not been approved, sanctioned or endorsed by the USFS, the ISU, the PSA, the director at your rink, or any other skating organization. Peruse at your own discretion.)

Tables: Arms up to the side with so much tension that a cup of hot chocolate wouldn’t topple off. For further description, see archives of Skater Quote of the Week in column to right. 

Speed Marches: Small, staccato steps with verbal accompaniment, “1-2-1-2…” This is a good opportunity to ask if students can count to two, a feat they’re quite proud to demonstrate. It nicely targets the skaters who are only picking up one foot. 

Monster Marches: Marches so giant you could travel through a swamp with them, stepping through mud, over lily pads, etc. (waders not included). This is designed to trick skaters into picking up their feet higher. Growling recommended.

Statues: Two-foot glides, “without moving one inch!” Variation for those living in New York State or those with historical leanings: Statue of Liberties with the arm holding torch way above head. Observation: If, while in either of these statue positions, coach faces students and widens eyes in a frozen, trance-like manner, 99% of students will mimic this expression.  

Frog Hops: Two foot hops. Ribbitting required. Requests to instead bark, moo, whinny, oink, or abstain from sound effects altogether during this exercise should be submitted by students, in writing, to the front office and will be considered in the order they are received.  

Combo: A dip “as low as you can go!” directly followed by a hop, “as high as you can go!” This provides an excellent chance to teach the word “combination” i.e. putting together two things, Sesame Street style. Research has proven that the word “COMBO!” is as fun to yell out before this exercise as GERONIMO! is before jumping out of a plane or CHARGE! before riding your horse into sword battle.  

Double Combo: Twice the fun, and more opportunities to ribbitt.

Swizzles: Swizzles. No need to tinker with this word, since it’s obviously silly enough. Recommendation: With magic marker, draw little pictures on the ice for them to swizzle their feet around and don’t feel self-conscious when a) your skaters mistake your moon for a banana, your flower for a sun, or your tree for a person, especially when b) the coach in the lane next to you, who is an actual artist, has quickly sketched a parade of beautiful princesses.    

Blast Off: Counting down from 5 then shoving off the boards backwards. Be sure to not laugh aloud when half of the class immediately folds forward onto their mittens.

Pineapples: Forward and Back Swizzles in place, a.k.a. Rocking Horses, a.k.a. Footballs. To Whomever I first saw draw this tropical fruit on the ice: Brilliant, truly brilliant!

Curvies: Slaloms. Most adults, let alone children, have trouble pronouncing the word slaloms. Or maybe it’s just me.

Snowplow Stops: Snowplow Stops. The imagery here is sufficiently vivid, especially during snowstorm season. Tip: Harness the collective power of your little worker bees by getting them to scrape away or “erase” with their blades your pitiful swizzle artwork, so that coaches in later classes don’t see it.  

Flamingos: One foot glides with the freeskate bent up to the height of the other knee. Observation: When you tell students that this is how flamingoes take naps and then ask if this is how they take naps, they’ll all cry out, indignantly, “No!” If you, in turn, ask them how they take naps, it’s uncanny – they’ll all simultaneously, as if it has been choreographed, close their eyes, flatten their hands together like pillows, and tilt their heads adorably upon them.

Scooter Pushes: Stroking back with one foot at a time. “One foot pushes and the other one rides!” There are about two kids left in the country who do not have Razor Scooters. If they happen to end up in your class, you’ll give them the much-needed opportunity to experience (approximately) what they’ve been missing.

Screwdrivers: A cocktail composed of vodka and orange juice…Oops! I mean: Marching around in place in a circle with arms down at sides, the result of which is a dizziness and disorientation akin to intoxication.

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Of course, none of the above terms are patented, so feel free to incorporate any ones you don’t already use into your own classes. And, PLEASE share some of your tricks with the rest of us by clicking on Comments, below.

To watch a short video about the Pike Place Fish Market in Seattle, check out: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-q7eRpXUUHo 

I’ll start off by acknowledging that I am a very bad citizen. Over the past year, I have been ignoring the jury duty notices I was receiving in the mail, thinking I’d somehow slip under the radar, and they’d eventually give up on me. True, shirking my civic duty like this was not just ethically uncool, it was downright wrong. However, I was worried about missing work – what if I were to get placed on a trial that lasted a few weeks?

I am fortunate to have a great business and I am far from claiming “financial hardship,” but let’s just say that living in the exorbitantly expensive New York City (my choice, of course) means that I’m not exactly…overflowing with reserves. As a skating coach, not only do I work for myself, but I do so for an hourly wage during specific hours of each day (i.e. when sessions are offered, so I can’t come home and work all night, instead). To put it simply, however crass: when we don’t work, we don’t get paid. This is true when we go on a vacation and when we get sick. This is true during the holidays and on those snowy days when it’s just too risky to charge toward the rink. And this is true during jury duty.

Probably lots of other professionals have similar issues, or worse. And don’t get me wrong, coaching skating is a wonderful career with many perks, but, unless you’re a skating director at your rink, or on salary for some other reason, there is very little built-in security: no benefits, no healthcare, no 401ks, no stock options, no yearly bonuses, no paid time-off whatsoever for maternity leave, etc.

So, last spring, I eventually got a subpoena stating that if I didn’t present myself to the New York County Courthouse by a certain date, I would be subject to a rather large fine. I can’t remember how much this was, but I was convinced that I should shimmy on down to the courthouse pretty much immediately, if not sooner. There, after being questioned about my negligence and getting my hand proverbially slapped, I was told that I would be scheduled for jury duty sometime in the next several months.

Sure enough, I was slated to show up this last Tuesday. No matter what your career is, fulfilling this commitment is never going to seem convenient. Since our Regionals were going on, I was planning to serve as a substitute teacher for my brother (a fellow coach) who would be away. Furthermore, I have several students who will be testing this coming week. Nonetheless, I reminded myself that skating lessons are “non-essential” in that they are not heart surgery or necessary to the continued success of the water or sewer systems, or in any way related to the security of the nearest nuclear power plant. “My students will be okay,” I assured myself. “They’ll be fine.”

Still, I told everybody I know to keep their fingers crossed that I wouldn’t get picked for an actual trial, and, in turn, lots of people offered advice on how to not get picked. This included everything from standing up during the selection process, pointing across the room, and yelling out dramatically, “Obviously GUILTY!” to claiming that I hate cops, to waving my hands in the air like a crazy person. I don’t think anyone was serious about any of this…or were they?

On the first day, I took the subway downtown during rush hour, an adventure that I know well enough to generally avoid. (I opt instead for the joys of metropolitan car travel to get to the suburbs.) If you’ve never experienced this rush hour subway phenomenon in New York, I can tell you that it puts me in mind of those terrifying soccer match stampedes you hear about in Europe. You enter the subway car as part of a herd and get packed in tightly from every angle. If you aren’t close enough to reach a pole to steady yourself when the train starts and stops, no matter: you get propped up by people on all sides. You couldn’t fall down if you wanted to. And forget any notions of personal space because now you’re sharing yours with about six other commuters.

“Wow,” I thought, “this is what so many people in this city, and many of my friends, go through every single day.” I was forced to share somebody’s egg sandwich (practically! It was right by my face, and it wasn’t very good.) And I was also forced to think about Alternative Paths. For example, there was a point when I was deciding between becoming a skating coach in the ‘burbs and taking a job I’d been offered at a mid-sized advertising agency on Madison Avenue as a copywriter. I’m glad I chose to become a coach, but I often think about what it must be like to spend your work life in a more mainstream office job, that world of high heels, briefcases, watercooler chats, and after-work Happy Hours. Sometimes I even fantasize about having my very own cubicle, in which to place a fake plant, a few snapshots, and a joke-a-day calendar.

Sometimes friends send me e-mails during the day regarding that night’s dinner plans – a change of location, for example – and, after I’ve arrived at the original destination (and no one else is there), I’ll have to reiterate the uncommon fact that I don’t sit at a computer while at work. Likewise, I can’t really take or make any calls, even short ones, for several hours at a time while in lessons. And if I don’t lug at least 15 layers of clothing into my workplace, even in the summer, I’m liable to contract hypothermia. These are just a few things that underscore for me the ways our job is unique. (Though, to that latter point, many contend that the air conditioning systems in many office buildings create temperature conditions that would rival any rink.) 

Anyway, I arrived at the courthouse on time and relatively unscathed. I joined 149 other people in a large room to await further instructions. Many wise folks advised that I pack lots of good reading material, and this is what I intended to focus upon. But as the morning passed, I found myself instead latching onto a mantra, of sorts. I’ve been telling my students about mantras, lately, encouraging them to talk to themselves while they skate, just to help them keep their so-called “thinking caps” on as they practice. For example, on a Bracket: Knee-Bend, Knee-Bend…Or on a Three Turn: Twist-Check, Twist-Check. While I was waiting, I was looking at the novel I’d brought, but instead of reading, I couldn’t help repeating the words: Don’t pick me, Don’t pick me…

A friend gave me that bestseller book, The Secret, by Rhonda Byrne, which I’ve admittedly only perused. It’s about the law of attraction. A lot of the content is intriguing, but the structure is strangely disjointed – it reads like a book of quotes and I can’t seem to get into it. The upshot is that positive thoughts yield positive results. And the reverse is also true: by merely thinking about what you don’t want, you can bring that unwanted fate upon yourself. 

In this light, I suppose I should not be surprised that when the judge telephoned our holding room to request 70 jurors and they spun that bingo-style wheel of misfortune, my card was one of those picked. I should also not be surprised that my card was again randomly picked down in the courtroom when they went through the same process to whittle that group down to 18.

At this point, we took our places in the actual jury box and were asked a series of questions by the Judge, the District Attorney, and the Defense Attorney. I did not, at this juncture, fake a seizure, blab rudely on my cell phone, or curse directly at the judge (other tactics that had been suggested). I told the truth, as instructed, and ended up getting immediately Chosen. My Juror ID card says on it, “Juror #1″, a fact I find myself weirdly proud of. What getting picked first says about me, I don’t really know. Perhaps I exude fairness, or impartiality, or maybe I’m just neutral and bland, the human equivalent of oatmeal. Probably it doesn’t mean anything at all. And truthfully, I’m the kind of person who, when all is said and done, would probably have been hurt if I hadn’t been chosen. I probably would have wondered, why didn’t they like me?  

From there, we were quickly plunged into the details of the case, including testimony from the victim. Suddenly, it was necessary (and easy) to forget about all those hours of missed work and the frustration at getting picked. All of us jurors had other obligations this week, but now we had to concentrate on a crime scenario and the serious nature of our task.  

When I started writing this installment (Sunday night), I didn’t know how much longer the case would last. I wasn’t sure if I’d get to have one final lesson with my skaters before they test. I was wondering if I’d have to dip into my savings to pay my rent. Well, surprisingly, the trial already ended today (Monday). This afternoon we deliberated and reached a decision. As the jury foreman, I nervously delivered this verdict a few hours ago.

So I’m heading back to the rink for the rest of the week and I’m happy about this. Despite my anxiety, stepping out of my regular routine for a few days for this purpose has been far from tragic. It sure isn’t as bad as being a victim of a crime. Or being accused of one. It has been a good reminder of how fortunate we are to live in a country with a fairly workable judicial system in which people are innocent until proven guilty. Taking part in this process has been educational, to say the least, and, in the end, as desperately as we all want to avoid it, it’s certainly as much an honor as it is an inconvenience.

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Thanks to everyone for reading. Your responses continue to thrill and inspire. And, to you many kind souls who are e-mailing comments to me: I love you! But won’t you please leave your comments here on the site (below) so that others may love you, too?

By the way, notice the newest CSOM feature over there to the right: Skater Quote of the Week.