A Dream Takes Off

After ten months of successful treatment for my illness, I was able to return to my university for my final semester of college.  Ironically, even more exciting to me than being healthy enough to resume my life as a student was the fact that I was returning to school with a pair of figure skates in tow, the first pair of figure skates I’d ever owned.  I’d also managed to convince my parents to provide me with a car, a privilege they hadn’t granted me in the past.  A pair of figure skates and transportation to the local ice rink – I was set! 

My goal for my last semester of college was to finish my coursework and spend as much time as possible practicing figure skating.  I managed to dash away from campus to the rink five to six days per week, my mood improving and body relaxing the minute I put the key in the ignition.  At the rink, I met a mix of figure skaters characteristic of just about any rink in North America: the skating director who was a former national competitor and had trained at the world renown Broadmoor Skating Club and was now working as a coach; children who would spend just as much time socializing as skating, as if they had all the time in the world (as someone who wanted to skate as a child but was unable to, this wasting of time never made sense to me); the more serious skaters who took advantage of every minute of the session to practice, in a state of constant movement across the ice, careful to provide attention to all the elements they were working on; and parents sitting in the bleachers, watching day in and day out from the sidelines, as if living vicariously through their children.  I remember hoping that the parents had an activity they liked to pursue, and then realizing that perhaps supporting their children was the activity they liked to pursue.  I also met a cadre of “older” skaters, those whose skating journey had either commenced or re-started in adulthood.  In figure skating terminology, these skaters are referred to as adult skaters.  While all of the skaters at the rink tended to be supportive of one another, it was the adult skaters who became my community, who helped sustain me as I began a new era in my own skating journey. 

Having learned basic skating skills in childhood, I progressed quickly and soon discovered that I was a natural.  My stride on the ice was defined by strong, confident, graceful glides, not the short, shaky, choppy, march-like steps characteristic of most beginners.  In fact, other skaters reacted in disbelief when I shared that I hadn’t been skating regularly my entire life.  Above all, the triumph and homecoming of this new experience was the opportunity – for the first time in my life – to receive formal training from a coach.  After all of those years trying to teach myself, receiving no feedback whatsoever, unsure if I was executing moves correctly, it was so fulfilling, the realization of a dream, to work with someone knowledgeable in figure skating.  Finally, an opportunity to hone, correct, and refine my basic figure skating skills, to smooth out the rough edges (no pun intended).  I enjoyed picking my coach’s brain with all the questions that had accumulated up until that long awaited moment in time.  And I remember my coach said to me at our very first lesson that I had very good flow on the ice.  My coach’s observation meant a lot to me.  It was a reassuring sign that all of those past years in my life attempting to make do had not been for naught, that I had been able to make progress in my own unique way.

I commenced my long anticipated formal training in the sport of figure skating by working on the foundation of all figure skating moves, forward and backward consecutive inside and outside edges.  I skated a pattern down one side of the rink on the inside edges, switching back and forth between the right and left feet, bending my knees deeply at the beginning of each stroke so I could achieve the requisite push and stability to successfully execute each part of the pattern.  Then, I dutifully repeated the pattern on the outside edges down the rink’s opposite side.  The result was a serpentine formation etched into the ice by my blades on an axis, the lobes of the formation mimicking half-moons. I would then analyze the etchings to evaluate how strong my edges were.  Was I able to hold the edge throughout each lobe, or did I slip to the flat of the blade?  Was the lobe symmetrical, indicating consistent strength and quality of edge throughout?  Did I maintain flow throughout the pattern by connecting one lobe to the other on the axis?  Were my lobes on the axis symmetrical, indicating equal strength and power on both sides of my body, even on the weaker side?  I would make notes about strengths and weaknesses and keep them in the forefront of my mind as I practiced, skating the pattern over and over again and aiming to make each attempt better than the last.  My dedication to the practice of edges allowed me to enhance my execution of other moves such as forward and backward crossovers and spirals, and provided a solid foundation for learning turns such as 3-turns and brackets. 

All throughout this time of great happiness and self-fulfillment on the ice, the reality that my final semester of college was swiftly coming to an end was lurking in the back of my mind.  I needed to make a decision about what to do after I graduated.  Rather than pursue a career related to my field of study or attend graduate school as many of my fellow university cohorts had chosen to do, I decided to go down a different path and pursue figure skating full-time.  This was a time in my life when I would skate.

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