Tatyana, a tenderhearted girl with a tendency to cry, suffers from asthma and must monitor her breathing during practices. When she was 11, she grew four inches and could no longer nail the jumps she had spent years perfecting. She pushed through it and adjusted her movements to her new proportions. Then she broke her leg and set herself back again. Meanwhile, her mother suffers from pulmonary disease and was hospitalized 14 times last year. The family's tight financial situation is even worse now that her mother's employers have begun docking her pay when she's sick. Tatyana receives a scholarship from Chelsea Piers—a half-hour lesson with Halasa normally costs $45—but her family must cover equipment and costumes. The costs are offset by a tantalizing prospect, however. "With skating, I'll be able to get into a good school," Tatyana says. "I'm going for Princeton because they have a rink and a synchronized skating team."
A few months back, Tatyana's sterling technique impressed the judges at her intermediate freestyle test, which a skater must pass to compete at higher levels. She was so nervous that she banished her mother to an outside hallway. She passed the test, and the triumphant glow lasted for about three weeks, during which her attitude, if not her training regimen, relaxed. Now that she's had a break, she has to get her program together for the June showdown. "I've never won this competition," she says. "I want to win."
"Vida is my little showgirl," Halasa declares during a session the week before the competition. "I love that I don't have to do much to bring that out." Vida concurs. "If I were skating alone and nobody was watching, what would be the point of skating?" she says. "I mean, you're doing it for yourself and for fun, but you definitely want to show people what you can do."
Vida is fluid on the ice. Her neck is long and her posture assured. Though she's not yet as fast and powerful as the older children, there's no girlish gawkiness to her movement. She is immersed in the rich instrumental theme from Cinema Paradiso accompanying her. "We didn't know whether she could maturely interpret this piece of music, but she can," Halasa says. "She has very nice, expressive arms."
"Vida wants to be a star," says her mother, Cathy, who is a part-time insurance consultant. "I tell her, 'Go for it! You're already a star!'"
Vida toggles between wanting to master movements and needing to bask in glory—behind the showgirl smile is a workhorse mentality. During spring break in fourth grade, Vida spent three hours at the rink every day.
"It seems to me that wanting to provide a good experience for other people could be an intrinsic motivation," says psychologist Amanda Durik. "Like a singer who wants to give a great show, it's an essential part of the activity."
Two years ago, the Weisblums hired a personal trainer to come to their home three times a week to strengthen Vida's core muscles and increase her flexibility, which is not naturally stellar. "Vida is very coachable," says the trainer, Sheryl Dluginski. "She's unusual in her dedication, even compared to other kids who skate."
With a few exceptions, the younger a child is, the less anxious she is about competing. Most young kids, explains Ginsburg, simply can't grasp the implications of losing. A child lives in the moment, whereas an adult may be plagued with flashbacks of past mishaps or bleak thoughts about going home from yet another competition without a medal.
Kids who do grow anxious are less equipped than adults to calm themselves down, says Amy Baltzell, a sports psychologist and former Olympic rower. Athletes can calm the butterflies by talking to themselves, she says. "You need to say something like, 'Here come the nerves. That's good. I need them—they're going to keep me alert.' " With their vivid imaginations, children can benefit even more than grown-ups from routinely visualizing ideal versions of their performances, a process experts believe strengthens motor memory and primes muscles to do the right thing.
On the evening of Olive and Vida's competition, the rink is packed with spectators sipping hot chocolate in an effort to defrost. Skaters tromp around in their blades waiting for the designated minute and a half they'll have to show their stuff. As Olive's moment nears, her father focuses his camera lens. Her mother descends the bleacher steps to stand by the rink. (A week ago, Olive confessed that though she wouldn't dare tell them, she doesn't like it when her parents watch: "I feel like they're on top of me.") Olive propels herself out on her stick legs and assumes her starting position in front of the four judges. The soothing chords of "Blackbird" ring out and she pushes off slowly. She makes a few fluttery skips across the ice on the points of her blades and then spins like a wobbly top. She flaps her arms about delicately and keeps her expression thoughtful, looking every bit the melancholy character of the song.
She pushes off, soars up, and in the blink of an eye lands on both feet—a perfect axel. Her mother visibly relaxes. "God, I'm so glad she got that," she says. Olive holds her final pose and then practically runs off the ice to the excited swarm of family members and Halasa. Her aunt hands her a bouquet of purple flowers. What was she thinking as she nailed that jump? "Nothing!" she says, beaming.
Tags:
adolescence,
athleticism,
blue eye shadow,
cajoling,
chelsea piers,
child athlete,
competition,
cutouts,
doe eyes,
favorite song,
figure skating,
girls,
grace on the ice,
harsh light,
jonbenet,
kitchen table,
left knee,
marnie,
metal braces,
mother father,
parents,
payoffs,
skating institute,
sky rink,
young athletes
