Today, I went back to the rink. After almost a month of not skating, I was up against the freshly resurfaced ice, knees knocking against the slightly wet and glossed-up water within seconds—the first to fall on practice ice. It was embarrassing. I almost cried, tears in my eyes, as I did laps for warm-up around the rink. This was my Nina-Sayers moment, and I didn’t even break a thing.
And yet, despite everything, I had somehow come out even better than I had been. I finally centred my upright scratch spins, the one session I returned after multiple weeks of no ice. After months of consistent practice, certain things got better jumps and stronger-spread eagles. But not spins. I hated spins-still do because they are so fickle.
The beauty of spinning lies in this shape. The entry to any one-foot spin begins with tracing the golden ratio. Coaches will tell you to make “half a heart” with your path. Ultimately, what gives the spin its momentum is the sharp turn inwards. You enter the spiral with your whole body and then exert control over it. The stronger your entry, the more stable the spin. If done perfectly, spins can feel like you were made to spin. The force of your movement carries you through every pose imaginable. Biellmans, Haircutters, Laybacks, Camels—the beauty of spinning lies in the many shapes you can become.
The perfect scratch spin — Nicole Hassler 1964 European Championships.
An interesting aspect of skating I often ponder is that it is a two-person sport. What I mean by this is that skating demands physicality—it is intense and rigorous; your knees take the force of your weight times three as you land a jump, and your body wrestles with centripetal force with every spin. Yet, it demands grace. You are spinning for someone else, jumping for someone else. The second person in this sport is the invisible audience that watches you bend into the shape of each spin, each rotation of a jump, and each beat of the programme music. Grappling with this sense of always being perceived can be tough. It can be hard to improve when you feel not only your own disappointment but of those watching you, too.
Ice skating is the first sport I’ve ever committed to. Before that, there were occasional bouts of volleyball and badminton, but I have never saved up as reverently for something as my first pair of skates. I started skating in my first year of university and haven’t stopped since. The feeling of moving so seamlessly is hard to describe. I am in love with the way grace demands immense strength. I have always been envious of ballerinas and their tormented devotion to art. In a way, skating was that outlet for me.
I was never ingrained enough in dance to commit to it seriously, but what I took back with me was the notion of bodily movement as an art. The secret athleticism of skating, fused with its intense performance aspects, was extremely alluring to me. The more I practised, the better I got, and soon enough, at times, I was the best person at the public session. Obviously, I am far from triple axles. But I will be forever thankful that I had the chance to skate well and feel beautiful.
Beauty in skating is paid in bruises. The fat on my kneecaps has atrophied since I started—solely because I kept falling onto my knees. I still do to this very day, less now, but it still hurts just as bad. Despite injury, nothing is more rewarding than finally getting an element right. The exhilarating feeling of conquering your own body is shared by all athletes but more so by those who rely on it to show more than just strength but also beauty. There is something so enigmatic about being able to do a terrible task and make it look easy.
Ease of movement is what makes all Olympic skaters. Oksana Baiul practically dances on ice. There was a time when figure skating was more about art and less about athleticism. Unfortunately, that time has passed. The age of quad gods and quintuple-axels is upon us. I cannot say much about the recent Winter Olympics, but seeing how this sport has been so horribly corrupted is disappointing.
Skating has been and always will be a source of solace for me. In fact, I plan to return to the rink tomorrow. I look forward to writing more on it as I still have much to say.
In the meantime, I leave you with a few of my favourite performances from Oksana Baiul.
-swan
Oksana Baiul - 1994 Lillehammer Olympic - Exhibition - The Swan
Oksana Baiul Fox Rock & Roll Championships 1995 | "Sadeness" by Enigma