Pueblo Skate-A-Palooza!: or Don't Stand So Close To Me

So I still had something to learn about children's figure skating, though some of the weaker performances at Four Continents should have, I think, satisfied me in that respect.

Call this PART THREE OF MY EDUCATION

Kate gives figure skating lessons to kids, and like any coach with a purpose, she's got goals for them. She preps some of them for competitions, and recently she asked me to tag along to a Sunday afternoon affair in which she'd entered two of her students.

I was eager to keep her company, for the competition would be held 35 miles south of us, in this town. I went not because the place appeals to me -- quite the contrary. It's because nobody deserves to spend a day there alone.

Like Colorado Springs, it is an overgrown small town, but without the... zest for life. Any tourism/promotional photos of Pueblo predictably showcase its beautiful Riverwalk just as ours can't seem to leave out Pikes Peak. This image consolidation is more necessary in Pueblo's case, however, because what isn't Riverwalk, for all intents and purposes, is Purgatory.

FUN FACT: You can always distinguish Pueblo residents from other Coloradans because they have a certain "glow" about them. Some say it's the uranium content in their drinking water.

The Ice Center was packed with girls ages 6-13, with the occasional boy who assuredly gets throttled with sticks by the other lads at school. When Kate wasn't at my side, I sat in the bleachers a 22-year-old man, seemingly attached to no one at the little girls' figure skating competition, an event only slightly less creepy than a little girls' beauty pageant. I naturally kept my nose buried in Philip Roth's My Life As a Man, an unsuccessful distraction because one of its more disturbing plot points is intentionally reminiscent of Lolita.

My reading session was treated to program music consisting mostly of "Hakuna Matata" and Phantom of the Opera medleys. Only when I heard "Black Magic Woman" did I feel something was wrong, in a Little Miss Sunshine sort of way.

Every now and then I'd look up to see what was happening. A Bryce, a Madison, or a Kelsey would be gliding very slowly around a small section of the rink with her arms locked up in a downward V-- a pose meant to display grace but more likely serving a protective function. Whoever did "jumps" would perform what I call a half-lutz, or a 180-degree hop, landing backwards on the opposite leg. The coup de grace for most programs was a spin, which actually looks even more impressive when an eight-year-old is doing it than a competitive Senior skater.

I'm sure Kate's girls are hard workers, but I began to sympathize with her struggle to make competitive skaters out of children their age. Given their obvious limitations, it's much more difficult to choreograph for young ones than for experienced skaters. Where you can suggest that a veteran do an Arabesque, you can only ask the novice to Lift One Foot Without Falling.

Kate spent most of the competition counseling her wards rinkside, otherwise being a presence for them. She looked like a figure skating coach, despite the fact that she was pretty young (20) and not wearing a fleece vest. I can confidently say there's nothing more attractive than someone in her element, her natural state.

One of her students, unfortunately being ill, finished 5th in her group, but Kate's other student emerged the victor in hers -- and that was decidedly the focus of discussion on our ride home. Occasionally I would peer into the rear view mirrors, knowing I'd be heading back that direction in a week's time, for an academic pursuit of mine that would be drastically different. And one I'll probably write about once the weekend's over.