Warning: There will be frank discussion of weight/eating issues in this post. If you feel that is triggery, go check out one of our more lighthearted posts. I promise, sometimes this blog is very funny!
Lately, I've been trying to lose weight. Thanks to skating and generally trying to do more physical activity, I'm in good shape, but I'm still overweight.
Yep. I admit it. My BMI is high and y'all, I'm not going to share any numbers here, but let's just say I'm not overly thrilled with what said numbers are. Building muscle/getting in shape is not a big struggle for me, which is nice, but losing weight is an uphill battle that is not helped any by my deep and passionate love of good food and wine. I have difficulty saying no to things that make me feel good and a tendency to overdo it when I'm indulging.
I was always a very thin, but uncoordinated child. Athletics didn't really come naturally to me (other than skating - apparently when balanced on thin blades on the ice, I am very coordinated. If only I could skate my way through life in general!), but I was still fairly active. I rode my bike around, I climbed trees, I wandered around our yard and neighborhood playing all sorts of pretend games where I was a pioneer woman or a fairy or a mermaid or whatever. I could eat whatever I wanted back then.
Puberty hit early, and I was granted a woman's body immediately. Everyone who knows me in real life knows that I am a curvy lady, and it was pretty much that way from the start. I, like many other teenaged girls, thought I was fat, and with the stresses of being a teenager who struggled with depression and very low self-esteem, I eventually developed an eating disorder.
I was very lucky, in the end. I had friends who supported me (and two who went to a school counselor when they realized I was beyond their help). I got into therapy and spent years trying to overcome the control issues and build self-esteem. I struggled with food and weight issues for most of my teens and early twenties, but I can say that my friends forcing me to confront these things early may have quite literally saved my life.
Eventually, I did build self-esteem. I also gained a LOT of weight in my mid-twenties, and have spent years trying to lose it in a healthy way. Part of the struggle there is I worried about backsliding and ending up with my same unhealthy habits I had in my youth and losing the self-worth I had fought so hard for. This led me to develop new unhealthy habits - I'd tell myself that it was okay to eat what I wanted, because the weight loss wasn't a big deal. I'm still pretty, guys are still into me, I am a worthwhile person at any weight. Pass the fried avocado, done and done.
Well. I am pretty. I am a worthwhile person. I am a good friend, a loving daughter, and a smart and dedicated student. I also am now trying to lose the weight to help me be even healthier, even better at the athletics I do. I'm writing this blog entry to give me accountability in this journey. I'm sure I will have nights where I go out and drink wine with my girlfriends and indulge in that cheese plate, but for now I am trying to think of the diet as something that is not to be feared or resented for taking away one of life's pleasures. Eating healthy does not have to be a chore.
I recently told some friends that the greatest gift of my late 20's is that every time I look in the mirror, I see someone who is beautiful. I also have looked back over the last two and a half years of my life, years in which I have lost so much, but I have also gained. The inner strength I have found since my mother's death and the peace I've found with myself will make this journey easier, I think.
I think I'm going to wind this blog entry down, and finish it off with saying that I hope the work I'm putting in to weight loss and my health will also make me a better skater. I know I'll definitely be going to the rink more often to help me get into better shape. Hopefully my next entry will be all about how I've gotten the scratch spin and the slachow jump!
Showing posts with label guess I have a real life too. Show all posts
Showing posts with label guess I have a real life too. Show all posts
Saturday, February 25, 2012
Thursday, January 19, 2012
Kate: Did You Miss Me?
I'm sure you did, three loyal readers. Well! Four months after my last entry, I figured it was time to start updating our skating blog again. So much has happened in the last four months both on and off the ice - I will try to condense it for you.
The last time I posted, I was on the eve of my 28th birthday. I predicted 28 would be a pretty good year for me, and so far, that prediction has been true minus a few bumps along the way. I rocked my first semester in the paralegal program and earned myself a 4.0 for the first time in my academic life. In high school, one of my teachers once commented to me that I was very smart, I was just lazy. WELL, Mr. Risinger, you were correct. I do, in fact, do quite well when I apply myself.
My personal life continues to bop along, full of friends and good things. It's nice to have a life that is full of good, loving people who I love spending time with.
Enough about stuff that isn't skating! I'll get on to what you're just dying to hear about - what's happening on the ice? Well, currently, the answer is nothing. I had another surgery in December, and my recovery time was somewhat slow. Before the surgery, though, exciting things were happening. I finally became more comfortable with the half-flip and was beginning to learn both a scratch spin and a backspin! I was working hard and seeing tons of improvement. My triumphant return to the ice is next week and honestly, I'm just hoping that I can manage to stay on my feet.
Another big issue with skating is one of the rinks in town closed, so all of the programs are down to one sheet of ice. I haven't really been affected by the changes yet since I've been recovering, so I will allow Candice to tell you about that. You will not be surprised to hear she has a lot to say.
I was really upset about becoming ill again and having to have another surgery, but I know I'll regain my strength. I've started strength training and running again in addition to skating, and it's pretty cool how the human body can bounce back. I have handled this surgery emotionally much better than last year's, and in some ways that's thanks to skating. I know my body has limitations, but I am also often amazed by what it can do despite them.
There you go! The shortest version of the last four months possible. My goal is not to let four months pass between this entry and the next. In fact, I promise I'll update again after I go back to skating next week and let y'all know how it goes!
The last time I posted, I was on the eve of my 28th birthday. I predicted 28 would be a pretty good year for me, and so far, that prediction has been true minus a few bumps along the way. I rocked my first semester in the paralegal program and earned myself a 4.0 for the first time in my academic life. In high school, one of my teachers once commented to me that I was very smart, I was just lazy. WELL, Mr. Risinger, you were correct. I do, in fact, do quite well when I apply myself.
My personal life continues to bop along, full of friends and good things. It's nice to have a life that is full of good, loving people who I love spending time with.
Enough about stuff that isn't skating! I'll get on to what you're just dying to hear about - what's happening on the ice? Well, currently, the answer is nothing. I had another surgery in December, and my recovery time was somewhat slow. Before the surgery, though, exciting things were happening. I finally became more comfortable with the half-flip and was beginning to learn both a scratch spin and a backspin! I was working hard and seeing tons of improvement. My triumphant return to the ice is next week and honestly, I'm just hoping that I can manage to stay on my feet.
Another big issue with skating is one of the rinks in town closed, so all of the programs are down to one sheet of ice. I haven't really been affected by the changes yet since I've been recovering, so I will allow Candice to tell you about that. You will not be surprised to hear she has a lot to say.
I was really upset about becoming ill again and having to have another surgery, but I know I'll regain my strength. I've started strength training and running again in addition to skating, and it's pretty cool how the human body can bounce back. I have handled this surgery emotionally much better than last year's, and in some ways that's thanks to skating. I know my body has limitations, but I am also often amazed by what it can do despite them.
There you go! The shortest version of the last four months possible. My goal is not to let four months pass between this entry and the next. In fact, I promise I'll update again after I go back to skating next week and let y'all know how it goes!
Saturday, June 25, 2011
Kate: I Return!
Hello! Did you miss me? I know you did, crying into your pillow every night, wondering why I wasn't nattering about skating on the internet. I haven't posted much lately because my head is currently swimming with many feelings. My grandmother, Doris Spurlock, who was my mother's mother, passed away on June 5th very suddenly. So a lot of those feelings swimming around are grief, sadness, and a deep longing to hug my mom (who, for readers new to this blog, is also dead - she passed away in September 2009). The month of June has not been the kindest to me emotionally.
Skating, however, has been mostly kind to me. I was briefly feeling very frustrated and angry with myself because I've been struggling with some of the same old things (backwards edges FOREVER), but I joined this team at the rink that allows me to take unlimited classes. I am currently taking five classes and am thinking about taking even more next session. These are split between Saturday morning and Wednesday night and let me tell you what, taking all these classes is kicking my ass. I walked out of my last class this morning feeling like I'd been wrung out and hung to dry.
What I also felt was clearheaded for the first time in weeks. When I woke up this morning, I was feeling super grumpy and off-kilter, as I had all week. "Why even go to class?" I asked myself. "I'll just be the worst ever on the ice and it will suck". I reminded myself that I pay for these damn classes and so I best get up and get to the rink. I wasn't great at everything - we practiced 3-turns (both inside and outside) in my adult workshop class and I'm pretty sure mine were the shakiest, but I did them. When I did the right inside three turn into the left outside three turn, the only criticism the coach had was the my lobes could be bigger. That's a big thing! I did the turns correctly! My left inside was the saddest thing on earth, but I managed to do the turn at least once. Power skating was a killer - I felt like I was the slowest in the class, but I kept going. I left the rink feeling strong and accomplished.
This is why I skate. I do want to compete someday and I hope that eventually I won't be in the "slow group" in the adult workshop class, but that takes time and work. I refuse to quit skating because even on days where I'm frustrated and flustered, I still always manage to find something good in a practice. In times where my personal life has difficulties, I can go and skate it out at the rink and walk out feeling better.
I may not be the best or the fastest skater, but I really love doing it, and in the end, that's all that matters.
Skating, however, has been mostly kind to me. I was briefly feeling very frustrated and angry with myself because I've been struggling with some of the same old things (backwards edges FOREVER), but I joined this team at the rink that allows me to take unlimited classes. I am currently taking five classes and am thinking about taking even more next session. These are split between Saturday morning and Wednesday night and let me tell you what, taking all these classes is kicking my ass. I walked out of my last class this morning feeling like I'd been wrung out and hung to dry.
What I also felt was clearheaded for the first time in weeks. When I woke up this morning, I was feeling super grumpy and off-kilter, as I had all week. "Why even go to class?" I asked myself. "I'll just be the worst ever on the ice and it will suck". I reminded myself that I pay for these damn classes and so I best get up and get to the rink. I wasn't great at everything - we practiced 3-turns (both inside and outside) in my adult workshop class and I'm pretty sure mine were the shakiest, but I did them. When I did the right inside three turn into the left outside three turn, the only criticism the coach had was the my lobes could be bigger. That's a big thing! I did the turns correctly! My left inside was the saddest thing on earth, but I managed to do the turn at least once. Power skating was a killer - I felt like I was the slowest in the class, but I kept going. I left the rink feeling strong and accomplished.
This is why I skate. I do want to compete someday and I hope that eventually I won't be in the "slow group" in the adult workshop class, but that takes time and work. I refuse to quit skating because even on days where I'm frustrated and flustered, I still always manage to find something good in a practice. In times where my personal life has difficulties, I can go and skate it out at the rink and walk out feeling better.
I may not be the best or the fastest skater, but I really love doing it, and in the end, that's all that matters.
Wednesday, March 2, 2011
Candice: I'm Not a Natural But...
I just came across a wonderfully insightful article, The Trouble With Bright Girls at the Huffington Post website. The article is based around a study which revealed the following:
Hello, Candice's reaction to High School, how are you aside from being perfectly summed up?
Psychologist Carol Dweck has discovered the way in which girls are praised have affected their outlook on difficult tasks. "Girls, who develop self-control earlier and are better able to follow instructions, are often praised for their 'goodness.' When we do well in school, we are told that we are 'so smart,' 'so clever,' or 'such a good student.' This kind of praise implies that traits like smartness, cleverness and goodness are qualities you either have or you don't."
Hello, Candice's entire life since birth, how are you aside from being a mind blowing revelation?
A little back story, my dad was a tall, smart, creative, funny and hard working person. This, according to my mother, meant I was also destined to be tall, smart, creative, funny and hard working. To listen to her tell it, I didn't have to try to be any of these things, they were just coded into my DNA. Done and done, all I have to do is sit back and wait for my innate talents to bloom.
With the exception of being tall, obviously that attitude was not exactly true. Through a beneficial confluence of circumstances I did manage to become 5'10", get on a few honor rolls, a Dean's list, etc. My creativity, nascent in the "drawing things with crayons" phase of life, did in fact blossom once I entered the "write well enough to put a story together" part of life. Funny didn't really all come together for me until high school and the internet. That just leaves hard working.
I have to work hard at being a hard worker. If I think something will reflect poorly on me as a person I will diligently work at it until absolutely no one can deny that Candice should not be chastised, and should even be praised. If I think I can get away with it though, oh the corners I will cut.
Which brings me back to high school (and then college), when I could do a paper in the hour before it was due and pull a B+. I could coast through math and get a passing grade. I could do the summary, annotated bibliography, and first draft of a paper and then not turn in the actual final draft of the paper and pass the class. So I did. My intelligence was never really doubted by my teachers, but my ability to get shit done definitely was. I've stated many times that if I could just go back in time and slap myself across the face, and tell myself that doing homework DID have a point and that point was opening doors later in life, I would. In a heartbeat.
I'd also tell myself to get up and move. My basic motto about sports was, "If at first you don't succeed, write it off and never do it again." If running was hard, then why bother running? Not being able to run didn't affect my intelligence, my creativity. All I had to do was show up to PE in order to pass the class, so I cut all other available corners that required effort. And more importantly, required I fail the first few times.
They're talking about schoolwork here, but where I needed to hear it most was physical activity. Kate likes to say she was a natural at skating, a little whiz at the ice from an early age which she later abandoned in pursuit of tween-age ennui. It's an aspect of skating that we simply cannot share with each other. The first few times I was on ice, I was slow, I fell, and I was not a natural. Replace "first few times I was on the ice" with "any sport I ever tried ever and you've got the summary of my ability to instantly pick up a sport.
For me the ice is something I have to "pay attention and try harder" at. All the time. Every time. Working a regular schedule means that I'm able to make a weekly appointment with myself to skate for an hour that I rarely miss. Kate's had interruptions here and there described before in this blog. If I had to say who had practiced the most, it would be me.
And after almost a year of skating there are things Kate can do better than me, and things that I can do better than she can. The results, unique to each of us, are roughly even. Our enjoyment of the sport? Dead even. The result of the experiment is that if I'd put in time, effort, and practice as a child I might well have been a decent player of any sport. A star? A natural? I suppose not, but I can confidently say that doesn't detract from the value, and enjoyment I could have had.
This article was a lesson learned too late in some ways. I can't go back and re-do my years in high school and undergrad. I can't go back and tell myself that volleyball might have been a worthwhile thing to keep trying at. I can use the lesson now, in skating, at my job, and in a lot of other things.
...Bright Girls, when given something to learn that was particularly foreign or complex, were quick to give up; the higher the girls' IQ, the more likely they were to throw in the towel. In fact, the straight-A girls showed the most helpless responses.
Hello, Candice's reaction to High School, how are you aside from being perfectly summed up?
Psychologist Carol Dweck has discovered the way in which girls are praised have affected their outlook on difficult tasks. "Girls, who develop self-control earlier and are better able to follow instructions, are often praised for their 'goodness.' When we do well in school, we are told that we are 'so smart,' 'so clever,' or 'such a good student.' This kind of praise implies that traits like smartness, cleverness and goodness are qualities you either have or you don't."
Hello, Candice's entire life since birth, how are you aside from being a mind blowing revelation?
A little back story, my dad was a tall, smart, creative, funny and hard working person. This, according to my mother, meant I was also destined to be tall, smart, creative, funny and hard working. To listen to her tell it, I didn't have to try to be any of these things, they were just coded into my DNA. Done and done, all I have to do is sit back and wait for my innate talents to bloom.
With the exception of being tall, obviously that attitude was not exactly true. Through a beneficial confluence of circumstances I did manage to become 5'10", get on a few honor rolls, a Dean's list, etc. My creativity, nascent in the "drawing things with crayons" phase of life, did in fact blossom once I entered the "write well enough to put a story together" part of life. Funny didn't really all come together for me until high school and the internet. That just leaves hard working.
I have to work hard at being a hard worker. If I think something will reflect poorly on me as a person I will diligently work at it until absolutely no one can deny that Candice should not be chastised, and should even be praised. If I think I can get away with it though, oh the corners I will cut.
Which brings me back to high school (and then college), when I could do a paper in the hour before it was due and pull a B+. I could coast through math and get a passing grade. I could do the summary, annotated bibliography, and first draft of a paper and then not turn in the actual final draft of the paper and pass the class. So I did. My intelligence was never really doubted by my teachers, but my ability to get shit done definitely was. I've stated many times that if I could just go back in time and slap myself across the face, and tell myself that doing homework DID have a point and that point was opening doors later in life, I would. In a heartbeat.
I'd also tell myself to get up and move. My basic motto about sports was, "If at first you don't succeed, write it off and never do it again." If running was hard, then why bother running? Not being able to run didn't affect my intelligence, my creativity. All I had to do was show up to PE in order to pass the class, so I cut all other available corners that required effort. And more importantly, required I fail the first few times.
Boys, on the other hand, are a handful. Just trying to get boys to sit still and pay attention is a real challenge for any parent or teacher. As a result, boys are given a lot more feedback that emphasizes effort (e.g., "If you would just pay attention you could learn this," "If you would just try a little harder you could get it right.") The net result: When learning something new is truly difficult, girls take it as sign that they aren't "good" and "smart," and boys take it as a sign to pay attention and try harder.
They're talking about schoolwork here, but where I needed to hear it most was physical activity. Kate likes to say she was a natural at skating, a little whiz at the ice from an early age which she later abandoned in pursuit of tween-age ennui. It's an aspect of skating that we simply cannot share with each other. The first few times I was on ice, I was slow, I fell, and I was not a natural. Replace "first few times I was on the ice" with "any sport I ever tried ever and you've got the summary of my ability to instantly pick up a sport.
For me the ice is something I have to "pay attention and try harder" at. All the time. Every time. Working a regular schedule means that I'm able to make a weekly appointment with myself to skate for an hour that I rarely miss. Kate's had interruptions here and there described before in this blog. If I had to say who had practiced the most, it would be me.
And after almost a year of skating there are things Kate can do better than me, and things that I can do better than she can. The results, unique to each of us, are roughly even. Our enjoyment of the sport? Dead even. The result of the experiment is that if I'd put in time, effort, and practice as a child I might well have been a decent player of any sport. A star? A natural? I suppose not, but I can confidently say that doesn't detract from the value, and enjoyment I could have had.
This article was a lesson learned too late in some ways. I can't go back and re-do my years in high school and undergrad. I can't go back and tell myself that volleyball might have been a worthwhile thing to keep trying at. I can use the lesson now, in skating, at my job, and in a lot of other things.
Monday, January 31, 2011
Candice: An Unhealthy Obsession with a Healthy Obsession
The ISU wants me to go crazy. Why else did they schedule US Nationals alongside the European Championships? Today is the first day since Wednesday that I'm not glued to a computer or television screen watching a live feed of an event. They got me hooked, kept me high, and now I'm sitting here with the shakes going, "But, but I just don't understand. Why can't I have any more?" I'm this close to robbing an old lady of her purse, just so I can go to a traveling production of Elmo on Ice, or whatever.
Though I doubt Elmo's pantomiming would create the same kind of catharsis as watching Florent Amodio transformed into the happiest six year old boy you've ever seen by winning gold. Nor would the part of the play where he loses his favorite toy wreck me as much as Jeremy Abbott's 4th place finish. But it would at least be skaters on ice, and with only slightly more fur and feathers than Johnny Weir's crazier costumes.
In addition to the competitions, there is also the exciting development that I have learned my first toepick assisted jump. There were roughly two dozen ladies and two dozen men skating in Europe, the same number skating in US Nationals, almost all skating two programs. Not everybody went for the flip, but enough did that I must have watched somewhere in the ballpark of at least fifty flips (or at least flips and flutzes combined) in the past five days.
Previously forward and backward crossovers, three-turns, mohawks and lunges were pretty much all I had in common with my beloved competitive skaters. So I can only imitate roughly 1% of what they do on the ice right now. Well that and slow, strained spirals. Adding a toepick assisted jump at least brings it up to 2%. Put my tiny little waltz jump and my flip together along with my 5 second footwork sequence and you've got the world's shortest, and technically pathetic program. But still.
Saturday night I went to an unusually awesome party but I refused to let myself indulge too much, lest I wake up unable to try the flip again on Sunday. My only concession to the good time I was having was to stay up just a little too late. I got only six hours of sleep, but a lazy Sunday in bed held no allure. I got up, made breakfast, and got to the rink five minutes before they finished resurfacing the ice.
My usual Sunday skating was paired with watching the the American men skate their free on TV (so many tears and surprises and surprise tears), creating a DethSpiralz twitter account so that I can live tweet 4CC and Worlds with Kate, vacuuming every inch of my apartment to rid it of the tumbleweeds of cat hair rolling about on the carpet, doing laundry, and spending time with both my cats and my boyfriend.
I didn't just burn the candle at both ends yesterday, I made new wicks and burned it at the top, bottom and a few places in the middle. I woke up this morning with a sore shoulder, a sore back, and a feeling that I didn't get near enough sleep to make up for the energy I put out on Sunday. I could have easily put out at least one fire yesterday and saved the energy from skating so that I could have done one more thing, like go to the grocery store, or make dinner instead of buying it.
But that would have been impossible. Even right now, sitting at my computer all I can think about is getting back on to the ice and trying it again. Or failing that, I want to try the flip again and again on the floor. Or see how much closer I can get to an attractive catch foot position so that my spirals can at least be slow, faltering, but also pretty.
I'm just going to have to get a bigger candle.
Though I doubt Elmo's pantomiming would create the same kind of catharsis as watching Florent Amodio transformed into the happiest six year old boy you've ever seen by winning gold. Nor would the part of the play where he loses his favorite toy wreck me as much as Jeremy Abbott's 4th place finish. But it would at least be skaters on ice, and with only slightly more fur and feathers than Johnny Weir's crazier costumes.
In addition to the competitions, there is also the exciting development that I have learned my first toepick assisted jump. There were roughly two dozen ladies and two dozen men skating in Europe, the same number skating in US Nationals, almost all skating two programs. Not everybody went for the flip, but enough did that I must have watched somewhere in the ballpark of at least fifty flips (or at least flips and flutzes combined) in the past five days.
Previously forward and backward crossovers, three-turns, mohawks and lunges were pretty much all I had in common with my beloved competitive skaters. So I can only imitate roughly 1% of what they do on the ice right now. Well that and slow, strained spirals. Adding a toepick assisted jump at least brings it up to 2%. Put my tiny little waltz jump and my flip together along with my 5 second footwork sequence and you've got the world's shortest, and technically pathetic program. But still.
Saturday night I went to an unusually awesome party but I refused to let myself indulge too much, lest I wake up unable to try the flip again on Sunday. My only concession to the good time I was having was to stay up just a little too late. I got only six hours of sleep, but a lazy Sunday in bed held no allure. I got up, made breakfast, and got to the rink five minutes before they finished resurfacing the ice.
My usual Sunday skating was paired with watching the the American men skate their free on TV (so many tears and surprises and surprise tears), creating a DethSpiralz twitter account so that I can live tweet 4CC and Worlds with Kate, vacuuming every inch of my apartment to rid it of the tumbleweeds of cat hair rolling about on the carpet, doing laundry, and spending time with both my cats and my boyfriend.
I didn't just burn the candle at both ends yesterday, I made new wicks and burned it at the top, bottom and a few places in the middle. I woke up this morning with a sore shoulder, a sore back, and a feeling that I didn't get near enough sleep to make up for the energy I put out on Sunday. I could have easily put out at least one fire yesterday and saved the energy from skating so that I could have done one more thing, like go to the grocery store, or make dinner instead of buying it.
But that would have been impossible. Even right now, sitting at my computer all I can think about is getting back on to the ice and trying it again. Or failing that, I want to try the flip again and again on the floor. Or see how much closer I can get to an attractive catch foot position so that my spirals can at least be slow, faltering, but also pretty.
I'm just going to have to get a bigger candle.
Monday, January 17, 2011
Candice: I swear to God, I'm going to kick skating's ass this year
I mean well. I think that comes across, right? I pick up a challenging hobby like figure skating and I say, "I'm really going to dedicate myself to this." I make big goals about what I'll have accomplished with it in just one year, I make plans about how I'm going to increase my flexibility. I start a blog with my friend, and I make big promises to myself about providing regular, insightful, hopefully funny updates. Grandiose dreams of becoming "internet famous" (one step above being famous in a small town) without putting in much effort in ensue. The new year starts and I say, "No really. Diet Town. Population: Me." You already know where this is going.
While the blog and the diet (and the attempts to get more flexible) have all become cobblestones of failed good intentions on the road to becoming lazier, heavier and still inflexible, the skating, at least in part, continued. In the face of the holidays, social commitments, and well, let's say challenges at work, the temporary sabbatical from lessons unfortunately continued for the full 8 week semester. Thankfully a lack of lessons did not stop me from skating at least once a week. (It did, however, stop me from learning anything new.)
I'm happy to report that I've gotten even better at the things I was already pretty good at. The footwork sequence making use of all of my strengths can now be done at a speed that feels impressive (at least, I'm impressed). Forward crossovers, feh, easy peasy! Backwards crossovers? Much less terrifying and way more consistent. Outside three-turns? I can do a hundred of them before breakfast.
Oh but what about the things that I wasn't so good at? Inside three turns? Footwork that puts the emphasis on my weaker leg? Again, you already know where this is going. Don't patronize me with your insincere curiosity and I won't patronize you by pretending that they're not just as dreadful as ever. Despite all the good intentions, practice, and trying I've done in the past months, if there's one thing that I've learned it's that I'm more stubborn than myself.
Wait, what?
What I mean to say is no matter how many times I tell myself, "You're going to work on inside three turns until you've mastered them," the outcome never changes. I will get on the ice do a few, shaky half completed inside three turns and think, "This sucks. Not being good at something is way less fun than being good at something." Almost immediately I rebel against practice makes perfect, and rely instead on look what I can do! Unfortunately the same applies to nearly everything I want to do that requires discipline. See also: diet and stretching. Further reference: time management and my budget.
You might have noticed that the name attached to this blog is Verochka Grinkov. Verochka Grinkov is the name I decided should be applied not to my imaginary friend, but to my imaginary life coach. In my mind, Verochka is a solid, no-nonsense Russian woman in head-to-toe fox fur. Her hair is dyed the same aggressive red as her lipstick. She frowns at me constantly. Verochka is the voice in my head that tells me to shut up and skate, sighs in dismay when I have the fourth (or fifth, or seventh) cookie, and tells me to walk it off when I get an unexpected kick in the keister from life. If Verochka was a real person, my life would be in much better shape because I would probably be terrified of her. Alas, though, she is easily dissipated with a wave of my hand, leaving me to my cookies and lethargy.
Alas, Verochka Grinkov is not real, but there are figure skating that are. I've signed up for another round of lessons, and hopefully their polite but disappointed faces when they tell me to execute an inside three turn will at last shame me into trying harder at them. I'm hoping that with lessons blog updates will become much more regular, skating will become much more fulfilling, and progress will become much more quantifiable. All good things.
But you know, in that same vein, I should probably start calling my mother after every meal in order to get an approximation of Verochka's disapproval at eating the same soup for three days until I go crazy and decide life will only be worth living if I eat three tacos with chips and queso. Hey! Maybe I could even tape Martha Stewarts face to the side of my cats and be guilted into doing the dishes more often!
While the blog and the diet (and the attempts to get more flexible) have all become cobblestones of failed good intentions on the road to becoming lazier, heavier and still inflexible, the skating, at least in part, continued. In the face of the holidays, social commitments, and well, let's say challenges at work, the temporary sabbatical from lessons unfortunately continued for the full 8 week semester. Thankfully a lack of lessons did not stop me from skating at least once a week. (It did, however, stop me from learning anything new.)
I'm happy to report that I've gotten even better at the things I was already pretty good at. The footwork sequence making use of all of my strengths can now be done at a speed that feels impressive (at least, I'm impressed). Forward crossovers, feh, easy peasy! Backwards crossovers? Much less terrifying and way more consistent. Outside three-turns? I can do a hundred of them before breakfast.
Oh but what about the things that I wasn't so good at? Inside three turns? Footwork that puts the emphasis on my weaker leg? Again, you already know where this is going. Don't patronize me with your insincere curiosity and I won't patronize you by pretending that they're not just as dreadful as ever. Despite all the good intentions, practice, and trying I've done in the past months, if there's one thing that I've learned it's that I'm more stubborn than myself.
Wait, what?
What I mean to say is no matter how many times I tell myself, "You're going to work on inside three turns until you've mastered them," the outcome never changes. I will get on the ice do a few, shaky half completed inside three turns and think, "This sucks. Not being good at something is way less fun than being good at something." Almost immediately I rebel against practice makes perfect, and rely instead on look what I can do! Unfortunately the same applies to nearly everything I want to do that requires discipline. See also: diet and stretching. Further reference: time management and my budget.
You might have noticed that the name attached to this blog is Verochka Grinkov. Verochka Grinkov is the name I decided should be applied not to my imaginary friend, but to my imaginary life coach. In my mind, Verochka is a solid, no-nonsense Russian woman in head-to-toe fox fur. Her hair is dyed the same aggressive red as her lipstick. She frowns at me constantly. Verochka is the voice in my head that tells me to shut up and skate, sighs in dismay when I have the fourth (or fifth, or seventh) cookie, and tells me to walk it off when I get an unexpected kick in the keister from life. If Verochka was a real person, my life would be in much better shape because I would probably be terrified of her. Alas, though, she is easily dissipated with a wave of my hand, leaving me to my cookies and lethargy.
Alas, Verochka Grinkov is not real, but there are figure skating that are. I've signed up for another round of lessons, and hopefully their polite but disappointed faces when they tell me to execute an inside three turn will at last shame me into trying harder at them. I'm hoping that with lessons blog updates will become much more regular, skating will become much more fulfilling, and progress will become much more quantifiable. All good things.
But you know, in that same vein, I should probably start calling my mother after every meal in order to get an approximation of Verochka's disapproval at eating the same soup for three days until I go crazy and decide life will only be worth living if I eat three tacos with chips and queso. Hey! Maybe I could even tape Martha Stewarts face to the side of my cats and be guilted into doing the dishes more often!
Wednesday, November 24, 2010
Kate: I Wanna Taste The Tastes And Fix The Problems
I haven’t been skating recently. Today I am going back on the ice after an almost two-week hiatus, despite having had copious amounts of time off from work recently. I should have used that time to go skating and practice so that I don’t lose my mad skillz (by which I mean ability to sometimes do stuff and not fall), but instead I chose to spend my time in my PJs either on the internet, reading, or staring out the window feeling sorry for myself.
Why did I do this, you ask? I love skating! Skating makes me happy! It’s the only physical activity that I’ll willingly go do! What’s the problem?
The problem is this: I have to have surgery again.
Ten years ago, I was diagnosed with endometriosis. I’ve talked about that before on this blog, briefly, but today I am going to talk about it a little more. I had five surgeries in six years and was on unpleasant drugs that made me miserable, but didn’t really do much to fix the problem. I spent my late teens/early twenties always worried about pain. By the time I had my last surgery, my doctor was worriedly telling me that he really, really didn’t want to do this, but if things kept on like they had been, I would have a hysterectomy by the time I was thirty.
Then, something crazy happened. I got better.
My last surgery was in January 2006 and they found NO endometriosis. I still had ovarian cysts, but those are more manageable. I was even able to stop taking hormonal birth control for a while and have totally normal cycles. I barely even had to take painkillers! I had a couple of scares, but everything has been fine for four years.
Recently, though, things have gotten a lot more painful. I knew that something was wrong, but ignored it for a while, hoping against hope that it would go away. Finally, though, I realized I had to face it and I went to the doctor. I described what’s been happening, he did an exam, we sat and talked for a long time about my options and my medical history. We even went back through my file to see what things had been like in the past. This surgery is not a choice I made lightly, but it’s what needs to be done. I was really sad and basically retreated for a couple of weeks, going back to old escapism habits (reading, internet, cookies) and avoiding skating because the pain interferes with it sometimes and I find that really upsetting.
I’m going skating this afternoon, though. It’s time to stop sitting around feeling sorry for myself and go back to doing things that make me feel good physically as well as mentally. Things might be getting tough with my health, but that’s all the more reason to stick with something that helps me be healthier. I am on a break from lessons right now, but I’m going back to skating at least three times a week. It will help me to feel better about myself and the current stresses life is throwing at me.
Why did I do this, you ask? I love skating! Skating makes me happy! It’s the only physical activity that I’ll willingly go do! What’s the problem?
The problem is this: I have to have surgery again.
Ten years ago, I was diagnosed with endometriosis. I’ve talked about that before on this blog, briefly, but today I am going to talk about it a little more. I had five surgeries in six years and was on unpleasant drugs that made me miserable, but didn’t really do much to fix the problem. I spent my late teens/early twenties always worried about pain. By the time I had my last surgery, my doctor was worriedly telling me that he really, really didn’t want to do this, but if things kept on like they had been, I would have a hysterectomy by the time I was thirty.
Then, something crazy happened. I got better.
My last surgery was in January 2006 and they found NO endometriosis. I still had ovarian cysts, but those are more manageable. I was even able to stop taking hormonal birth control for a while and have totally normal cycles. I barely even had to take painkillers! I had a couple of scares, but everything has been fine for four years.
Recently, though, things have gotten a lot more painful. I knew that something was wrong, but ignored it for a while, hoping against hope that it would go away. Finally, though, I realized I had to face it and I went to the doctor. I described what’s been happening, he did an exam, we sat and talked for a long time about my options and my medical history. We even went back through my file to see what things had been like in the past. This surgery is not a choice I made lightly, but it’s what needs to be done. I was really sad and basically retreated for a couple of weeks, going back to old escapism habits (reading, internet, cookies) and avoiding skating because the pain interferes with it sometimes and I find that really upsetting.
I’m going skating this afternoon, though. It’s time to stop sitting around feeling sorry for myself and go back to doing things that make me feel good physically as well as mentally. Things might be getting tough with my health, but that’s all the more reason to stick with something that helps me be healthier. I am on a break from lessons right now, but I’m going back to skating at least three times a week. It will help me to feel better about myself and the current stresses life is throwing at me.
Thursday, November 18, 2010
Candice: The Difference Between Doing, Trying, and Trying to Try
The other day my beloved coach who is not actually my coach full on Yoda-ed me. He basically gave me a fifteen second lesson that amounted to "Do or do not. There is no try."
While I'm not going to argue with Yoda or my beloved not-coach but there has always been something about this statement that irked me. Probably this is because an awful lot of my life spent trying, rather than doing. If my successes are only ever measured by accomplishment, that leaves me with a somewhat slim curriculum vitae, let's say.
The list of things that I have tried in figure skating is nice and long. It sits there, each attempted item highlighted, next to my computer at work. It starts from the embarrassingly simple: "Sit on ice and stand up" to the much more impressive "Waltz jump." It makes me smile to look over and see that more thing are highlighted now than not. But it's a huge bummer to think of how many of those things I can actually do well.
With the holidays I have taken a brief hiatus from official lessons. It's difficult to know when my Saturdays are free, and while I generally love spending money on myself Christmas is nigh and I'd like to make people presents this year instead of gleefully announcing, "I can do a scratch spin!" and expecting them to be as happy. The break from lessons makes good sense, but it's hard not to feel as though I'm stagnating, because that good feeling from trying something new is now gone for a while.
That means it's time to start actually doing things well. Where's the fun in that. A try is a try. It can fail or succeed and you get points for attempting something new. Doing means you have to face the fact that you still get a little tripped on counter clockwise backwards crossovers. (There's an angry bruise on my left buttcheek attesting to this fact.) Or friggin' edge pulls/power pulls. I've tried to achieve a ripping sound dozens of times. I've done it not even once. Doing means dealing with being disappointed by failure.
As in skating, so in life. I've been "trying" to explore the job market. I've been "trying" to remember to stretch everyday. I've been "trying' to eat right. This is, I've been trying if "trying" means "thinking regularly about how I need to that." I don't know what is stopping me, but I'd venture a guess that the prime candidates are "forgetfulness" "fatigue" and "fried foods."
Some things have definitely improved. Going clockwise my footwork sequence has improved, (counter clockwise, eh, let's not talk about it). Inside 3-turns are now happening instead of stubbornly refusing to happen (they're just really ugly and shaky). I've even started using music to help me get into the mood to practice stroking. Snazzy. But all of this is still kid's stuff in the end. When I was just "trying" I could pretend I was getting ever closer to the big leagues (double axel, here I come!)
I was also recently told that testing for Adult Pre-Bronze may well take two months of private coaching.I think I can do it in one but that still means that I'll be looking at Spring of 2011 instead of this year. That will in fact bring this blog up to a year, but I'd rather hoped that a year anniversary of this blog would feature me and Kate throwing the deuces at the end of a video which showed us doing some pretty slick skating. Not with us posting a certificate showing that we can do acceptable 3-turns.
Who knows, maybe some slick skating is on the horizon after all. I'm going to my Thursday practice tonight to keep doing, and keep thinking about what mastering these things will allow me to at least try. Though I admit that I do sort of wish I could strap a green muppet to my back that would squawk at me from time to time "Named must your fear be before banish it you can!"
While I'm not going to argue with Yoda or my beloved not-coach but there has always been something about this statement that irked me. Probably this is because an awful lot of my life spent trying, rather than doing. If my successes are only ever measured by accomplishment, that leaves me with a somewhat slim curriculum vitae, let's say.
The list of things that I have tried in figure skating is nice and long. It sits there, each attempted item highlighted, next to my computer at work. It starts from the embarrassingly simple: "Sit on ice and stand up" to the much more impressive "Waltz jump." It makes me smile to look over and see that more thing are highlighted now than not. But it's a huge bummer to think of how many of those things I can actually do well.
With the holidays I have taken a brief hiatus from official lessons. It's difficult to know when my Saturdays are free, and while I generally love spending money on myself Christmas is nigh and I'd like to make people presents this year instead of gleefully announcing, "I can do a scratch spin!" and expecting them to be as happy. The break from lessons makes good sense, but it's hard not to feel as though I'm stagnating, because that good feeling from trying something new is now gone for a while.
That means it's time to start actually doing things well. Where's the fun in that. A try is a try. It can fail or succeed and you get points for attempting something new. Doing means you have to face the fact that you still get a little tripped on counter clockwise backwards crossovers. (There's an angry bruise on my left buttcheek attesting to this fact.) Or friggin' edge pulls/power pulls. I've tried to achieve a ripping sound dozens of times. I've done it not even once. Doing means dealing with being disappointed by failure.
As in skating, so in life. I've been "trying" to explore the job market. I've been "trying" to remember to stretch everyday. I've been "trying' to eat right. This is, I've been trying if "trying" means "thinking regularly about how I need to that." I don't know what is stopping me, but I'd venture a guess that the prime candidates are "forgetfulness" "fatigue" and "fried foods."
Some things have definitely improved. Going clockwise my footwork sequence has improved, (counter clockwise, eh, let's not talk about it). Inside 3-turns are now happening instead of stubbornly refusing to happen (they're just really ugly and shaky). I've even started using music to help me get into the mood to practice stroking. Snazzy. But all of this is still kid's stuff in the end. When I was just "trying" I could pretend I was getting ever closer to the big leagues (double axel, here I come!)
I was also recently told that testing for Adult Pre-Bronze may well take two months of private coaching.I think I can do it in one but that still means that I'll be looking at Spring of 2011 instead of this year. That will in fact bring this blog up to a year, but I'd rather hoped that a year anniversary of this blog would feature me and Kate throwing the deuces at the end of a video which showed us doing some pretty slick skating. Not with us posting a certificate showing that we can do acceptable 3-turns.
Who knows, maybe some slick skating is on the horizon after all. I'm going to my Thursday practice tonight to keep doing, and keep thinking about what mastering these things will allow me to at least try. Though I admit that I do sort of wish I could strap a green muppet to my back that would squawk at me from time to time "Named must your fear be before banish it you can!"
Sunday, October 31, 2010
Candice: In Pursuit of an Ass
When people ask me, “Why figure skating?” I tend not to respond with “Sometimes I wish I was Johnny Weir.” While true, not everyone knows who he is, and those who do sometimes find him abrasive or repugnant (one person’s fabulousness is another person’s famewhoring). Nor do I respond with the equally true, “I have a small obsession with self-improvement and figure skating offers me the opportunity to always have harder and harder challenges” because that’s a mouthful and people would probably worry about my mental health.
So instead when people ask, “Figure skating? Really?” I say, “Yeah! I decided I finally wanted to have an ass.” Six months ago I did physically possess an ass, but it was not the ass I wanted. I don’t make it a habit of obsessing about body parts. I really don’t like being the girl who goes on a bad date and bursts out with “It’s my hips, isn’t it?” ala Tai from Clueless. But there are certain inalienable truths, and my butt was less than stellar. It had the usual problem of expanding left to right, but it also, inexplicably, up and down. If I hadn’t done something to stop it, there would have no longer been any distinguishable difference between my butt and my thighs, because though it was expansive it was also as flat as Kansas.
I had taken up running for a year, which gave me a lot more endurance and confidence and some pretty good looking calves, but my ass didn’t care. I could run six miles and my ass would have just shrugged and continued doing its best imitation of the Great Plains. Elliptical machines were similarly a bust because well, I don’t particularly enjoy being on them, particularly while precariously perched backwards and trying not to look like I’m six seconds away from falling off of it (even though I am). I did Carmen Electra’s Strip Aerobics (don’t tell my mom). I did bridge exercises and lunges, and a five minute butt exercise I read once in a magazine and carried in the back of my head for years.
But it was all to no avail. I could wage whatever attack I wanted to, but it seemed like genetics had already won the war before I even showed up to the battlefield. I got used to it, and luckily, I’m a huge example of “out of sight, out of mind.” So long as I wasn’t looking in a full length mirror I could manage not to feel too depressed about it. (And there were plenty of other things to celebrate, if you don’t mind me saying.)
And then suddenly: figure skating. Google any figure skater and take a look at the rear view. Chances are you’ll find they’re carrying some junk in the trunk, but it’s less junk and more solid muscle. Tall, short, delicately framed, or stoutly built, male, or female, it didn’t matter. They all had an ass they could be proud of. A hypothesis formed. If I stuck with the skating, maybe I could get even a pale imitation and start actually filling out a pair of jeans.
There’s not too much difference between watching grass grow and watching an ass grow. They both happen so slowly that you don’t really notice it until one day you need to mow the lawn or you put on one of your pencil skirts and think, “Oh god, I’ve gained weight! Why doesn’t this fit anymore?” For a few weeks I was silently upset at the idea that I had finally started to gain the weight I’d been holding at bay for two years. Until one day Kate looked over and said, “You’re getting such a cute little ass.”
“Really?” I asked. I was quite pleased at the thought but didn’t really believe it. Best friends tell the truth, but they also sometimes say the truth in the biggest, nicest way possible. I immediately went in search of my arch nemeses, the full length mirror. The full length mirror would never, and had never lied.
Lo and behold, people, there was an ass. Now I’m not going to say I’ve got anything back there to rival J.Lo. And certainly not my beloved Johnny Weir. But in a way it’s kind of like how Texans think we know mountains from mountains until we actually see the Rockies or some other real mountain range and go “What the hell is that? It’s huge!” Right now I’ve got my molehill, and I’m happy. But I’ve got my hobby and in a full year, who knows, maybe I’ll get that mountain.
So instead when people ask, “Figure skating? Really?” I say, “Yeah! I decided I finally wanted to have an ass.” Six months ago I did physically possess an ass, but it was not the ass I wanted. I don’t make it a habit of obsessing about body parts. I really don’t like being the girl who goes on a bad date and bursts out with “It’s my hips, isn’t it?” ala Tai from Clueless. But there are certain inalienable truths, and my butt was less than stellar. It had the usual problem of expanding left to right, but it also, inexplicably, up and down. If I hadn’t done something to stop it, there would have no longer been any distinguishable difference between my butt and my thighs, because though it was expansive it was also as flat as Kansas.
I had taken up running for a year, which gave me a lot more endurance and confidence and some pretty good looking calves, but my ass didn’t care. I could run six miles and my ass would have just shrugged and continued doing its best imitation of the Great Plains. Elliptical machines were similarly a bust because well, I don’t particularly enjoy being on them, particularly while precariously perched backwards and trying not to look like I’m six seconds away from falling off of it (even though I am). I did Carmen Electra’s Strip Aerobics (don’t tell my mom). I did bridge exercises and lunges, and a five minute butt exercise I read once in a magazine and carried in the back of my head for years.
But it was all to no avail. I could wage whatever attack I wanted to, but it seemed like genetics had already won the war before I even showed up to the battlefield. I got used to it, and luckily, I’m a huge example of “out of sight, out of mind.” So long as I wasn’t looking in a full length mirror I could manage not to feel too depressed about it. (And there were plenty of other things to celebrate, if you don’t mind me saying.)
And then suddenly: figure skating. Google any figure skater and take a look at the rear view. Chances are you’ll find they’re carrying some junk in the trunk, but it’s less junk and more solid muscle. Tall, short, delicately framed, or stoutly built, male, or female, it didn’t matter. They all had an ass they could be proud of. A hypothesis formed. If I stuck with the skating, maybe I could get even a pale imitation and start actually filling out a pair of jeans.
There’s not too much difference between watching grass grow and watching an ass grow. They both happen so slowly that you don’t really notice it until one day you need to mow the lawn or you put on one of your pencil skirts and think, “Oh god, I’ve gained weight! Why doesn’t this fit anymore?” For a few weeks I was silently upset at the idea that I had finally started to gain the weight I’d been holding at bay for two years. Until one day Kate looked over and said, “You’re getting such a cute little ass.”
“Really?” I asked. I was quite pleased at the thought but didn’t really believe it. Best friends tell the truth, but they also sometimes say the truth in the biggest, nicest way possible. I immediately went in search of my arch nemeses, the full length mirror. The full length mirror would never, and had never lied.
Lo and behold, people, there was an ass. Now I’m not going to say I’ve got anything back there to rival J.Lo. And certainly not my beloved Johnny Weir. But in a way it’s kind of like how Texans think we know mountains from mountains until we actually see the Rockies or some other real mountain range and go “What the hell is that? It’s huge!” Right now I’ve got my molehill, and I’m happy. But I’ve got my hobby and in a full year, who knows, maybe I’ll get that mountain.
Tuesday, June 8, 2010
Candice: I'd rather be skating...
Okay! So that part where I thought I'd managed to get up and shake off the worst of the car accident! Nope. The following week I discovered my sweet little Suzuki was going to that big dealership in the sky, I committed to my first major purchase in adulthood, then quite quickly went to Denver for a brief vacation and came home to hit the ground running when it comes to my social life.
In other words, clearly I am made of fail for not squeezing blood from the turnip and finding a moment to post. But please, dear four readers, don't assume that at any point in the past two weeks I spent more than an hour not thinking about skating. Because, wow, I totally was. The nice thing about an insane hobby is it affords a lot of different types of escape.
Need to feel motivated? Think about how you've mastered only about a sixth of the basic footwork defined by the US Figure Skating Federation.
Need to feel soothed? Watch Stephane Lambiel's Ne Me Quitte Pas or Johnny Weir's Feelin' Good and be gently lifted away by art.
Need to feel invigorated? Get on the ice for half hour and let the cold bite your face while you find out you're better at something this time than you were before.
Need to laugh? My God, people, it's figure skating. It's pretty much guaranteed to make you laugh. The costumes ALONE are worth their own post.
Want drama? People. Skating has drama. Remember Tonya Harding? Or Surya Bonaly weeping openly at the 1994 World Championships and refusing to wear the Silver Medal? Or what about the PTSD inducing crash had by Jessica Dube and Bryce Davidson?
Feeling like indulging in a little schadenfreude? Watch Brian Joubert meltdown in his 2010 Olympic Short Program and then turn the Kiss and Cry section where he awaited his score into the Frown and Swear.
Need to cry? Read about the tragic love story of Sergei Grinkov and Ekaterina Gordeeva. Or watch Joannie Rochette's tribute to her mother who died DURING the Olympics.
Anyway, point is, there's a figure skating for every mood. I'm pretty sure that aerial skiing can't claim that.
In other words, clearly I am made of fail for not squeezing blood from the turnip and finding a moment to post. But please, dear four readers, don't assume that at any point in the past two weeks I spent more than an hour not thinking about skating. Because, wow, I totally was. The nice thing about an insane hobby is it affords a lot of different types of escape.
Need to feel motivated? Think about how you've mastered only about a sixth of the basic footwork defined by the US Figure Skating Federation.
Need to feel soothed? Watch Stephane Lambiel's Ne Me Quitte Pas or Johnny Weir's Feelin' Good and be gently lifted away by art.
Need to feel invigorated? Get on the ice for half hour and let the cold bite your face while you find out you're better at something this time than you were before.
Need to laugh? My God, people, it's figure skating. It's pretty much guaranteed to make you laugh. The costumes ALONE are worth their own post.
Want drama? People. Skating has drama. Remember Tonya Harding? Or Surya Bonaly weeping openly at the 1994 World Championships and refusing to wear the Silver Medal? Or what about the PTSD inducing crash had by Jessica Dube and Bryce Davidson?
Feeling like indulging in a little schadenfreude? Watch Brian Joubert meltdown in his 2010 Olympic Short Program and then turn the Kiss and Cry section where he awaited his score into the Frown and Swear.
Need to cry? Read about the tragic love story of Sergei Grinkov and Ekaterina Gordeeva. Or watch Joannie Rochette's tribute to her mother who died DURING the Olympics.
Anyway, point is, there's a figure skating for every mood. I'm pretty sure that aerial skiing can't claim that.
Saturday, May 15, 2010
Candice: What I Have in Common With the 6 Year Old in the Helmet
I'll give you three guesses as to why I feel like me and a 6 year old boy could swap some stories on the ice. No, it's not our mutual love of Chef Boyardee or our shared fascination with dinosaurs.
No, we both fell flat on our asses today and got up laughing. The only difference is he was falling like 1 foot down onto the ice because he was approximately 3 feet tall. I was falling roughly a million feet because I'm actually taller than the entire world. (I have photographic proof, in fact. See below: )
That's me, busy being taller than a refrigerator in my skates. So when the little boy falls down, he giggles and gets up and rockets off for more mayhem. When I fall down, I laugh because it's funny, then get up gingerly and try to pretend my ass isn't shouting "What the fuck?" at me.
Anyway. Before today, I've only fallen once on the ice during several weeks of skating. It was something of a matter of pride, but at the same time, I knew it wasn't a streak that could last. Everybody falls. Olympic skaters, child prodigies, hell, one time I saw a figure skating coach full on eat it. I was trying to make peace with the concept that I'm not going to learn to jump without falling. Still, I was sort of hoping to do that on my own time.
But the universe decided to help me out a bit by abusing my body before I ever even got on the ice. Yesterday I got in a car accident and so maybe I wasn't exactly bringing my A-game to the lesson today. That's right, for those of you who doubted my commitment to sparkle motion, I'll repeat that. I got in a car accident yesterday and still went to skating class.
The car accident was mild, and involved only me and my complete negligence for vehicle maintenance. It was raining yesterday and my tires slipped a little while I left a parking lot, but did I think, "Hey now, Candice. Be careful on sharp turns. Your tires seem to be having an issue" to myself? No, I did not think that, I thought, "Dude, is there anything OTHER than Lady Gaga on the radio?" And as my reward, I skidded across a wet patch of road on the access road of a major highway and hit the median.
Embarrassed, I tried to reverse and drive away only to discover that I had actually REALLY broke it. I broke my car. I couldn't even open the passenger side door. The axle was bent, the tire was popped. I'd officially screwed up big. I spent the next hour sitting in my car in the rain, calling people on the phone, while people drove past me, and a sweet co-worker of mine and a cop waited for the tow truck. It was my first real accident, the first time ever that I'd rendered a car un-driveable.
Did I cry? No. Not even when I realized that the insurance my mother pays for me is liability only. Meaning that it is all on me to get this car fixed. Meaning that a planned trip to Montreal is off. Meaning that "No thank you," is going to have to start coming out of my mouth more and more. As in:
"More wine, madame?"
"No. Thank you."
"Would you like to try this on, miss?"
"No. But thank you."
"Would you like to super size this for .75 cents today?"
"Let me check. ::opens wallet:: No, thank you."
Did I cry? No. Did I want to. Yes. Luckily, my family has passed down a long and storied tradition of coping with life's little curve balls: drinking. Wine was poured for me by 6:30pm, and remained steadily available until midnight. I tried to stretch out the tension and soreness in my back and neck, but even laying down I knew there was no real way to fight it.
But skating class was pre-paid, non-refundable, and cannot be rescheduled. I got up this morning, put on my leg warmers, and went to class. My back was stiff, and I had to take two Aleve before even walking out the door, but I went. I think I fell within the first five minutes of class, first executing that classic sort of Scooby-Doo-running-in-place move before ending up ass first on the ice. Undeterred I brushed off the ice, and set about trying to master swizzles, backwards swizzles, half swizzles, one footed glides (...sort of) slalom, backward slalom (...not really). Crossovers were discussed but by no means attempted. And then, magic words came from our instructors lips: "Let's do a spin."
I am mesmerized by spins. I'll soon be writing up my experience seeing Stars on Ice where I will explain why some traditional, well-beloved figure skating moves leave me snoring with boredom, but good lord, do I love spins. The only cruel thing was the instructor had us try it at the very end of class with barely a minute to really attempt it.
So what did I do? Did I say, "Well Candice, you've done enough. You were in an accident yesterday, and there'll always be more ice time later." No. I immediately paid the fee for to keep skating so I could practice my very first spin. I got up to two full rotations (listen, you gotta learn to walk before you can blur) and bam, down a go a second time, smack dab on the same ass cheek as before. No matter, though! No mind! I was attempting spins. I was spinning! I was getting a step closer to actual figure skating. This was big. This was fun.
Still, I thought, let's take a break, eh? Let's practice some simple skating and try not fall again. We're skating, we're skating, we're inexplicably digging a toe pick into the ice and executing the patented slapstick comedy belly flop and slide forward with arms out and legs splayed. Your dignity, Candice, it's flying out the door!
Kate got me back up, we laughed to show it was all good. I brushed the ice off for a third time, and spent a minute or two doing some simple skating to show the 10-year-olds and bored, teenage ice referees that I was fully capable of walking it off like a champ. I don't think I fooled anyone, least of all myself. By that point, my knees were developing bruises and my shoulders started to refuse to unclench.
Getting lunch helped. Taking a nap helped. Writing this blog about failing, spectacularly, to drive or skate or make it through a simple weekend without acquiring a few dings, but pushing on through helped. And by help, I mean it helped me to not care about the bruises or the ache. I need absolutely no help at all in wanting to keep at this. In fact, I ended up at the ice rink the very next day, practicing my one little spin, my stops, and my slaloms. And wouldn't you know, I didn't fall once?
No, we both fell flat on our asses today and got up laughing. The only difference is he was falling like 1 foot down onto the ice because he was approximately 3 feet tall. I was falling roughly a million feet because I'm actually taller than the entire world. (I have photographic proof, in fact. See below: )
That's me, busy being taller than a refrigerator in my skates. So when the little boy falls down, he giggles and gets up and rockets off for more mayhem. When I fall down, I laugh because it's funny, then get up gingerly and try to pretend my ass isn't shouting "What the fuck?" at me.
Anyway. Before today, I've only fallen once on the ice during several weeks of skating. It was something of a matter of pride, but at the same time, I knew it wasn't a streak that could last. Everybody falls. Olympic skaters, child prodigies, hell, one time I saw a figure skating coach full on eat it. I was trying to make peace with the concept that I'm not going to learn to jump without falling. Still, I was sort of hoping to do that on my own time.
But the universe decided to help me out a bit by abusing my body before I ever even got on the ice. Yesterday I got in a car accident and so maybe I wasn't exactly bringing my A-game to the lesson today. That's right, for those of you who doubted my commitment to sparkle motion, I'll repeat that. I got in a car accident yesterday and still went to skating class.
The car accident was mild, and involved only me and my complete negligence for vehicle maintenance. It was raining yesterday and my tires slipped a little while I left a parking lot, but did I think, "Hey now, Candice. Be careful on sharp turns. Your tires seem to be having an issue" to myself? No, I did not think that, I thought, "Dude, is there anything OTHER than Lady Gaga on the radio?" And as my reward, I skidded across a wet patch of road on the access road of a major highway and hit the median.
Embarrassed, I tried to reverse and drive away only to discover that I had actually REALLY broke it. I broke my car. I couldn't even open the passenger side door. The axle was bent, the tire was popped. I'd officially screwed up big. I spent the next hour sitting in my car in the rain, calling people on the phone, while people drove past me, and a sweet co-worker of mine and a cop waited for the tow truck. It was my first real accident, the first time ever that I'd rendered a car un-driveable.
Did I cry? No. Not even when I realized that the insurance my mother pays for me is liability only. Meaning that it is all on me to get this car fixed. Meaning that a planned trip to Montreal is off. Meaning that "No thank you," is going to have to start coming out of my mouth more and more. As in:
"More wine, madame?"
"No. Thank you."
"Would you like to try this on, miss?"
"No. But thank you."
"Would you like to super size this for .75 cents today?"
"Let me check. ::opens wallet:: No, thank you."
Did I cry? No. Did I want to. Yes. Luckily, my family has passed down a long and storied tradition of coping with life's little curve balls: drinking. Wine was poured for me by 6:30pm, and remained steadily available until midnight. I tried to stretch out the tension and soreness in my back and neck, but even laying down I knew there was no real way to fight it.
But skating class was pre-paid, non-refundable, and cannot be rescheduled. I got up this morning, put on my leg warmers, and went to class. My back was stiff, and I had to take two Aleve before even walking out the door, but I went. I think I fell within the first five minutes of class, first executing that classic sort of Scooby-Doo-running-in-place move before ending up ass first on the ice. Undeterred I brushed off the ice, and set about trying to master swizzles, backwards swizzles, half swizzles, one footed glides (...sort of) slalom, backward slalom (...not really). Crossovers were discussed but by no means attempted. And then, magic words came from our instructors lips: "Let's do a spin."
I am mesmerized by spins. I'll soon be writing up my experience seeing Stars on Ice where I will explain why some traditional, well-beloved figure skating moves leave me snoring with boredom, but good lord, do I love spins. The only cruel thing was the instructor had us try it at the very end of class with barely a minute to really attempt it.
So what did I do? Did I say, "Well Candice, you've done enough. You were in an accident yesterday, and there'll always be more ice time later." No. I immediately paid the fee for to keep skating so I could practice my very first spin. I got up to two full rotations (listen, you gotta learn to walk before you can blur) and bam, down a go a second time, smack dab on the same ass cheek as before. No matter, though! No mind! I was attempting spins. I was spinning! I was getting a step closer to actual figure skating. This was big. This was fun.
Still, I thought, let's take a break, eh? Let's practice some simple skating and try not fall again. We're skating, we're skating, we're inexplicably digging a toe pick into the ice and executing the patented slapstick comedy belly flop and slide forward with arms out and legs splayed. Your dignity, Candice, it's flying out the door!
Kate got me back up, we laughed to show it was all good. I brushed the ice off for a third time, and spent a minute or two doing some simple skating to show the 10-year-olds and bored, teenage ice referees that I was fully capable of walking it off like a champ. I don't think I fooled anyone, least of all myself. By that point, my knees were developing bruises and my shoulders started to refuse to unclench.
Getting lunch helped. Taking a nap helped. Writing this blog about failing, spectacularly, to drive or skate or make it through a simple weekend without acquiring a few dings, but pushing on through helped. And by help, I mean it helped me to not care about the bruises or the ache. I need absolutely no help at all in wanting to keep at this. In fact, I ended up at the ice rink the very next day, practicing my one little spin, my stops, and my slaloms. And wouldn't you know, I didn't fall once?
Thursday, May 13, 2010
The Background: Kate
In August of 2008, I packed as much of my stuff as I could into two suitcases and moved my entire life to Japan. I'd been feeling restless after graduating from university and figured that going out to teach in a foreign country and see the world was the way to scratch the itch. At first, I thought it was hands down the worst decision I had ever made in my life, but as I began to make friends and travel and become a better teacher, I slowly fell in love with my life there. The first year was rocky, but the second year got off to a great start - I was doing well at work, I was finally recovered from a broken foot, and I went on a couple of fun trips including a trip to the mountains to go paragliding. My best friend/former roommate/current blog partner Candice came over to see me for my birthday. I was thinking about other places I could travel to, maybe spend a year in South Korea teaching or go to Australia for a working holiday.
On the second day of Candice's visit, I got a call from my dad. My mother had died quite unexpectedly of a heart attack.
Of course, everything came to a screeching halt. We somehow stumbled through the rest of the week, then flew to the US. I decided pretty much immediately that I was going to move home. I returned to Japan two weeks after my mother's funeral and told my boss that I would be leaving the company right before Christmas. I spent the next two months in a fog, waiting until I could be with my family again.
When I came home, I was still pretty shell-shocked. I went to parties where I'd sneak off to cry. I wasn't drinking too much, but it was hard not to try and find some way to drown how sad I was. I live with my father and brother in the house I grew up in. The loss of my mother is tangible here. Her things are still in the closet, her pictures are everywhere. She died here. It was really hard to deal with how suddenly my life had changed - I felt like I didn't belong here anymore, even though Austin is my hometown. For a while, the grief was even worse because I really had to face it. I started trying to move forward step by step though. I spent a few weeks lying around doing nothing, took a trip to Portland and Seattle to see friends, and ended up getting a job as a nanny through a friend of a friend. I joined a gym, my friends invited me out and didn't mind that sometimes I cried in public. I started attending grief counseling.
Then, one night, I went ice skating with some friends. Now, my brother played hockey for ten years, so I grew up around ice rinks. I took lessons as a kid. I've always loved figure skating, but for some reason kept it a secret. Then, when idly talking with Candice, I discovered that Chaparral holds basic skating classes for adults. We signed up, started going skating regularly, and discovered how awesome it is. I love skating - when I get going really fast and just let myself glide with my arms out, it's like flying. So yeah. One year, one Olympic level element. We're gonna do it.
On the second day of Candice's visit, I got a call from my dad. My mother had died quite unexpectedly of a heart attack.
Of course, everything came to a screeching halt. We somehow stumbled through the rest of the week, then flew to the US. I decided pretty much immediately that I was going to move home. I returned to Japan two weeks after my mother's funeral and told my boss that I would be leaving the company right before Christmas. I spent the next two months in a fog, waiting until I could be with my family again.
When I came home, I was still pretty shell-shocked. I went to parties where I'd sneak off to cry. I wasn't drinking too much, but it was hard not to try and find some way to drown how sad I was. I live with my father and brother in the house I grew up in. The loss of my mother is tangible here. Her things are still in the closet, her pictures are everywhere. She died here. It was really hard to deal with how suddenly my life had changed - I felt like I didn't belong here anymore, even though Austin is my hometown. For a while, the grief was even worse because I really had to face it. I started trying to move forward step by step though. I spent a few weeks lying around doing nothing, took a trip to Portland and Seattle to see friends, and ended up getting a job as a nanny through a friend of a friend. I joined a gym, my friends invited me out and didn't mind that sometimes I cried in public. I started attending grief counseling.
Then, one night, I went ice skating with some friends. Now, my brother played hockey for ten years, so I grew up around ice rinks. I took lessons as a kid. I've always loved figure skating, but for some reason kept it a secret. Then, when idly talking with Candice, I discovered that Chaparral holds basic skating classes for adults. We signed up, started going skating regularly, and discovered how awesome it is. I love skating - when I get going really fast and just let myself glide with my arms out, it's like flying. So yeah. One year, one Olympic level element. We're gonna do it.
The Background: Candice
One morning I woke up, opened the fridge and found nothing but half a can of diced tomatoes and some pickles. I was not surprised. I am a single, 26 year old woman living alone in apartment with 2 cats. I had also recently gone on a binge of going out; the past five days I had gone out with friends and bad dates all while working forty hours, exercising, and struggling with an exhuasting cough caused by surprise seasonal allergies. And all while simultaneously not going to the grocery store, not doing the dishes, and refusing to acknowledging that I would eventually find myself facing a Saturday morning alone in a messy apartment with nothing for breakfast.
I dealt with this situation quite practically: I finally went to the grocery store and bought the next week's worth of food. Mostly whole foods, mostly healthy, mostly things I will have to cook myself. And yet while there I bought myself a can of Spaghetti-Os. Shortly before 11am, I sat down with a steaming bowl of carbs and fatty protein. Some people feel guilty about cracking open a can of beer before noon. I feel guilty about refusing to brunch on the fresh fruits and vegetables I bought in a vain attempt to feel like an adult so that I can indulge the same crappy food I ate at 8 years old. The facade of responsibility is undone during a two-minute microwaving of Franco-American bachelorette chow.
Welcome to the life on the twenty-something. Life is a mix of everything you expected, work, happy hours, feeling responsible every time you pay your bills on time, buying elegant and expensive shoes and eating tuna salad on Saltines while standing over the sink in your pajama pants. For every time I feel as though I could be in a TV commercial (happy, successful yuppie girl meets her happy, successful yuppie friends for yoga while talking about their favorite brand of yogurt!) I end up remind myself that, like a commercial, I can only maintain the veneer of perfection for a brief period of time.
In fact, my embracing of the three y's (yuppie-dom, yoga, and yogurt) is itself something of a veneer. I was an unhealthy, unflexible, lower-middle class teenager. Now I set goals for myself (learn more about wine, stay within a calorie count, run a 5k in 35 min.). I no longer have a daily Cheez-it quotient or buy clothes from Wal-Mart, but does that change who I am inside? Am I some sort of classist version of an the term oreo? Yuppie on the outside, white trash on the inside? How thick does the yuppie layer have to be before no one even notices the fact that some members of my family live in tailer parks?
I set my life goals for the day: vacuum, respond to emails, and ice skating. Yes, you read that right. Ice skating. In my entire life I have skated only twice before. Once in Girl Scouts (hated it) and two years ago I went with my best friend and roommate (and now co-blogger) Kate. During the next hour and a half I fell only once (on freshly Zamboni-ed ice) and had a pretty good time. Kate and I were living in San Antonio at the time, suffering through the post-college, post-the dashing of youthful dreams about an easy transition to a fun, successful adulthood. I thought to myself at the time "I should DO this" but of course I didn't. I had important moping to do.
Now because of the recent Winter Olympics and figure skater Johnny Weir's glorious, self-constructed media-blitz I am reminded again of the fun I had back when the only fun I had usually involved drinking and bitterly complaining. Kate and I often get notions (oh do we ever) and we had decided the day before that there was no better way to spend our Saturday night than re-connecting with that old joy. We invited our various hip friends along via Facebook, picked out self-important outfits, and generally thought to ourselves, "Oh this'll be hilarious."
Later that night we approached the ice with hearts filled with irony-ladened amusement. Little did we know where it would end up.
I dealt with this situation quite practically: I finally went to the grocery store and bought the next week's worth of food. Mostly whole foods, mostly healthy, mostly things I will have to cook myself. And yet while there I bought myself a can of Spaghetti-Os. Shortly before 11am, I sat down with a steaming bowl of carbs and fatty protein. Some people feel guilty about cracking open a can of beer before noon. I feel guilty about refusing to brunch on the fresh fruits and vegetables I bought in a vain attempt to feel like an adult so that I can indulge the same crappy food I ate at 8 years old. The facade of responsibility is undone during a two-minute microwaving of Franco-American bachelorette chow.
Welcome to the life on the twenty-something. Life is a mix of everything you expected, work, happy hours, feeling responsible every time you pay your bills on time, buying elegant and expensive shoes and eating tuna salad on Saltines while standing over the sink in your pajama pants. For every time I feel as though I could be in a TV commercial (happy, successful yuppie girl meets her happy, successful yuppie friends for yoga while talking about their favorite brand of yogurt!) I end up remind myself that, like a commercial, I can only maintain the veneer of perfection for a brief period of time.
In fact, my embracing of the three y's (yuppie-dom, yoga, and yogurt) is itself something of a veneer. I was an unhealthy, unflexible, lower-middle class teenager. Now I set goals for myself (learn more about wine, stay within a calorie count, run a 5k in 35 min.). I no longer have a daily Cheez-it quotient or buy clothes from Wal-Mart, but does that change who I am inside? Am I some sort of classist version of an the term oreo? Yuppie on the outside, white trash on the inside? How thick does the yuppie layer have to be before no one even notices the fact that some members of my family live in tailer parks?
I set my life goals for the day: vacuum, respond to emails, and ice skating. Yes, you read that right. Ice skating. In my entire life I have skated only twice before. Once in Girl Scouts (hated it) and two years ago I went with my best friend and roommate (and now co-blogger) Kate. During the next hour and a half I fell only once (on freshly Zamboni-ed ice) and had a pretty good time. Kate and I were living in San Antonio at the time, suffering through the post-college, post-the dashing of youthful dreams about an easy transition to a fun, successful adulthood. I thought to myself at the time "I should DO this" but of course I didn't. I had important moping to do.
Now because of the recent Winter Olympics and figure skater Johnny Weir's glorious, self-constructed media-blitz I am reminded again of the fun I had back when the only fun I had usually involved drinking and bitterly complaining. Kate and I often get notions (oh do we ever) and we had decided the day before that there was no better way to spend our Saturday night than re-connecting with that old joy. We invited our various hip friends along via Facebook, picked out self-important outfits, and generally thought to ourselves, "Oh this'll be hilarious."
Later that night we approached the ice with hearts filled with irony-ladened amusement. Little did we know where it would end up.
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