Wollman Rink, Part 1
March 4, 2008
There are many different types of people on this planet and many ways of viewing the world around us. There are liberals, conservatives, Buddhists, Darwinists, etc. Most people try to make sense of the larger picture by looking at life through a particular lens, say, for example, through feminism, or environmentalism, or even, in many cases, consumerism.
Then there are a select few of us who have an exceptionally sophisticated worldview. People like us have a highly evolved philosophy that can be used to explain just about anything. We believe that pretty much everything in life comes back to one important thing. And that, of course, is…pizza.
Pizza is everywhere and its attributes are infinite. For example, here in New York City, there is at least one pizza shop on every block where people of all kinds can come together peacefully and pay their respects almost 24 hours a day. It is impressive how, when ordered correctly, one simple slice represents all four food groups. Notice how pizza transports seamlessly from hand to mouth without any need for those complicating factors called utensils. It also travels around town easily in those nifty flat boxes. And the way the dough so gracefully changes shape when repeatedly tossed into the air is pure, edible poetry.
I’ve known all these facts for years, but lately, I have been reminded that all roads lead back to this savory treat. For example, just this weekend, at a wine tasting, a friend described one mediocre but inoffensive selection as a good “pizza wine,” a term I’d never heard before, despite my “extensive” tours of vineyards. Recently, on this very website (see Boots and Blades, Part 2), figure skating boot specialist Mark Magliola underscored the challenge of fitting skaters with narrow heels and wider toes, which, to the delight of many, he referred to as “pizza feet.” And last, but certainly not least since it brings me to the topic at hand, I taught at Wollman Rink last Friday, an ice surface shaped exactly like…you got it, a slice of pizza.
Some try to contend that Wollman Rink, located in the southeastern part of Central Park, is shaped like a triangle, but I know better. It was designed and constructed in about 1950 with funds donated by Kate Wollman. It’s fairly evident what her favorite food was.
This shape makes such perfect sense, seeing as how New York is the pizza capitol of the world. Sorry Chicago. And I mean no disrespect, Sicily. The way I see it, this slice-y slab is the pulsing, extra-large heart of this pizza-loving city.
What is it like to skate on a rink configured like a slice of pizza? It can be anywhere from disorienting to liberating, depending on your ability to think, or skate, I should say, outside the box. Literally.
If you’re trying to do a program, a moves-in-the-field pattern, or an ice dance, it might end up being a little more “interpretive” (insert: bulbous, lopsided, or straight-out wacky) than usual. If you are determined to obey The Rulebook, you have to immediately stop using the barriers as reference points. You have to imagine a rectangle then hem yourself in. You have to guestimate. This could be a challenge for those skaters who, for example, have trouble finding their way across a rink without hockey lines as landmarks (and I include myself in that category.)
But, skating at Wollman is an adventure for many reasons even beyond its unique shape, including the weather, the location, the immediate surroundings, and did I mention the weather? I have visited this rink intermittently over the last few years as a substitute teacher for my brother, and, every time, I go through the same spectrum of emotions, starting with dread, only because I loathe early mornings, and ending with elation, because it is just such a cool atmosphere.
Last Friday, it was 16 degrees out when I entered the park at the 5th Avenue and 60th street around 6:30 AM. I had of course cloaked myself in a ridiculous number of layers, an amount of clothing that caused me to waddle across a stretch of cobblestones rather than walk. It’s a circuitous route you take through the park toward the rink from this entrance, a winding path I could only explain as heading generally in a northwest direction.
The fact that I hadn’t yet opened my eyes made my trip further challenging. As I crossed over East Drive, one of the streets the horse-drawn carriages use to trot tourists around the park, I was met with the smell of manure. I opened my eyes slightly so as to not step in anything unpleasant, then waddled down some stairs, and eventually heard music in the distance. I tried to lift my heavy eyelids a little more, accepting that I was getting closer, and would soon be expected to behave like a professional, an act that usually involves being awake.
I have discovered that all skating music, no matter the song, actually sounds like circus music when heard from afar, outside. As you approach, you almost think that you are nearing Central Park’s famous carousel, but that’s located beyond Wollman, a little further west. Gradually, the music clarified itself and I forced myself to open my eyes all the way.
That’s when I saw it, from above, through a line of trees: a gleaming slice of ice. I stopped in my tracks to take it in. The sun was ricocheting off the surface, causing it to actually glow. Bundled-up children and adults were already gliding around out there, in patterns of their own choosing. In this moment, just how, when you open the lid of a pizza box to a piping hot pie smothered with the perfect amounts of cheese and sauce and fresh basil, the angels began to sing. Chuckling, I waddled the rest of the way toward work.
To be continued, next week.
***
Needless to say, I highly recommend that you visit Wollman Rink. If you live nearby and you’ve never been, you should go immediately. If you live far away, you should make a weekend of it, and combine it with a pizza tour.
If you are aware of any rinks of unusual shape (A donut? A pear? A candy cane?), or rinks that are unique for any other reason, please enlighten the rest of us by clicking on “comment.”
To read Wollman Rink, Part 2, Click here.
To see Wollman in all its glory, click on “Central Park” at the following site: Click here.
Synchroland
February 26, 2008
I’m not a synchronized skater. The closest I ever came was participating in a few wobbly kick-lines and terrifying pinwheels in club ice shows when I was a little kid. You could argue that the intricacy of freedances or the footwork of pair skating has some similarities, and I coach a lot of synchro skaters individually on their ice dance and moves in the field, so I’ve developed a loose understanding of the discipline over the years. But I’ve never been to a synchronized competition…that is, until this weekend. I was in Providence for the 2008 Synchro Nationals and it was quite an adventure.
It was almost like visiting another country.
I discovered that we all breathe the same air and the landscape is comparable but the language is somewhat different and the customs are quite foreign. It helped that I had a wise and intrepid travel buddy and that I knew a lot of the locals. I was also fortunate that my passport a.k.a. press credential granted me access to one of the most interesting and exclusive regions: backstage.
Like any stereotypical tourist, I had my camera in hand and I was often unfolding my map (schedule) and gazing around with confusion. Fortunately, the locals were extremely friendly and eager to share their culture with me. And, despite the fact that all of the tribes are separately vying to scale a beautiful mountain called The Podium, this country is not in a state of complete mayhem. Frankly, I was struck by what an organized and sophisticated civilization it is.
One of the first things I noticed is that the synchronized schedule is incredibly specific. Of course it needs to be, because there is a limited amount of territory in which to fit all those skaters. The timetable doesn’t just tell you what time each event starts, it includes: Enter Dress Room, Leave Dress Room, Wait at Rink Side, Enter Competition Rink, Leave Rink, Photo, and Leave Dress Room, all down to the minute. From what I could tell, it ran pretty close to the published times.
I also immediately noticed that there were a lot of pre-competition rituals including off-ice warm-ups that looked almost exactly like aerobics classes or yoga classes or military exercises. I was surrounded by cheerleading-style cheers, stereos cranking out specific songs, and groups of girls belting out lyrics. I gathered that many are beholden to quirky yet powerful superstitions. I witnessed lots of inspirational pow-wows and noted that the tribal leaders (coaches) were obviously well-versed in motivational speaking.
But all of these traditions are trifles compared to the more complicated and mystifying things I observed out on the ice. Once the skaters stepped onto the rink, they effectively became clones of one another. Of course this was true as far as hair, make-up, and dresses, but it was also (mostly) true of the skating. Because for most of the events I was sitting far up in the stands (where there was also a perch for my beloved laptop), I couldn’t really see individual faces. Therefore, my attempts at following specific skaters through the program were at times futile. If I lost track of a particular skater, it was often difficult to find her again.
So, from my aerial view, I mainly watched the teams as a whole and was impressed by the different shapes they managed to form while moving in unison. The way the best groups constantly shifted and changed direction with their skirts swirling reminded me of a kaleidoscope.
One of my favorite elements was what I came to affectionately refer to as “Snakey Spirals” where two or three lines of linked skaters did triple change-of-edge spirals (i.e. inside-outside-inside) parallel to one another. I also liked the “Nomadic Circle” (again, my term), which traveled from one end of the ice to the other while spinning and maintaining its shape. And related, but even more spectacular, was the “Donut” (once again, my term) where a small circle spun along inside a bigger one, also while traveling. I couldn’t help but marvel at yet another popular trick where lines of skaters rotated beside one another, timed so that they barely missed hitting each other, the effect of which was like a row of revolving doors.
I think that one of the craziest aspects of Synchroland are the Intersections (and that one is a real term). Elsewhere, we’ve become accustomed to waiting our turn at four-way stops, but in synchronized skating everyone apparently has the green light and is supposed to cross through the intersections at the same time! We’re talking about 16-20 athletes aiming toward each other with all kinds of turns and footwork steps and managing (for the most part) to pass by each other without crashing! It is a miracle that there are not more collisions.
Speaking of which, there are occasional lapses that do result in disaster. And sometimes, because everyone is in such close proximity and moving so quickly, these unfortunately lead to pile-ups, literally. As a spectator, all you can do is wince, contribute to the collective “whoa” then applaud with encouragement as the fallen ones attempt to catch up with the rest of the group and re-attach themselves without tripping anyone else in the process. Re-establishing order after catastrophes like these is obviously one of the biggest challenges.
But, by far, the most painful moments for me occurred just after the teams took the ice. They would skate in an interesting and sometimes convoluted manner out to their starting poses and then, to my chagrin, anywhere from 2-4 skaters would turn around and skate back off the ice as if banished from the performance. I logically know that teams need to have a few extra skaters just in case someone gets hurt or sick on game day and I realize that this custom is clearly accounted for in each team’s by-laws, but ouch. It’s not like these skaters are half-citizens or anything, but it broke my heart a little each time to see the alternates all dressed up with nowhere to skate, watching from the sidelines.
What became evident as the competition progressed was that, just because you are granted citizenship to this unique country, it doesn’t mean you will immediately thrive. One team of skaters, comprised of freestylers and pair skaters, immigrated to the highest echelon of Synchroland only in October. Though they enthusiastically tried to learn the language and the laws, they were understandably still struggling. Nonetheless, they provided quite a bit of entertainment (earning a standing ovation for their freeskate) and demonstrated the fact that synchronized skating is definitely not an easy undertaking. Surely, with time and further exposure to the customs, they will gradually get the hang of it.
If you have never experienced the splendors of Synchroland yourself, I highly recommend it. I feel certain that, like me, you will find it to be enjoyable and stimulating. Thank you to all of those who warmly embraced me during my trip. And thanks also to my excellent tour guide/ sherpa/ “pencil sharpener” for making my stay both productive and pleasant.
***
To read the articles I wrote on this topic for icenetwork, visit:
Getting Pumped in Providence: http://web.icenetwork.com/news/article.jsp?ymd=20080223&content_id=44483&vkey=ice_news
Glamour on Ice at Synchro Championships: http://web.icenetwork.com/news/article.jsp?ymd=20080223&content_id=44560&vkey=ice_news
There’s a New Team on the Scene: http://web.icenetwork.com/news/article.jsp?ymd=20080224&content_id=44694&vkey=ice_news
2008 Nationals Awards: My Version
February 5, 2008
Well, the figure skaters have left St. Paul. They’ve flown back to their respective hometowns and (unless they’re competing again right away) are hopefully still taking some much-deserved time off. At the Xcel Center, already the cowboys have ridden through for the “World’s Toughest Rodeo” this weekend – apparently the ice surface was simply covered with flooring and lots of dirt. But now that’s already been cleared away as well to get ready for a concert and three Minnesota Wilds hockey games this week.
But the memories of the 2008 National Championships still linger. At least for me, anyway. Lots of journalists are wondering if figure skating is still compelling, now that we have the confusing (and perhaps homogenizing) new judging system and now that we have such tiny jumping beans for champions. I happen to think that, yes, perhaps even because we seem to be in a new era, skating is as compelling and as intriguing as ever…it’s just a matter of who and what you pay attention to.
I, quite frankly, can’t wait to see what’s going to happen in the next couple of years, in the lead-up to the 2010 Vancouver Games. Along the way, surely there will be triumphs, disappointments, scandals (both real and contrived), injuries, retirements, and lots of hard work on the part of skaters, coaches, officials and, media personnel. Hopefully, there will also be some fun.
I had a blast tracking this year’s competition, so much so that I have decided to create my own set of awards. If I could present these in person, they wouldn’t be in the form of trophies, or certificates, or medals. I think, instead, I would give out…snowballs, conveniently constructed from Zamboni shavings. After all, snow, like success, is fleeting and, fortunately so are foibles.
These snowballs could obviously never sit on a shelf. But before they melt away, the recipients could throw them at each other. Or at the media. Or at me.
So without further delay…
MOST ENTERTAINING INTERACTION WITH THE JUDGES:
Winner: Ryan Bradley. For his Short Program set to the music from The Godfather. When the music started, he looked toward the judging table and made a serious yet playful “Capiche?” gesture with his right hand. The audience tittered. Just before his mammoth Triple Axel, he coolly blew the judges a kiss. Throughout the rest of his program, his arm movements were more abstract yet in character, mob-like, somehow. Later, for the Long Program, he channeled Charlie Chaplin, including a cane-twirling penguin strut aimed, again, right at the judges.
MOST DEXTERITY:
Winner: Maia Shibutani. For seamlessly opening and closing a decorative fan while performing to Japanese folk music with her brother, Alex, in the Junior Original Dance. I can imagine that if handed this prop to maneuver while also skating, most of us would probably manage to drop it, even if it were attached to our wrists. And I’m sure that, for me, it would probably get stuck closed, or open, or in my hair, or costume, and, Lucille Ball-style, I’d have to stop and ask the referee to assist with my technical difficulties. But this 13 year-old expertly flourished the fan at all the right moments so that it seemed to be an extension of her arm and nicely accentuated both the music and the choreography.
Runners-Up: Ben Agosto and Tanith Belbin. For passing a hat back and forth in their Hoedown Original Dance set to the music of Cotton-Eyed Joe.
RECIPIENT OF MOST POST-PERFORMANCE KISSES (IN PUBLIC VIEW)
Winner: Rena Inoue. Total kisses received: Six (total does not reflect kisses out of public view). Delivered by partner (and now fiancé), John Baldwin, after Senior Short Program. This included three while still on the ice (1. on hand, 2. on both hands 3. on top of head) and continued in the Kiss and Cry where she received three more, woodpecker-style to the side of her head. After the Long Program, she would go on to receive a mere five Post-Performance Kisses (in Public View,) though one was of extended length and could therefore possibly be counted as two.
MOST SYNCHRONIZED PAIR SPIN:
Winners: Inoue and Baldwin. For their Short Program side by side spin. Four separate positions, all of which matched. Several rotations. Same exact timing. Synchronized exit. No easy feat.
STRANGEST CHOICE OF ADJECTIVE:
Winner: Dick Button. For giddily remarking that there was something “sexual” about Meryl Davis and Charlie White’s Eleanor Rigby Freedance. This performance was many things, including “fantastic,” “intricate,” “powerful” and the list goes on, but it was not particularly sexual. It seemed Dick Button just wanted to use that word.
MOST TALENT UNDER ONE ROOF:
Winner: The Gilles Family of Colorado Springs, Colorado. Todd Gilles, 21, earned 6th place in Senior Dance with new partner Jane Summersett, which renders them 2nd alternates for Worlds and first alternates for Four Continents. Alexe Gilles, 16, won the Gold Medal in Junior Ladies. She is the first alternate for both Four Continents and also Junior Worlds. Piper Gilles, 16, won the Silver Medal in Junior Dance with her partner Tim McKernon. They are first alternates for Junior Worlds. There are also two other kids in this family and a coterie of pets: can you even imagine the schedule over at their house?
INFINITE TWIZZLE:
Winner: Evan Lysacek, Senior Men. At the end of his Short Program circular step sequence. I counted 46 turns but it was very blurred, so it might have been 47. He and the Tazmanian Devil should definitely have a twizzle-off.
BEST DRESS:
Kimberly Navarro, Senior Dance. For the black and white polka-dotted dress she wore for the Yankee Polka with partner Brent Bommentre. I already have a soft spot for NavBom and a predilection for polka-dots…combine the two and this compulsory dance was very much worth watching.
FALL MOST LIKELY TO MAKE THE VIEWERS (AND SKATER) WINCE:
Winner: Michael Villarreal, Senior Men. For the fall on his first Triple Axel in his Long Program. It was one of those falls where every part of his body seemed to slam into the ice. It was kind of a stop, drop, and roll made all the more difficult to witness (and probably experience) due to the fact that he had at least four minutes and several more jump passes to go. He gets substantial extra credit for not only quickly peeling himself up and continuing but for immediately landing a great Triple Lutz, Double Loop, Double Toe. After a fall like that, some of us might still be down one the ice, whimpering.
MOST UNUSUAL FALL:
Winners: Amanda Evora and Mark Ladwig, Senior Pair. For their triple twist in the Long Program. On the landing, she was a bit forward and he missed catching her hips. He managed to somehow keep her from falling, but in the process of trying to get her balance, she looked to be groping in the dark with her arms and knocked his feet out from under him…needless to say, it’s not usually the guy who falls in these situations. I know from experience that four skates and eight limbs in such close proximity can result in some wacky falls, but this was an original. Once again, kudos on the recovery.
WORST SCHEDULING:
Winner: Senior Ladies Long Program, Placements 11-20. The event was broken into to two parts on Saturday, 8:45 AM and 7:50 PM, so those who didn’t place in the top 10 in the Short were banished from prime time. Instead of skating in front of a packed, frenzied crowd during the marquee event, they got the breakfast shift, in fact, the earliest start-time of any event in the competition. These skaters have still achieved so much and no one can take that away from them, but as far as fanfare, as far as buzz, as far as skating in front of a packed house with the cameras rolling and the commentators at-the-ready, just in case, they might as well have been in Junior, or Novice for that matter.
Molly Oberstar is a Minnesota skater who was essentially skating in front of a hometown audience for her first time in Senior Ladies at Nationals. She happened to skate last in the Short Program on Thursday night. She skated clean and the crowd went wild. She got 11th place, just missing the cut-off. Angie Lien, her fellow competitor and club member, (both from Duluth FSC), was competing in her last Nationals. I asked her about this situation. She thought it was “a little silly that the Senior Ladies had to be split up this year because of the TV contract with NBC.” Though she still had a great experience and appreciated “those who got up early to cheer us on”, she of course noticed that the “audience was much smaller than on Saturday night.”
Furthermore…we all know it’s difficult to “jump the warm-up”, in other words, place higher than the warm-up group you’re in for the Long Program (and of course the new system is supposed to make this more possible), but what are the chances of moving up after nine hours have passed? This amount of time makes it seem like two separate events. I realize that 20 Long Programs takes a long time and that the group was this large because there were several byes for international competitions. I appreciate that ice dance shared the limelight on Saturday night. And I realize all of this has a lot to do with TV scheduling, but I think that, for these skaters, it’s demoralizing. An insult.
CRAZIEST COINCIDENCE
Winner: Senior Men, the infamous 244.77 tie between Lysacek and Weir. For those of you who think “something fishy is going on” with the judging of skating, even with this new system, you may be right, but this is not your evidence. Of course the scores were probably inflated and we can debate the validity of them into the next millennium, but it would have taken at least several hours if not days for the Technical Specialists and Judges to get together and rig those scores so that they’d come out exactly the same for the sake of more media attention. That was an instance of pure, freakish happenstance. It was also quite entertaining, especially after all the rivalry hoopla created by (or at least significantly fostered by) NBC.
BIGGEST GRIN:
Winner: Rachael Flatt, Senior Ladies. After finishing a clean Short Program. Grin nicely decorated with tinsel and lip gloss.
Runner up: Rachael Flatt, Senior Ladies. Upon cleanly landing a Triple Flip, Double Toe, Double Loop combo at the end of her Long Program, her seventh and last triple pass. Grin coincided with a wide-eyed look of pure joy.
Second Runner up: Rachael Flatt, Senior Ladies. Upon receiving her scores for both programs. Grins accompanied by endearing giggles.
And they’re saying it isn’t fun to watch such young girls win. Granted, it may not be as “sexual” to borrow Dick Button’s word, but, after all, aren’t babies used all the time as marketing tools? Cute sells! In fact, one of the best Superbowl commercials this Sunday featured an infant buying stocks at his computer. My only concern is that if we get to the point where our champions are so young that they’re still breastfeeding, is that going to be considered an unfair advantage? Better revise the controlled substance list, soon
I ♥ icenetwork
January 29, 2008
Let me explain, up front, that I don’t have television. What I mean by this is that I don’t have any television stations: I have a TV and a DVD player, on which I watch my fair share of movies, but no cable service, no TiVo, nor whatever newfangled technology they’ve come out with in the last ten minutes.
I “went off TV” cold-turkey about nine years ago when I realized that watching it was in direct conflict with my writing aspirations. Basically, to be a writer you have to do an inordinate amount of reading and an equal amount of writing. You have to go out into the world and have experiences that you can write about and sometimes you need to just sit on your couch and think. Watching TV doesn’t help much. I suppose other people have the ability to turn off the TV or rarely turn it on in the first place, but I know myself and I am not one of them, so it’s just better to not have the temptation.
Yes, I’ve missed out on a lot: American Idol, Survivor, Desperate Housewives, the visual images of countless world events (I do listen to the radio, but of course it’s not quite the same), and that particular comfort of coming home at the end of the day and decompressing in front of the boob tube. What I’ve also missed is just about every skating event that has been broadcast from around the universe in the last decade. (Excluding the few events I’ve attended and the fewer events I’ve invited myself over to your house to watch, thanks by the way.)
So you can imagine I was pretty intrigued when icenetwork re-launched/re-invented itself in August and announced they’d be offering on-demand broadcasts and archived footage for many marquee events this season. I subscribed and have been sporadically taking advantage of this service for the last few months, but it wasn’t until this past week, during the coverage of the U.S. Nationals in St. Paul, that I fully appreciated how remarkable this is.
Specifically, I came home on Thursday night after work and caught the majority of the Championship Girls (not a typo) Short Program event, live. I tuned in just as Caroline Zhang was taking her bow, and for the next few hours experienced the strange sensation of being in two places at once: simultaneously at home and at the Xcel Center.
The icenetwork coverage is relatively barebones and straightforward, perhaps not as “slick” or “produced” as other broadcasts, but precisely because of this, watching it online is a lot like being there. Have been at Nationals for the previous three years, and watching many events from the stands, I can say that there are some ways in which the icenetwork experience is arguably even better than being there…and I’m only chewing on a few sour grapes. Seriously, such a small percentage of coaches (and skaters and fans) get to partake in the Big Party so it’s great that icenetwork is sharing the love.
What’s not so great about sitting in the stands is that period of time after each skater, while the Technical Panel is reviewing the video. These are basically like a bunch of intermissions, and they can seem infinite. Sure, you can inspect your fingernails, cross and uncross your legs, engage in some chitchat, and crane your neck, squinting to see if the Kiss and Cry is living up to its name. From home, however, it’s the possibilities that are infinite. During the IJS Intermissions, you can:
- Watch the icenetwork replays, which usually include three elements from each skater, either in celebration of a performance triumph or in closer examination of a foible.
- Watch (and hear) the skaters and coaches kiss and cry from close range and wonder if they realize how close (and how effective) the microphones are.
- Analyze the Double-handed Wave: a friend of mine noticed that the Kiss and Cry tends to bring this out in many of the younger skaters. This waving technique involves extremely loose wrists wobbled at about shoulder-level. I’ve been practicing mine and I think I’m getting the hang of it. I wonder if this is part of the new media training.
- Stretch. Watching any of these events will inevitably make you realize how inflexible you’ve become.
- Warm up some of that homemade soup and rejoice in the fact that it is not a concession-stand hot dog or a serving of over-baked ziti from the coach’s hospitality room. The only catch is that you’ll have to wash the dishes, but there’s time enough for this as well.
- Check the icenetwork results from events you missed or even peek at the archived footage, including press conference clips.
- Peruse the icenetwork message boards, which include comments that range from extremely insightful to incredibly…numb-skulled. In the middle of the spectrum, there are many comments that will confirm what you are also thinking, which nicely replaces the chitchat you would have participated in in the stands.
After you engage in all of these activities and return to the live broadcast, the Technical Panel will probably still be involved in deliberations, in order to insure that the judging of our sport is more fair. So from there, you can tackle some domestic projects, some billing, or that chocolate bar you’ve been trying to avoid. What I’m saying is that watching icenetwork can be quite productive.
(For the record, I do think the job of the Technical Specialists is a challenging one and I certainly wouldn’t want them to rush through their task on my account. Truthfully, the video replay really is, hands-down, the best part of the new system.)
Most importantly, and this is the key, this year on icenetwork you could actually watch the short programs, including all the skaters, and you could do so from anywhere in the country. You could even watch compulsory dances and novice and junior events (and you still can, at your leisure.) The subscription fee is nominal, but even if you didn’t want to make that commitment, you could still see backstage photos, read articles including skater and coach quotes, and just generally keep tabs on the whole Championships. All of this is nothing short of momentous and a vast improvement over what was available previously through USFS, which was really not much at all.
It’s also pretty exciting from a skater’s perspective. Far-flung fathers, sisters, grandparents, teachers, and friends can see these performances even if they can’t make the trip. And skaters themselves can log on from the competition, for that matter. This is something I would have valued when I was competing; the videotapes we ordered for our own cringing and for our family’s viewing always seemed to take forever to arrive in the mail.
Two days after Girl’s Short, I was glad to watch their Long Programs at a friend’s house where the TV was about 45 times the size of my computer screen. The NBC broadcast was well-composed, the camera-work was sophisticated, and the picture quality was crystal clear. It was an exciting and extremely weird event but it all seemed very far away; I was quite aware that I wasn’t there. When I got home, I logged on to icenetwork to see what had been posted so far.
All of this has definitely taken precious time away from my writing. On the other hand, I’ve noticed, over the course of the last few paragraphs, that it has also given me something to write about.
***
Yes, you are wise to have on your bias-detector: I have written articles for icenetwork and will do so again. I assure you, however, that I was not asked to write this and that all of the above sentiments come straight from my ♥ .
Skating at Bryant Park
January 22, 2008
There are several situations in which it would be helpful to have a neck like an owl. In other words, a neck capable of turning 270 degrees. You might look kind of creepy but you could swivel it around while driving, while in Yoga class, while walking home late at night. And an owl neck (not to be confused with a “cowl neck” – I already have a few of those) would come in especially handy if you’re ever overcome by the strange urge to go skating for fun on a crowded public session.
I recently decided it was time to check out the newest skating venue in New York City: The Pond at Bryant Park. Bryant Park is located in Midtown next to the Public Library and near to both Grand Central Station and Times Square. It’s known for having WiFi service and for showing movies, mostly classics, on Mondays in the summer. It’s now a winter hotspot, so to speak, from November through mid-January, boasting a holiday fair, a Canadian cocktail lounge fittingly named Celsius, and “free” ice skating.
A lot of non-skaters in my life had partaken of this slippery fun and wondered what I thought of it. I found it was difficult to form an opinion without actually going there, so I dug out the old Reidells, tied them together then hung them over my shoulder in order to stroll on over. (Okay, I confess that there was actually a backpack and a cab involved, but that other image is better.)
Of course the word “free” is always suspect but in this case it really is true as long as you bring your own skates (no problem) and don’t bring any valuables or wear your favorite shoes (oops) because you’ll have to rent out some NYC storage real estate either in the Bag Check area for $7 or in a locker, the lock of which (if you didn’t know to bring one) will put you back $10. I chose the latter option, rationalizing that you can never have enough locks…you never know if you’ll suddenly be called for an emergency repeat of 7th grade and it’s good to be ready for that kind of thing.
Four friends joined me for the occasion, two of whom are skaters. Two of whom are not and therefore they had the pleasure of strapping on the stylish, royal blue rental skates (nope, not free). There was a lot of giggling while we got ready. We asked each other how long it had been since we last skated, the answers ranging from “three years ago” (giggle) to “two hours ago” (giggle, for the opposite reason – what are we, obsessed?)
Stepping on the ice was like trying to walk onto the Autobahn at rush hour. If I were a more thorough journalist, I would have asked them what the rink capacity is and what the numbers were that night. Suffice it to say, the small rectangle (170 feet by 100 feet) was densely packed with limbs, all of which were flailing and half of which were attached to blades. I had this overwhelming urge to keep looking behind me. What I saw was people spastically careening, yelling “woah!” and making efforts at stopping that were only putting them more out of control and only millimeters from hitting me. What I also discovered when I looked behind was that this meant I couldn’t see what was ahead, not that that view was any prettier.
The upshot is that it was downright scary. Therefore, I wasn’t really skating. I was instead doing some kind of paranoid shuffle. I noticed that one of my friends, also a coach, was being similarly cautious. “How’s it going?” I asked nonchalantly, as if I was in a state of complete calm. She proceeded to remind me how, on her first day of coaching, ever, she was knocked down from behind by a kid who couldn’t stop, a fall that resulted in a broken sacrum (the technical term for rear end). “Oh. That’s right,” I said soberly and wondered why it had seemed like such a good idea to put ourselves in harms way like this.
I have taught lessons on many a crowded public session in my day but not in a few years, and I’d forgotten that frenetic sensation of never knowing what or who was coming at you. As my mother used to say when I first started driving, “It’s not that I don’t trust you, I just don’t trust all those other crazies on the road.” I’d also forgotten how hard and how awkwardly non-skaters tend to fall. All around us, crazies were crashing into each other and falling in ways that looked practically fatal. I’m no doctor, but while there, I’m pretty sure I witnessed several broken wrists, just as many torn ACLs and at least a few cracked skulls. The victims were surrounded then carried off by a fleet of diligent rink guards. I winced, shook my head, and also wondered why all these people were putting themselves up to this.
It was gradually brought to my attention by one of the eager non-skaters in our group that the way I was skating wasn’t what he expected. He asked me why I wasn’t going any faster and I told him I didn’t want to hurt anyone. Of course, the opposite was true. Over the course of several laps, his ribbing escalated until he devilishly said the words, “Frankly, it doesn’t seem like you’re all that good.” I looked straight ahead, chuckling, trying to not reveal my horror.
And then, in response, I peeled out. Like a cheetah, like a Nascar super-engine…like Marion Jones after an illegal dose. Except on skates. I must have been a blur, the way I was so quickly threading between people. I was a human sewing machine; all I could see were streaks. After all, I haven’t spent my life on ice skates to have my skills doubted.
At the end of that momentous and death-defying lap, I abruptly hockey-stopped by the barriers, spraying the biggest plume of ice I could muster. The rink does draw a crowd of onlookers (though less than at Rockefeller Center) and they were impressed. Well, I’m pretty certain they were oohing and ahhing…on the inside, silently. I looked over at my critic and smirked. Mission accomplished.
From there on, I skated at medium speed. I snuck in some pulls and a few modest crossrolls. Then we taught our non-skaters how to swizzle, slalom, dip and (against our better judgment), glide on one foot. They were unsteady, yet enthusiastic and appropriately appreciative of our work. As coaches, we spend so much time around young, strong, flexible athletes who can really skate (and therefore we may hesitate to demonstrate and skate full-out) that sometimes it takes being surrounded by beginners to remember that skating, the simple act of gliding, for us, is actually as easy (if not easier) than walking.
In fact, when we ventured into the middle to demonstrate some pivots and two foot spins, we suddenly became rockstars. People gathered and gawked. Myself and my coach friend were swarmed by off-balance strangers. “How do you do that?” And, “How do you stop?” And, “Do you think my skates look too tight?” “Are they supposed to hurt this much?” (Those skates? Yes.) We doled out a few freebies then returned to the Autobahn for some more laps.
By this point, I was more comfortable with the traffic and had stopped impersonating an anxious owl, so I was able to take in the unique setting. Namely, that we were skating outside. At night. In the middle of New York City. Buildings jutted up on all sides. Instead of stars, windows of apartments and offices twinkled at us from above, their occupants aware but inured to the fact that we were slipping and sliding way down below.
We found that the huge lighting fixtures set up on both ends of this temporary rink were overly-bright, almost blinding. We decided that, next time, we’d have to wear our sunglasses at night, an addition that would nicely contribute to my already um…very cool aura.
There is something about skating in the open air, without a ceiling overhead. Even if the surface is tiny, there is a sense of expansiveness, a sense of wintry goodness you can’t quite replicate inside. That night, the air was filled with the scent of hot chocolate, with laughter, the scraping and scratching of imperfect blades, and taxis honking in the not-so-distant background. I was doing something I do just about every day, but it was completely different.
***
Well, as of January 15, Bryant Park rink has been melted to make way for Fashion Week. But you can still take a spin on it next season, or visit Rockefeller Center (open until April 13th ish) or the picturesque (and triangular!) Wollman Rink (open until April 6th ish) in Central Park. But, please, be careful.
Bowman the Showman
January 15, 2008
“You have to be very tough, very competitive. You have to be a real fighter, a real scrapper, a real go-getter. Basically, you need that spotlight, you need that attention…There are thousands of Christopher Bowmans out there, they all look the same. So you have to break out of the mold, become individualized, become someone else…and spark that interest in the mass general public that makes you popular, that brings you to a higher plateau.”
-Christopher Bowman, 1989
On Friday morning, while getting ready to head out to the coffee shop to do some writing, I had 1010 WINS on in the background, the local traffic, news, and weather AM station that pretty much reports the same stuff over and over every 10 minutes. As I was packing up my laptop, the announcer reported that a former figure skating champion had died of a possible overdose…Christopher The Showman Bowman.
I stopped, sat down on my couch, and waited 10 minutes to hear him say the exact same thing again. I was both shocked and not shocked at the same time. And mainly, saddened.
I didn’t really know Christopher Bowman, but he was at the top of his game in the same years I competed at Nationals. So I knew him only in the way you feel like you knew the Seniors in your high school when you were a Sophomore: you observed them both from afar and from close proximity and after a while, you felt as if you were somehow acquainted, not in a stalker way, but in a same-place-at-the-same-time kind of way. Skating is a small world, and, of course, in those years, Bowman didn’t exactly hide under a rock.
I’m sure lots of people have meaningful anecdotes to recount about Christopher Bowman, but here are the two I’ve been replaying in my mind in the last few days.
In 1983, after he won Junior Men at Nationals and Junior Worlds, he was the guest skater at our club’s annual ice show. The Figure Skating Club of Madison always pulled out all the stops for these productions – spotlights, sets, elaborate costumes, a huge curtain along one end that created an exciting zone called “backstage”…and guest skaters. My brother and I were relatively new to skating, bumbling along at the Novice level and clueless enough to not even know who Christopher Bowman was. But he breezed into our little Midwestern rink with all kinds of California star power. He was 16 years old at the time. He had a tan (well, relative to us), a gold chain, and very slick hair. I was only 11, but I noticed the teenage girls in our club were giggling more than usual and whispering to each other with animation whenever he came out of his locker room. I’m not sure if he actually winked at them before he took his guards off on his way out onto the ice or if this is something my memory has added, but it’s certainly something he would have done.
Anyway, what I’m getting at happened during the show’s grand finale on the last night. All the girls in the club, including me, were performing in a Precision-style, or Synchro-style group number, which culminated in what can only be described as a sort of add-on pinwheel, where you’d line up in opposite corners, and, when it was your turn, gun it for the middle, trying to latch onto the girls who were already marching in a revolving line. The skaters at the end, usually the shortest girls, had the biggest challenge, since the line was by then spinning pretty fast.
Once we’d all successfully hooked on and were holding on for our dear lives, we had a surprise coming our way: the big curtain parted and my brother and Christopher Bowman started aiming for us. We were all supposed to be turning our heads toward the middle of the wheel, but we instead looked to the outside to see what these boy interlopers were going to do. My brother was grinning but careful to catch onto the last girl, probably really concentrating on not falling. On the other end, Christopher Bowman was bent over like some kind of vaudeville speedskater, pretending like he couldn’t catch up. The audience and us skaters were all in hysterics. By the time the music stopped, he finally caught up to the lucky girl on the end. He looped one arm around her waist and with the other hand, he did one of those wiping-of-the-brow “Phew!” hand gestures. He waved at the audience while we all bowed, and I remember thinking that this Christopher Bowman guy sure was a lot of fun.
Later, at the 1989 Nationals in Baltimore, my brother and I got off the shuttle bus at an outlying practice rink and discovered that the last group of Championship Men were finishing up their practices right before us. Though it was cold, we did our off ice warm-up in the rink instead of the lobby in order to more easily see them. Christopher Bowman was working on his Triple Axel. We watched, stretching our quads and calf muscles, as he popped not two or three attempts but what seemed like at least 15 of them until Frank Carroll must have told him (probably with exasperation) to just call it quits.
The next day, we watched from the stands, rapt, as he popped a few more of these on his five minute warm-up. Then, of course, in the program, he not only landed the Triple Axel, but nailed it perfectly and the crowd, as it tended to do for him, went berserk. (This is my memory of the event, anyway…please correct me if I’m wrong.) I clapped and hooted with the rest of the audience, impressed, to say the least, and marveling at his ability to perform under pressure. At that competition, he would win the first of his two National titles, something you might not have thought possible, based on his practice less than 24 hours before. It did seem as if Bowman was spurned on by the audience, as if he performed better with it than without it.
Watching Bowman compete was always exciting, and not just because he had so much charisma. He had a reputation for not training very much, so as skaters, I think a lot of us watched to see if his methodology (or lack thereof) was ever going to catch up with him, not in a spiteful way, but maybe to justify our own secret (or in my own case, not-so-secret) desires to slack off. Of course, Bowman had a surplus of talent, so he could “pull it off” at the last minute with a sure-footedness that the rest of us could only dream of.
In the last few days, I’ve been re-watching videos of his performances on youtube, both in competition and exhibition, some of which I was lucky to originally see live and some of which I saw on television. I recommend that you sample some of these postings if you haven’t already. What you will see is extreme technical competence, true entertainment, and an undeniable spark, the magnitude of which is impossible to learn and impossible to teach.
In the Up-Close-And-Personal type pieces, you’ll see him shirtless while demonstrating martial arts, reclining on the beach in swim trunks and skates, and playing paint ball before most of us even knew what that was. You’ll see him, full of bravado and so pleased with himself, in the Kiss and Cry with the horrified Frank Carroll after he’s improvised his program at Worlds. In the show numbers, you’ll see him gyrating his hips, wearing a sports jersey from whatever town he’s performing in, and dancing with some unsuspecting yet overjoyed woman he’s picked from the audience. (Other guys try this shameless stunt during show programs, but most look like idiots and few seem to be genuinely having so much fun.) It certainly appeared that Christopher Bowman was handling the pressures of elite figure skating just fine.
In this footage, you’ll hear Scott Hamilton squeal with admiration, “Nobody works the crowd like Christopher Bowman!” And you’ll hear Dick Button’s backhanded lament that, “he has an enormous amount of talent. If he’d ever get finished playing around with this sport and not being quite as serious as he could be, then I think he’d be sensational.” When Button said this during the 1988 Olympics broadcast, the competition in which Bowman achieved 7th place on the heels of a National Bronze medal, it could be argued that what he’d already achieved was, in fact, sensational. (Going to the Olympics at all seemed pretty sensational, from where I sat.) Maybe Bowman never did fully take Button’s unsolicited advice and “buckle down” but he did go on to amass an impressive collection of medals.
Probably there are a lot of lessons to be learned from what has turned out to be a tragic story, more details of which will probably be revealed over the next few weeks and years, but I think it’s important to mainly remember the wink and the chuckle Christopher Bowman brought to figure skating, how he didn’t take himself or the skating world too seriously. In one interview, Bowman says, “I don’t see how anyone can do anything and be successful at it without enjoying doing it.” He adds, almost-defensively, since he was always being criticized for his lack of focus, “I feel that there are a lot of wonderful experiences to grasp and I try to grasp as many as I can.”
Ours is a regimented sport, filled with tension, and the stakes seem to just keep getting higher. One hopes that the athletes coming up today can carry on some of his lightheartedness amid all the new rules and regulations and the ever-increasing scrutiny of the media. I hope they can have enough perspective to occasionally laugh themselves. (I hope all of us can.) After all, to use Bowman’s own words, “Skating is a performance sport.” The world doesn’t tune in to watch a bunch of stiff machines and it’s kind of a drag to be one, anyway.
In a particularly serious moment, Bowman looks to his interviewer and makes a statement that, in hindsight, is nothing short of heartbreaking. He admits, “I’m doing the very best I can. I’m only human.” In fact, it’s been reported in several places that Bowman had a tattoo on his shoulder that said, “Nobody’s Perfect.” I don’t know when or exactly why he had this etched into his skin, whether it was an apology or some kind of battle cry. Whatever the case, though, he was right.
If nothing else, watch the exhibition footage from 1989 Nationals (link below). You’ll see him perform a slow number to Louis Armstrong’s “What a Wonderful World” followed by his iconic, hammy, Woolly Bully program. At the end, Bowman falls face-down on the ice, as if dead from exhaustion. He playfully raises his head, moves his hand in a comedic “more more” fashion and, as if following orders, the crowd claps even louder. Then he puts his head back down, playing dead again.
***
To watch Christopher Bowman in his prime, click: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uuCDKDxISUM
Thank you for reading.
New Judging System: Boring?
November 27, 2007
I was at a party a few weeks ago where a friend of a friend (non-skating) told me she’d recently watched some figure skating on TV. Though she couldn’t remember what the event was called, I gleaned from her description that she had probably stumbled upon Skate America on ESPN.
“So do you guys have new judging system, or something?” She looked at me with confusion. I confirmed that this was, in fact, the case, and that it was implemented in response to so-called “Skategate” in 2002. She nodded her head in recognition of the debacle then asked how this new system works. I attempted to explain how it’s now all about accumulating points and how there is a new “technical panel” in charge of identifying the elements. I added a few details about levels and program components. In all, I was feeling pretty good about how I was getting better at describing IJS to the layperson. I concluded my spiel with, “The new system is completely different, but, you know, the more things change the more they stay the same, right?” I chuckled, and raised my wine up a few inches, thinking that me and my new best friend would clink glasses over this universal truth.
But she was asleep.
Okay, she wasn’t really asleep, but her eyes had glazed over and she was obviously sorry she asked, so I immediately hit the conversational ball into her court and inquired what she does for work. Finance. (Now it was my turn for a nap.)
Sports are big business. Skating sells tickets, paraphernalia, and, most lucratively, advertising spots during TV broadcasts. This popularity trickles down to coaches: the more kids (and parents) who see and fall in love with skating, the more kids who lace up for lessons.
People tune in because of the entertainment value. Our sport has provided a lot of entertainment over the years, and not just in the form of scandals. The public has long been enamored with figure skating because it is aesthetically pleasing, difficult, and exciting. The excitement is derived both from what happens on the ice – falls, popped jumps, acrobatic maneuvers, the worst or most triumphant skate of someone’s life – and also from the scores, afterwards.
Fans are sometimes incensed and other times in agreement with the judges, but the point is that, just by virtue of forming their own opinions, they are investing in the outcome. This is what differentiates skating from ballet, for example. Ballet is incredibly beautiful and ballerinas are accomplished athletes, but there are no outcomes or results, so the viewing experience is entirely different. (Some might argue that the experience is superior or more nuanced, but I’m speaking here in terms of mass popularity, and ballet, relative to skating, is under the radar.)
The successful contest-type reality shows like American Idol and Dancing with the Stars (and Skating with Celebrities, ha!) work on the exact same principles as competitive skating. The performances are entertaining in and of themselves and, then, everybody wants to hear what the judges have to say. (Of course, the judges, especially in American Idol, are as entertaining as the performers; there is a bombastic quality to the judges’ verbal critiques that skating will of course do well to avoid.)
The key is that sports fans want to have confidence in the scoring process: mainly, that the individual judges are knowledgeable and ethical and that the system enables them to reward competence and difficulty appropriately. Basically, it all comes down to fairness and efficacy.
All of this came into question in 2002 when it was revealed that a French judge allegedly made a deal with a Russian judge at the Olympics. Suddenly, impropriety, back-room dealing, and years of questionable tactics were displayed on televisions and newspaper covers around the world. It did seem like something drastic needed to be done. The ISU, headed by Ottavio Cinquanta, (a former speedskater) responded by doling out a second gold medal, slapping a few wrists, and rolling up its sleeves in order to perform surgery on the judging process.
Whether or not IJS was the result of a complete organ transplant or merely plastic surgery is a matter of debate. It seems to me that it was a little of both: there have been some extreme changes (Accumulation of points rather than comparing skaters! Levels! Scale of Values! GOE’s! Technical Panels including coaches!) and some minor ones (“program components” is the new name for what is basically still the artistic score; there have been a whole host of niggling clarifications regarding the placement of limbs and feet in relationship to the head or the ice surface; and all of it, of course, is still very subjective). Many people believe that, after all this, the current body, IJS, isn’t much healthier than what we had before, and, in fact, it may be worse off.
What I’m interested in, here, is the outside perspective, whether or not it is easy and fun to follow, and whether the entertainment factor is intact. Of course, as a coach, I’m inevitably looking at it from the inside to out.
Imagine if your old friend, a person you’ve known pretty much your entire life, just got a new kidney, a new brain, a new left arm, and a new face. This would take some getting used to and it would be especially painful if you had to watch him wander around all woozy and disoriented. This is how a lot of coaches, officials and skaters are feeling about skating. We’re trying to be patient and supportive while the sport re-establishes its identity within the new system and we’re working hard to believe that it’s still the same sport we grew up with, that it still has the same heart.
Meanwhile, the relationship has definitely changed. As coaches, our process of choreographing and strategizing in order to accrue points has necessarily transformed. Unfortunately, information is scattered piece-meal across documents released over the course of months. If you want to learn the specifics of how IJS works in your discipline starting today, there is no one, final place to go.
It is amusing to me that one of the more helpful references is called ISU First Aid, a set of packets prepared for Technical Callers. The implication of this monicker, of course, is that this new system is flawed and in need of rescue. These guides are some of the most thorough documents out there, so many coaches have printed them out and placed them in binders, to lug into the rink. But these pages are by no means definitive, up to date, or user-friendly.
Coaching is a new business, now. There is a new math and an urgency to keep up with the constant changes. (For further comment on this issue, see my previous posting entitled IJS: Ch-ch-changes. And imagine my amusement/horror when, a few weeks ago, most coaches received an e-mail offer from the PSA to provide IJS updates in the form of text messages!) Officials have had to re-tool as well. Both judges and the technical panelists have had to scramble to figure out what is going on.
I can only assume that if it’s a struggle for insiders to keep up, then it has got to be laborious for fans, as well. But perhaps this isn’t a valid assumption. After all, when that friend undergoes all those afore-mentioned transplants, he seems totally different to you. But if you weren’t as familiar with him to begin with, then maybe the changes in his inner-workings and facial structure wouldn’t seem so drastic. Still, I’ve got to believe that, even to acquaintances, he’s harder to relate to, now; sadly, there’s a distance.
For example, the media is having trouble explaining IJS. Of course, there is method to IJS madness, but it’s too complex to fit into a quick sound bite (or cocktail party conversation.) I think there used to be a frustrating sense of mystery surrounding the 6.0 System because the method of scoring seemed too arbitrary and abstract. Now, there is exactly as much mystery but for the opposite reason: there is a surplus of information. IJS is not impossible to follow, but it takes a lot more effort.
Maybe fans didn’t always understand the judging rationale under the 6.0 system, but they did understand that a 5.9 was closer to “perfection” than a 5.2, so they had some sense of context. Besides, this scale was finite and easy to conceptualize. There was a particular thrill when skaters earned a 6.0. The marks themselves often received standing ovations. Is there the same magic or “wow factor” now when skaters achieve a “high score”?
Something else we took for granted with the 6.0 System is that it was unique to skating, a trademark, of sorts. If a person tripped while walking down the street, then recovered with a flourish and a “tah dah!” her friend might clap and say, “6.0!” IJS will not have that kind of pop-culture recognition. Mind you, I’m not arguing for the old system, I’m just taking some notes.
There are a lot of television fans who say, “I didn’t understand the judging then and I don’t understand it now: I just think skating is beautiful.” But there many different kinds of fans. There are avid fans who purchase tickets for local and international events. Many are observing IJS like hawks and weighing in on skating chat sites. Some speckle the stands at practice sessions and clamor for autographs. There are the fans who, under the old system, before standings were immediately displayed on the jumbotron, would scribble the judges scores into their programs and somehow tabulate the results before they were posted. There was a sort of cultish bravado in being able to do this and there’s no reason for it now.
Many of the most ardent fans are questioning whether the performances are still as awe-inspiring as they once were, now that skaters are beholden to this new set of stringent requirements. Athletes are speedskating from element to element and contorting themselves in odd positions. Many contend that the programs are starting to all look the same, that skating, of all things, is becoming…boring.
Keep in mind that fans all have varying abilities to recognize elements. So while we, as coaches, are watching, we are automatically identifying elements (and now, features, and levels, etc..) but the average viewer doesn’t necessarily even know the difference between an axel and a lutz. To them, all the jumps look the same, so, if all the spins, step sequences and spiral sequences also look the same to them, we have a problem. I’m extrapolating here: If all the skating looks the same to these fans, it’s unlikely they’ll become attached to any one skater and form opinions about his or her outcome. Therefore, their investment decreases and entertainment value, for them, I’m sorry to say, is probably diminished.
While we bury our noses in our ISU First Aid binders, and brush up on our math skills, it’s important to not lose sight of the fact that skating, first and foremost, should be fun for the skaters, and secondly, entertaining to the public. I think it’s critical that we keep tabs on whether IJS is threatening this. After all, if the kids aren’t enjoying themselves and the public dozes off, then we’ll be forced to pursue careers in (snore) Finance.
***
What are your thoughts? Please add your own two cents.
To read an impassioned open letter to Ottavio Cinquanta regarding IJS, written by Sonia Bianchetti, a long-time International skating official from Italy, click on: http://www.soniabianchetti.com/writings_openletter.html
And tune in next week: I’ve been in hot pursuit of useful information on boots and blades…
Review: Dorothy Hamill’s Book
November 13, 2007
Dorothy Hamill’s new book, A Skating Life, starts off with a zinger. In the first two pages, she describes coming back to her hotel room after winning her 1976 Olympic gold medal. Her mother is there, alone, surrounded by cigarette smoke. When Hamill reports the results, her mother simply responds with an unimpassioned, “That’s nice.” Hamill didn’t know, while she was performing, or while she was on the podium afterwards, that her mother, the one person most helpful in getting her to that vaunted place, was not in the arena. Nineteen year-old Hamill was understandably confused by her mother’s absence and she would spend many years trying to figure it out. This is also confusing to her fans, so we’ll turn the pages to learn more.
One of the things I was taught in writing school is that where you start a story is absolutely critical. It’s good, for example, to start in the middle of the action. It’s good to start with a contradiction, or a surprise. It’s good to have your reader immediately and anxiously asking the questions, “Why?” and, “How?” Hamill and her co-author, Deborah Amelon, effectively utilize these tactics. After getting our attention, they go back and describe how it all began. And Hamill’s beginning wasn’t really so different from any of ours. For example, despite her impressive ascent, she completely botched an early competition, she failed her First figure test, and, she indulged in her own teenage meltdowns when her program didn’t go well in practice.
On the one hand, we want to believe that everything was shiny and happy for America’s sweetheart. After all, on TV, she seemed so shy, so innocent, so untouched by the ugliness of skating politics or the weight of family drama. On the other hand, it’s fascinating to discover that there was a darker underbelly to that winning moment, the years that led up to it, and, even more so, the years that followed. Dorothy Hamill has long been a public icon, yet, similar to Princess Diana, she has always seemed so down to earth, and likeable; I think this memoir makes Hamill even more endearing.
We find out about Hamill’s tension-filled relationship with her mother, who sacrificed much and seemed almost impossible to please. The “skating mother” figure is an industry cliché, but it’s also a reality. Skating is a world comprised mostly of mothers and daughters. In rinks around the country, we see the tangle of love, hope, desire, and drive leading to suffocation, or success (or both simultaneously) every day. Hamill is also frank about the impact skating can have on the entire family, the way it can morph dynamics and create financial and emotional strain. Hamill describes that her own situation was further complicated by depression that went undiagnosed and largely untreated on both her mother’s and her father’s sides.
The Olympic moment is revisited about half way through the book and the remaining pages deal with the aftermath. And I use the word aftermath very much on purpose. Not that there weren’t a few highlights, like: her vindicating 1st place at Worlds immediately following the Olympics, falling in love with Dean Paul Martin, and, later, the birth of her daughter. But she also encountered a heartbreaking amount of bad luck, peppered with a dose of admitted bad decisions, such as: the divorce from Martin and his subsequent fatal airplane crash, a second marriage to an apparent deadbeat, robbery, injury, bankruptcy, and getting taken advantage-of in what seems like infinite ways.
It is brave for Hamill to reveal this kind of personal information to the extent that she does. But it doesn’t feel as if she is merely “airing her dirty laundry” (one of my own mother’s favorite phrases), because she seems to be writing this for a larger purpose. Throughout the book, she examines herself and her family through the lens of depression. She is an advocate of diagnosis, therapy, and medication, if needed.
Of course, for skating insiders, this is an especially interesting read because of all the familiar names of coaches, skaters, and rinks that interconnect our small web. And I think skaters and non-skaters alike can appreciate the universal messages Hamill imparts. She demonstrates that it’s not easy at the top, and that when you hit rock-bottom you just have to climb back up.
I recommend that you read A Skating Life, if for no other reason, for a single scene that takes place near the end, after Hamill has hit a particularly rough patch. Hamill, the Olympic champion, gets back on the ice after several months off by attending a public session. It’s an emotional moment for author and reader. Despite its twists and turns, skating has always been, for Hamill, and for many of us, something very personal and redemptive. Skating, in one form or another, is something we can always come back to. I know that for me, anyway, it’s been a starting point, and…a landing.
***
To watch Dorothy Hamill’s Gold Medal performance in the 1976 Olympics, click here.
Thanks for reading.
Ice Theatre of New York
November 6, 2007
This weekend I attended the Ice Theatre of New York’s annual show at Chelsea Piers on Manhattan’s west side. The best word I can use to describe this experience is: refreshing. In this era of stringent IJS requirements in which programs have become as jam-packed as tiny clown cars and the skaters look to be rushing from element to element like actors in an old, sped-up, silent film, it’s nice to see a skater hold an edge, slowly move her arm while doing so, and gaze up at her hand as if she’s really seeing it for the first time.
This is not to say that Ice Theatre of New York is stripped-down or breaking skating into its simplest parts. On the contrary, the seven pieces in this show were multi-layered, infused with meaning, and forced me to think rather than merely observe. This is ice dance, but not “ice dance” as we know it in the competitive realm. And this is theatre, but not Broadway-musical schmaltz of the jazz-hands variety. It is, most accurately, modern dance on ice: the rink is a stage, white spotlights expertly track the skaters, and the boards are tastefully covered with black curtains so that you can almost imagine you’re in a small, off-beat theatre a little bit further downtown.
Ice Theatre of New York was founded by Moira North over 20 years ago and she now co-directs with David Liu, three-time Olympian representing Taiwan. Over the years, they’ve worked with a number of talented choreographers, both with and without skating backgrounds. They’ve received grants from both national and local arts organizations and they host an annual benefit gala. So it basically functions like a dance company…with blades.
When I was in graduate school at Sarah Lawrence College, my roommate was pursuing her Masters in modern dance under the late Viola Farber, a woman who had danced with the legendary Merce Cunningham Company. As a skater, it was fascinating to attend these student shows and not just because of the agility of the dancers. I was struck by the inventiveness of the choreography, the combination of structure and freedom, and the evident thought that went into each piece’s construction. It was also fascinating to watch my roommate do her homework. I remember her once choreographing a piece based on the mathematics represented in a line painting by Agnes Martin. Suffice it to say, this isn’t exactly how my brother and I had gone about choreographing our own show numbers to the songs of Grease or the Jackson 5.
In later years, I would come to admire the creativity of Torvill and Dean, and the Duchesnays, and was fortunate to work with choreographer Jill Cosgrove in Delaware who created, for us, several unique programs. So my window into choreography was just big enough to amply appreciate the different kinds of movement and composition I was seeing in those modern dance performances. Likewise, I appreciate what Ice Theatre of New York is doing.
You won’t see many jumps at an Ice Theatre performance. (Although, when a Double Salchow sneaks its way into a piece, the crowd erupts with applause, ready to fulfill its usual role.) And you won’t see many current stars from the world of skating. (Though they do occasionally feature guests: when I attended a few years ago, Oksana Baiul phoned in a lackluster performance, which only served to make the pieces before and after her seem more sophisticated and sure-footed.) What you will see is people skating in a way you have probably never seen.
For example, you might see skaters down on the ice, and not because they have fallen. And they may even stay there for a while. I learned from my grad school roommate that “floor-work” was a standard and difficult part of modern dance training. Ice Theatre of New York’s Alyssa Stith has deftly translated this floor-work to the ice, twisting and writhing across it, and transitioning from up to down and back up again seamlessly. At one point, in a piece called “Once Again,” choreographed by Heather Harrington, she used her toe picks to pivot around on her (bare!) stomach so that she was a virtual human turntable.
You might also see a few props. In one of my favorite parts of the show, a piece entitled “2:1,” choreographed by David Liu, Stith skated with a chair in a way that made me wonder if it was her partner, or her long-lost partner, or the partner she yearned to find…then again, maybe the chair just represented her solitude…or her imagination, and that’s all she needed? These questions were posed abstractly to the dramatic notes of J.S. Bach, and mirrored nicely against a couple (Tyrrell Gene and Elisa Angeli), who skated sometimes alongside her and other times orbiting on the same circle, yet across from her. At the end, they all stood alone on opposite sides of the universe…I mean, rink.
“Mi Andalucia,” a flamenco dance choreographed by Peter DiFalco, was one of the more traditional parts of the show, as it included the kind of movement most familiar to skating eyes. First, David Lui conjured the image of a bullfighter then the female ensemble seduced us with their hands, wrists, eyes, and lilting skirts. In the piece’s third section, Elisa Angeli and Jiri Prochazka got a lot of mileage out of a fuschia cape. One minute, it seemed like a cloak, then a blanket, then a flag, then it seemed to represent the flames of their fiery romance. And, yes, it was pretty hot.
The highlight, and the most-anticipated moment of the evening, was David Liu’s performance of “After All,” a piece originally choreographed for John Curry by dance icon, Twyla Tharp, in 1976. Legend has it that she closely observed Curry skating for several hours straight as he slowly progressed from figures, to spins, to jumps. Indeed, this did seem to be how the piece itself built, starting with Liu tracing out meticulous circles, even taking time to carve a flower out of serpentine loops, and eventually culminating, toward the end, in a tight-circled, Axel/Double Loop/Double Axel surprise. All of this was intermixed with a mesmerizing number of turns and well-sculpted extensions.
The weakest link was, unfortunately, the opener, entitled, “Heart,” choreographed by Joanna Mendl Shaw. Set to a pulsating beat and composed of geometrical repetitions, the clever angular movements and partnering work seemed to call for a synchronicity and precision that the performers didn’t quite pull off that night. Conversely, the foursome in “Meditation,” choreographed by Douglass Webster, created an ethereal, whirling effect by executing Three-turns and Twizzles in a traveling “box formation” to the sounds of Phillip Glass. When they were meant to be in unison, they were, and when turning “in a round,” or sequentially, the result was a kind of dizzying effervescence. My own trance-like state was only interrupted at this point by a hockey player trudging past the stands carrying his stick and wearing full equipment. Wrong rink, buddy!
Anyway, it was an entertaining and inspiring night, topped off perfectly at a cozy French bistro on 9th Avenue, at table comprised mostly of past competitors. If you are in the New York area and you haven’t done so already, I recommend that you put this show on your calendar for next year, or check out some of the performances they have lined-up yet this season at Rockefeller Center or Bryant Park. And it’s not a bad idea to encourage skaters to attend, too. They already know this a sport, but it’s a nice way to remind them that it’s an art form, as well.
To visit the Ice Theatre of New York’s website: http://www.icetheatre.org/
Thanks for reading and please share your own impressions by clicking on Comments below…
PSA Seminar: Time Travel
October 9, 2007
(Warning: Some content in the following installment may be highly sentimental in nature.)
There are about 450 things I’d rather do on my days off than sit in traffic on the New Jersey Turnpike and sit in a rink for 8 hours absorbing information on the topic I already think about all week: skating. But it’s pretty clear our sport is undergoing a metamorphosis, and whether you think today’s skaters look like they are floating like butterflies or flitting around out there like nervous moths, the fact is that, due to the International Judging System, biomechanics, and a whole host of improved training methods, skating is changing, and we coaches best stay informed.
This is why two friends and I threw our overnight bags in my trunk and headed over the George Washington Bridge toward the Professional Skaters Association National Seminar held at the Philadelphia Skating Club and Humane Society (PSCHS) in Ardmore, Pennsylvania. In addition to keeping my PSA accreditation up to date (this now requires 28 credits every three years), I was interested in getting some survival tips on IJS, some new coaching techniques on specific elements, and maybe just some new ways of explaining the methods I already teach, all useful to my future in coaching. I ended up getting all these things, but I also took an unexpected stroll into The Past… both into my own and into the history of skating.
This started the night before at my mother’s house in Delaware (where we moved to train when I was 14) and where, for the purposes of shameless show-and-tell, I busted out my first dress: pink, and approximately the size of my adult hand. (I was so delighted to obtain this garment that I twirled around in it on my driveway wearing sneaker rollerskates.) This dress elicited from my guests appreciative oohs and ahhs then descriptions of their own first dresses, which, whether we still have these tucked away in our closets or not, we tend to remember with remarkable detail. This led me to drag out my last skating dress, the unveiling of which understandably resulted in quizzical giggles and my contention that, “Really, it made sense in context, I swear.”
This backward glance continued the next morning when we arrived at the PSCHS where, over the years, I commenced many a season by competing at Challenge Cup, and where I was honored to perform in a few Saturday afternoon Tea Exhibitions. Most notably, however, this is where I gave the Funniest performance of my career (and I realize this is not necessarily a category most competitors carry in their catalogues.) Suffice it to say that there was a good deal of “audience participation” in the form of laughter, a reaction that reached my ears all the more directly due to the fact that there are no boards, or plexiglass, around this ice surface.
But my own memories of this place are only the tip of the so-called ice…berg. The building was erected in the late 1930′s but the club itself has been in existence since about 1850 when skating took place on rivers and lakes and people regularly fell through the ice. Club members carried twine as a rescuing device, and hence, the humanitarian or “humane” aspect of the club’s name (which has managed to confuse more than a few kind locals who have carried stray dogs and cats through the front doors.)
Upstairs, where the Seminar’s off-ice portion took place, the club’s long and venerable history was in evidence at every turn: the large, curved mural depicting outdoor skating; plaques honoring the club’s Gold testers; a quaint glass case displaying “The McConnell Collection” of skating figurines; and last, but not least, the wall of windows overlooking the ice surface itself – the ideal perch from which to watch skaters perform whilst sipping tea on a perfectly civilized Saturday afternoon.
Maybe I have an over-developed tendency to let an environment infuse meaning into an event, but it seemed like this setting set a tone for the Seminar. Directly, or indirectly, much of it was about getting back to our roots. And this seemed especially fitting on the cusp of the competition season, with Regionals occurring around the country over the next few weeks, the winter months heralding increased group lesson enrollment, and all of us, in one way or another, getting “caught up in it all.”
So I was already in a contemplative mood when Sandy Lamb stood up to speak about Basic Skills. She started off by acknowledging that some of her first competitive students, Robbie Kaine and Tommy Kaine, were in the room and how lucky she felt to have students like them to start off her coaching career. She proceeded to embellish her Power Point presentation with anecdotes from her own experience, enthusiasm for promoting skating at the grass roots, and ways to keep it all Fun. I thought back to my own group lessons in the studio rink at the Madison Ice Arena, where the ice was the most pleasing color of royal blue, (well, it was the floor underneath that was painted blue, but it took a while for me to realize this.) My delight in these lessons was only mildly tempered by my brother’s mastery of that elusive Mohawk turn long before me (and in hockey skates). My aggravation with his speedier improvement was, however, pretty much forgotten by the time my first ice show rolled around: this event included costumes, a printed program with a picture of me in it, and…I could hardly contain myself…Spotlights!
Kat Arbour’s presentation on Periodization was excellent. Her and her colleagues’ cutting-edge work in Biomechanics and Exercise Physiology at the University of Delaware has contributed greatly to the science of this sport. I was fortunate to train in that program in the years after Ron Ludington first moved to U of D, over 20 years ago. It was exciting for me to participate as a subject in several studies, the nature of which I barely understood. It is (and was) great to see that most of what we achieve on ice can be quantified, therefore repeated, and improved upon, ideally with minimal injury.
Doug Haw (coach of, among others, Brian Orser and Jenny Kirk) started his presentation by harkening his grandmother and her encouragement of his figure skating back in Canada, though he started in hockey. He also detailed his own background with the PSA and American figure skating, despite being Canadian. He explained that much of his education has been derived from analyzing skaters, both live, and on video. He struck me as a true student of the sport, and for this reason, also a true educator. I was impressed, and inspired, to say the least, by his verbal creativity, including a whole host of catchy aphorisms and poems, and an evident commitment to also keeping skating Fun, an aspect of this gig all of us can stand to be reminded of.
Later, for the on-ice portion, with microphone in hand, Haw encouraged us to keep coming back to the tracings on the ice, to look closely at jump take-offs and spin entrances. It was a clear, bright day and sun reflected off the ice through the backdrop of glass brick, so even from the bleachers, it was possible to see the tracings of the demonstrators. I’m not someone who laments the termination of Figures, but I understand why people do, and respect those who had the patience and talent for them. As I gazed at that gleaming ice surface, I could almost make out a phantom figure eight, or a whole line of them, running the length of the rink. I was reminded that Figure Skating didn’t originally include jumps and spins; it was named for the figures, or the intricate marks left on the ice.
Okay, so obviously the almost surreal beauty of this rink and this day had, by this point, put me in an altered state, a state of severe sentimentality. But who could blame me, sitting under that gracefully curved ceiling, with a wall of mirrors on the far end, a pair of banners touting home-rink Olympic Champs, Dick Button and Scott Hamilton, and that conspicuous absence of boards, providing an unfettered view of it all? Let’s face it, most new rinks in this country are about as interesting as warehouses, so it’s nice to be in one that has a little personality. Of course, I wasn’t always such a purist. When I was younger, I probably would have said that some of my favorite local rinks now – Playland Ice Casino in Rye, NY, Harvey School Rink in Katonah, NY and EJ Murray Rink in Yonkers, NY – were “old,” “beat-up,” and “dirty.” But something has been happening to me lately, and I think it might have something to do with maturity. (After all, I’ve even found myself listening to jazz music with some regularity.)
During Cheryl Demkowski-Snyder’s presentation on IJS Choreography, we were treated to a quick performance by elite ice dancers Kim Navarro and Brent Bommentre, skaters Cheryl coaches with Robbie Kaine. After a few earnest but low-level freestylers showcased their footwork sequences, Kim and Brent seemed, in comparison, to re-define “edgework” (and they did so in blue jeans after standing around all day…) I am a big fan of theirs, in part for their incredible basic skating skills and, even more so, for what always comes across as their real, honest enjoyment of what they’re doing. I think it’s important to remember and try to impart to our students that, while our seasons are planned around those precious and nerve-wracking moments of competing, it all starts with and comes back to something very simple: a pair of blades, a body (or bodies), and a sheet of ice, just like it did on the rivers and lakes of Philadelphia and on frozen surfaces around the world.
Later that night, as we sat at a standstill on the NJ Turnpike, I had to smack my own cheeks a few times to keep myself awake. Then, slap-happy in a rest stop parking lot, I even tried a few flying sit spins, employing the Doug Haw method (and absolutely no muscle control whatsoever). Back on the road, with the traffic finally moving, I had to admit to myself that, tired as I was, I was also excited to get back to work the next day. It’s like I was somehow getting nudged forward by everything that has happened before.
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Please share: What rinks bring out the Skating Purist in you? Any fond memories of PSCHS? Click on “comment” below.
To read more about the history of PSCHS, check out:http://www.pschs.org/Set_About_main_history.htm
To see the schedule of upcoming PSA educational events, check out: http://www.skatepsa.com/Calendar-of-Events.htm
