Datebook: August 25

I am on subject overload.

After staying up for two weeks until the early hours of the morning to watch tumbling girls, breaststroking guys, and repentant relay runners, I was content when the last firework dimmed in Beijing.

At last things could get back to normal.

Normal to me is feeling excitement when I notice gasoline is down to $3.38 a gallon; I parlay that with the fact that the opening and closing ceremonies for the Olympics had a $75 million dollar price tag. It is hard not to think of what else that money could have done. There were nations represented that live in utter poverty and a portion of that budget would have meant food and medical attention for many suffering souls.

It is hard not to imagine what that budget could do if applied to our own athletes. We had the highest medal count, I believe, although I really stopped checking the statistics by the second week. Most of the training of our talent is paid from the pockets of the parents or the athletes. I heard storyline after storyline of parents who had mortgaged homes and taken second jobs to pay for the pursuit of dreams. And there are thousands back home who didn't make the team—they may have been fourth, fifth, or twentieth—they train just as hard, and it costs just as much.

Those of us in ice dancing know some harsh facts. This is not the most popular of all skating genres, and skating in and of itself is on a downslide for viewing audiences. What is clambered for are the "tougher" sports—the BMX racing, the half-pipe that houses curling snowboards, skiers who flip and twist as they leap off of mountains.

And yet we stay. Parents who fund and/or support the skating dream. Skaters who rise at 5 a.m. to lay tracks on freshly cleaned ice. Skaters who continue skating and working off-ice to condition and strengthen bodies for hours and hours on end.

Most people think it is about what we just witnessed; an Olympic dream. But it rarely is for it is rarely done. My daughter explained it to me several seasons ago, but I don't think I truly understood until just recently. She told me it was "just doing something that you truly love the best that you can do it."

How often do we get the chance to do that?

So, although I am on subject overload and have an image of Michael Phelp's chest supporting eight gold medals, and must face the Democratic Convention and Republican Convention news coverage, I am not resorting to watching old episodes of "Friends" or "Sex in the City."

I am looking forward to the Junior Grand Prix events that start this week and sending silent prayers that each of our teams savor the moment of doing what they love and hopefully doing it the best that they can.

Let OUR games now begin.

Mombo

Datebook: August 18, 2008

I am a bit sleep deprived from watching Michael Phelps collect eight gold medals that must hang like wind chimes in his Olympic Village dorm room. (I had to stop watching the women's gymnastic events because China will soon be the Mecca for every underage teenager in America who wants to secure a fake ID to elevate their ability to drink—if a Chinese passport can validate a 12-year old as 16, then they can surely make an 18 year old capable of ordering vodka shots "legally.")

I am on overload at some events that constitute a "sport."

Speed Walking. I think the requirement for this is that you must have one foot on the ground at all times. People train for this. I think that many skating parents could qualify at the summer trials (unless they conflict with Lake Placid) for this event. We train for this all the time—we always let the skater out at the rink door and then park in another zip code at competitions and events. We are always the speed walkers who must return to the room for a CD, an earring, and a form. We are always the ones who must speed walk back to the rink for the forgotten CD, jacket, or blade guards.

Human Steeplechase. This event involves running with a few hurdles and water thrown in. This is what we do as above in speed walking when it starts to rain.

Ribbon Dancing. Okay, I'll admit that this is very beautiful but I hasten to remind you that parents do similar gyrations to keep beaded costumes from hitting the dirty locker room floors.

Water Polo. I know I will take some heat for this one but this is just volleyball played in deep water. Most of the participants appeared to be eligible for AARP and wore bonnets that tied under their chins. These two negatives do not transform into one positive. I kept waiting for team member to call out "Marco!" from the other end of the pool.

Volleyball. Okay you can have one but you can't have beach volleyball and indoor volleyball. Women's beach volleyball appears to be dependant on the skimpiness of the bathing suit uniforms while the male counterpart seems to work with longer coverings. They do have a "Sandboni" to smooth the sand after each match that suggests that we could have an outdoor skating event -- like those that are familiar with skating in Sun Valley -- in the Summer Olympics.

My perception is also a bit skewed with the ages of the participants. They are aging. Many of the athletes are in their 30s and some in their 40s. Trust me, I applaud Dora Torres as loudly as the next woman. It is amazing that this is her fourth Olympics -- it is more amazing that it could have been her sixth if she had not sat out two. I am more impressed, however, with how great she looks in her Speedo LZR super skin. This is due in part to the fact that she had daily massages and a team of masseuses that travel with her. This is similar to my life only in the fact that my dogs run across me whenever I settle down to watch television or read a book. I suppose an optimist could say that their nails offer a type of canine acupuncture as a bonus.

The real concern, of course, is when does it all end? For all of us who are athletes, who are parents of athletes, or who pay for said athletes or parents of athletes, did we sign on to do this until our skaters are in their mid-30s? I'll admit this is an uncomfortable picture of the future for some. They may be forced to eat ramen, drink grape Kool-Aid and drive a Subaru Brat for another decade.

Anyway, the Olympics are back on and the first events appear to be paintball and synchro handball. I think the Brazilian team stopped at a sponsoring McDonalds for a senior discount on value meals.

Mombo

Datebook: August 11, 2008

We left the nail-biting angst of Lake Placid for the breath holding, ice cream spoon to mouth delay of watching the suspense of the summer Olympics.

The opening ceremonies were spectacular and a living tribute to all that I value in terms of symbolism. Of course, with a 300 million dollar budget, maybe we all could be as creative and inventive.

The return from Lake Placid is always the same. Most of us return to air that is not as pure and rich and driving on more than single lane roads. Programs are changed, costumes get more crystals or beading, and final plans are made to try to determine what section to compete in.

Eventually the bruises heal.

Not the black and blue hues from falling on knees and hips due to the slip from an edge on the ice.

The bruises delivered by those who give feedback in the critiques.

Let me go on record as saying that getting feedback for the pilot status of a new program is vital. But what is destructive is having ice skating judges try to model Simon Cowell’s acerbity in comment and attitude.

I remember last year the futility of this process. Basically all skaters know what they did right and what they did wrong in any program. What they really need at Lake Placid is critical feedback on how the choreography works and how the program projects. In fact I think it might be a better idea to have someone sit with the technical callers and make a note sheet on what determined each level element and then send the page of critique notes to the coach to be reviewed when the team goes back home.

Having competitors face a gauntlet of judges (off the ice, in the bowels of the 1980 arena) is not beneficial. For one thing, skaters never see and hear from every judge on a panel. So, they are left to hear from one of two judges—so it could be a judge that gave them a 5.90 or a 2.75.

Let me put this in another scenario.

This process would be much like gathering your in-laws all together and then asking them to critique your qualities as a said in-law. You would then get to verbally hear the judgment of just two of them.

You do not get to hear the opinion of your dear sister-in-law--although you drove three hours to her Pampered Chef party. You do not get to hear the opinion of your nephew--although you took him on the perfect winter snowboarding vacation.

Instead, you get your mother-in-law and Aunt Sally. Your mother-in-law has never accepted that you have been able to get her son to eat broccoli when she could not. Your mother-in-law thinks your failure to use straight bleach as a cleaning agent renders your judgment faulty and your house unclean. Your Aunt Sally is much harder; she does not come to your house because you have animals in the house and are therefore unclean. You, unfortunately, answered her questions about your opinion on burial versus cremation and she has now cast you as an unclean heathen.

They each give you a 3.18 as an in-law. Do you want to hear their reasons? Would you then go and buy two gallons of Clorox and a burial plot?

My daughter was not part of the critique process this year but she has been in the past so I was not surprised at some of the feedback that others received.

"You are such a pretty girl…"

"You shouldn’t wear over the boot tights; we can’t see the point of the toe".

"You should wear over the boot tights; it gives you a longer line."

"Your skirt is too long."

"I love that dress!"

"You need to work on relating to each other."

"You have great partnering skills."

"He needs to do something with his hair."

"Why is he wearing his hair that way?"

"You should always wear your hair in a bun for compulsories."

"You have such lovely hair, why don’t you wear it down."

"You would have been higher if you didn’t fall on those twizzles."

"You need to do more than one revolution to get credit for a spin."

On the other-hand however, you can always ask your mother-in-law how her grandson or granddaughter skated.

"Oh my gosh! They were the best ones out there!

Mombo

LP EDITION: July 31, 2008

It is the second year that we are all here without some of our beloved skaters. Tanith and Ben, Meryl and Charlie, and Emily and Evan (to name a few) are not competing. So even if we catch sight of a blond head at the end of the hallway, it will not be them.

This void is felt by all.

It is filled in various ways. Some may turn to YouTube videos. Others might sit and reminisce at the Lake Placid Pub and Brewery about free dances of Julys Past. Lake Placid, after all, is the venue where all teams bring their selection for the coming year and we, as total addicts of the sport, become acquainted with the musical offerings and planned elements. Without it, we are left feeling a bit out of the loop.

Some of the young ladies in our sport have filled in part of the gap by discovering “new” hotties. Depending on the age group, Canada’s Paul Poirier and Guillaume Gfeller are at the top of that page. In fact, some have suggested in an act of good will between nations, there should be some introductions made. My own daughter, loyal to the end, even commented as Mr. Gfeller walked up the steps of the 1980 rink wearing a white shirt over exploding muscles, “Now that should just be illegal.”

And speaking of muscles, I am told Lynn Kriengkrairut has been voted “Best Abs in Lake Placid” which can be verified by watching Senior OD tomorrow.

Having trained muscles is certainly now mandatory with the new requirements for getting higher levels--the new entrances and exits involved with creating innovative lifts predicts that soon we will all need to add some gymnastic training or perhaps add an on-staff contortionist to our rink faculty. I saw several programs today that looked as if the girls did tumbling passes on and across their partner's backs.

After 12 hours, more or less, in the rink, I went out into the crispness of the mountain air and was happy to discover that my hearing may not have been permanently damaged by the sound system in the arena. For some reason the control panel operators have not realized that since they wear headphones the volume does not need to rise about 800 decibels. I almost gave a standing ovation when a team, whose French lyrics seemingly broke the sound barrier in the 1980 rink, took their final pose and the music ended.

To help get through all of the above, and much I haven’t mentioned, I have discovered it is always good to sit near or beside the Fishpaws, as they pack cups and wine to be tasted throughout the afternoon.

I didn’t ask if it was from a local winery or imported from their native North Dakota.

Mombo

LP EDITION: July 30, 2008

We are not staying at the Golden Arrow (or whatever name it has this year) as we have done on all of our previous visits. I thought it would be better to stay somewhere that has a bit more ambiance of the region and was close enough if you want to walk, or far enough that you could justify driving and not going green. I also thought we might save a little bit of money since we were stopping at the designer outlets, but alas, I think the total savings is $.84 cents.

It is quite lovely but there are a few things that probably keep it at two stars instead of three. The curtains are those short little numbers that cover the window only and do not grace the floor, and they are uneven. The pictures are not velvet Elvis, but they are not going to need additional insurance riders either.

The real celestial stopper is the bathroom shower curtain. It has blood on it.

I don’t mean as if an episode of the Sopranos was filmed here, but definitely a previous inhabitant had trouble shaving and would have needed a large Band-aid after their slice and dice adventure in the shower.

It is still a bit disconcerting considering the whole “Psycho” movie scene.

Anyway, since my daughter is not competing this year, I though we would have a bit more time to walk around town and take in some of the sights. I am therefore stunned to discover that my first day at the rink was actually longer than any previous year. This is because I now no longer have the excuse to go back to the room so the competitor can rest, change, eat, or sleep.

Tomorrow the day starts for us with the junior free dance groups and then moves into senior free that, combined, I believe add up to a total of 43 hours of viewing pleasure.

This would work for me if there were no Latin numbers.

It isn’t that I dislike Tangos. It is just that we have seen enough of them in the past few years. So now when a team comes out wearing black or red, I get those little prickly bumps on my arm. I’m sure it is just me as everyone has little quirks or pet peeves, like
yellow fingernail polish, or Starbuck’s coffee, or judges who are seemingly doing Sudoku while the skating is going on.

My daughter has just left to go on a three-mile run around the lake. She asked if I wanted to go with her and for a moment I was speechless. This was so considerate and Hallmark-ish that I had a bit of tear in my eye. I declined, however, because I did not want to throw off her pace.

Maybe I’ll walk to rink.

Mombo

LP EDITION: July 29, 2008

This is the first year that we planned a day of shopping in our Lake Placid itinerary. On the recommendation of Liz Smith, New York columnist and shopper extradonaire, we pulled into the Woodbury Commons Outlets (exit 16 off of I-87) at 10:30 a.m. These are a bit different than the typical outlet stores that offer a plethora of last season’s offerings—these are New York City designer shops that offer a smattering of last season’s offerings. Initially we thought we would spend the day wandering into Gucci, Chanel, Longchamp, Ugg, Tory Burch, and 200 other stores. We revised out travel plan when, at 1:30, we had made a few good purchases (Joe’s Jeans $99.00, Longchamp bag $65.00, Dipping Dots $3.50) and bypassed a few others (Chanel suit $4,200.00 from $8,700.00) and found ourselves again heading northbound on the New York Thruway.

My daughter and friend Liza Branella wanted to be let out at the ice rink on the way into town, which shows their passion for watching all things ice dance including Tuesday practices, and their creatively as we had to carry all the bags into the room.

Liza did give us a great quote for the week—one that she reworked from a Tom Hanks baseball movie—and it will serve as our motto for the week: “There is no crying in ice dance.”

And we hope this is true at least through Saturday.

We ventured over to the rink around 7:00 p.m. and caught a bit of the senior and junior practice sessions. Everyone looked relaxed and focused and offered proof of what they have been doing this summer.

My attention was immediately captured by the Hubbells—who looked amazing—but more so by Maddie’s haircut. OK, so I know this is the 8th deadly sin--to covet thy neighbor’s hair--but I couldn’t help it. Well, I wasn’t coveting her haircut for me, but the concept that she had found a stylist that had given her a look that captured her essence. I, in the past, have taken photos from magazines and asked for that look, while the stylist taps her foot and then points to a sign that says “I am not a magician.” I have also gone to stylists and said I want something easy yet chic—something that shouts—“this is me—I am woman, hear me roar.”

I leave with a bowl cut.

Also sporting Level 4 hair was Piper Gilles. Her hair was perfectly crimped and obviously took more time than I allow for hair control for an entire week.

Anyway, we are all here and taking our places.

OK, so let’s practice our mantra, “there is no crying in ice-dance.

Mombo

Datebook: Monday, July 28th ~ 2008

Okay, so I have to admit it, the concept of watching 39 junior teams, 18 senior teams, and 33 novice teams is a bit daunting.

Ninety Free Dances?

I don't know if I will then be able to stumble into the juvenile and intermediate events to watch the up and coming talent, even though these are usually my favorite events. In fact, I may listen to talk radio on the drive to Lake Placid just to cleanse my music mind palette.

Today, in over 300 homes across the country, the trek north begins.

So much goes into this moment. Endless practices, costumes constructed, music mixed, choreography completed, and prayers prayed. The summer is really short at this point; most summer training programs started a mere five or six weeks ago. In reality, we all know that none of this is at peak performance level, and we all murmur that it would/will be so much better in another four weeks, but this is the pivot point more or less. When we return from Placid, programs are changed, choreography is adjusted, and costumes get more beading and glitz. Some teams will be heading for a Junior Grand Prix in four weeks, some for the senior Grand Prix in 10 weeks, and the majority will be competing at Sectionals in three months.

As we all know, Lake Placid is the start of bigger things.

This is not an easy event for parents. Oh, I know how hectic and anxious it can be for skaters, but I am here to proffer that it is worse for the parents.

Most of this centers of the “split in the road” so to speak. By this I mean parents, by the nature of the sport, are forced to take one of two paths.

Choice one is that they are actively involved in what happens—they offer selections of music, they offer design suggestions and color considerations for costumes, they put 8,000 miles on their cars in the past five weeks buying tights; going for fittings; getting skates sharpened; going to additional practices; seeing sports psychologists; getting haircuts, highlights and or shaping; going to off-ice conditionists. And then they write checks at the end of each month to pay for it all that total more than the monthly payment for a BMW 335xi, a condo at the beach, an annual vacation budget for an excursion to Maui. It should be noted that although they are allowed to offer ideas and suggestions, there is no guarantee that any will be heeded.

Choice two is that they have no voice in music, costume, or training but they still put 8,000 miles on their cars in the past five weeks buying blade guards, arranging for fittings, running to get skates sharpened at the last minute, finding a stylist close to the rink who will take walk-ins, arranging for visits to sports psychologists, and finding other rinks so the kids can skate on the 4th of July. At the end of the month they write checks to pay for it all that total more than the price of a new refrigerator, or getting new carpet for the family room, or having the dining room painted with a new texture treatment, or the sum total of groceries, the electric bill, and gas at $4.00 a gallon for three cars for the month. Since they have been forced to live in the dark, so it seems, they are usually hardened to the fact that their offspring are currently skating to the Snow White selection of "Heigh-Ho" or wearing costumes that look as if they are going spelunking.

Skating is harder for parents because although the process has slight variables, the cost is the same.

Skating is harder for parents because regardless of which camp you fall in, none of these factors predict the outcome with any degree of accuracy.

Lake Placid is the common ground in which we all meet, as after this we are divided by regions and sections and go, symbolically and figuratively, to our respected corners.

As we gather in the hallways outside the 1980 rink, or sit to watch or quasi-watch the competitions, the parents nod their heads in respect to one another. The old-timers, those who have made the transitions from juvenile up to junior and senior ranks, have that world-weary expression that is haunted by eyes that are perhaps a little to wide; they have been through the trenches after all—they have been there when the tapes were only for minute programs, they have been there for the haunting replays of the Hickory Hoedown, and the seemingly 22 seconds of the Killian. They have been there for all the Austrian crystals, at $1.45 a piece, and watched them pop and spring at a hundred-dollar loss per competition. The newbies are still bright-eyed and excited, perhaps from watching "The Cutting Edge" the night before where one skate is assisted by malfunctioning lederhosen and the team is then vaulted to the Olympics.

So before the National Anthem is played for the athletes at the start of the competition, maybe we should hold a moment of silence for the parents—just in tribute for all they do to make it all happen.

And because it will be the last they have until the end of Nationals in January.

Mombo