The first time I landed a single salchow without falling I felt like I was ready for the victory podium. My little life of ice skating had ascended into the air. I was no longer mortal, bound by gravity. Last week that feeling came back to me while watching the World Championships of figure skating held in Boston Garden and sitting ice-side to see the St. Louis Blues win their 10th game in a row.
You know the smell of an indoor ice rink. It’s either comforting or vile, a combination of popcorn, rubber, the inside of a freezer and old hot dogs. You probably also know the feeling of exiting the ice by walking onto black rubber mats without falling. The first time you do it, it’s like the first time you successfully exit a chair-lift. Surprise and relief, you did not trip-up the people behind you with your bumbling, careening splat!
I’ve always loved ice skating, probably due to my father’s willingness to flood our driveway in the winter to create our family rink. I can see him bundled up out there in the dark flinging water from the hose night after night. We’d wait and wait until the ice grew thick and firm and we’d pray it didn’t rain or the milkman didn’t drive through it. Once the school clock ticked 3:30 p.m. we’d race home and get into our skates and careen around until dark. Honestly, the night wasn’t a big deal because Dad would turn the car lights on and we’d keep skating.
All of these happy memories add up to the sad morendo of mortality. As you age you become aware of your own powers giving way. A single salchow slips though your fingers before you quit lacing up your skates. Life moves on and others take the big leaps. You are left skating around the outside circle unable to execute a simple sit-spin in the middle of the rink. I admit to even growing jaded about watching ice skating competitions, i.e. “It’s all about the jumps now, the artistry is gone,” I’d moan as I sip on my over-sugared latte and contemplate my menobelly.
Well, my full faith and confidence in ice skating has returned. The awe, the wonder of conquering the ice, restored. Two Americans won the World Championship, Ilia Malinin for the men and staging a spectacular comeback from her 16 year old “retirement,” Alysa Liu for the women. The ICEing on the cake, the St. Louis Blues won 12 in a row, two of the games in overtime.
As a 7 on the enneagram I’m asking you to take in one of these ice-changing moments, the artistry of Ilia Malinin.* He is single-handedly redefining men’s figure skating. Not only is he the only living human who can land a quad axel, he is offering up his heart on the ice to all who are willing to spend the five minutes required to hold it in our hands. This is a miraculous feat of artistry, to invite total strangers in with an emotional attachment that has us crying in our seats for the victims of the D.C. plane crash and leaping from our seats in the end of his program to thank him. His post-competition tribute skate to the music of Cinematic Orchestra’s “To Build a Home” created a collective empathy for the loss and senseless, likely avoidable tragedy that took those loved ones from the earth. It’s a great injustice and no one felt that more than the nineteen year old Mr. Malanin as he sobbed, doubled over at the end of his performance.
I’ve always thought of professional skating as a sport for athletes, but Ilia Malinin, Alysa Liu and the St. Louis Blues convinced me this week, it’s a sport, best communicated by artists.
*Special thanks to Jill Likoi for catching the Gala performance on film and posting it to her You Tube channel. Linked above.