HP #34 - Checking out the competition

Usual disclaimer applies: this is an old event I'm recounting. See my first HP post for the full notes on these.

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One day, I hope to compete in adult free skating competitions, so when my local rink held a competition (non-adult) then I decided to go along and check it out to get a feel for what competitions looked like - as a bonus, a friend of mine was competing so I could support her as well!

I don't normally go out of my way to watch free skating competitions (like the international ones) because I take the view that I'd rather be doing the sport than watching it. Also, I'll willingly confess I don't think it's that good of a spectator sport - the jumps (and falls!) are fun to watch and I like honing my on-the-fly jump identification skills, but I'm fairly indifferent about spectating otherwise.

It's hard to write a concise beginning-to-end story of what went on, plus it probably wouldn't be that interesting, so I've condensed my experience into some paragraphs of stuff that struck me while I was there.

So much commerce...

When I arrived, the rink was buzzing with activity, far more than I had expected. Stalls had been set up around the seating and cafe areas with all sorts of goods on offer. There was a competitor registration/music collection desk; a stall offering cards and trinkets to raise funds for supporting the rink's skaters; a stall for ordering copies of the recording of your performance; a stall of skating clothes and, my personal favourite, the stall for buying flowers and stuffed toys to throw onto the ice as a token of appreciation for the skaters' performances. None of this will be unusual to young or regular skaters, but I thought this kinda stuff only happened at the big, international competitions so I was really impressed you could all this was made available at a lower level competition as well.

The judging panel

I probably shouldn't have been surprised but the judging panel was the most intimidating thing I'd ever seen: five judges; three technical reviewers; one referee and a plethora of camera operators and other support staff. I've always vaguely known that this was the case, but seeing them all there was a lot more than I expected. At some points of the day, there were more people in the judges' section than there were watching in the stands!

Clapping etiquette

So, you can clap during a competitor's routine, but what I couldn't figure out was what the etiquette rules for when to do that was... There were only a handful of people actually sitting in the stands (almost exclusively relatives of the skaters), so I didn't want to clap enthusiastically by myself every time I thought a skater had landed an impressive jump or deftly completed their step sequence because the whole stand around me would look at me like a nutter. I know which jumps are the easiest and hardest, but sometimes I saw what I thought was a nicely executed, hard double jump and brought my hands up ready to clap, only to discover that the stands around me were silent and I'd have to awkwardly set my hands back down. Other times, a competitor would do a jump that looked kinda sloppy from my point of view, but they didn't fall, and the stands would applaud readily around me...  I didn't get it.

One of the consistent things I noticed was that where skaters did actually fall then rapturous applause would erupt as a show of support for the skater to press on with their routine. So was the key that you should clap more the worse the skater is doing? Presumably to encourage them? But what if they landed their double Axel? Surely that's worth a clap? It was so confusing. I ended up just following the crowd for the most part.

The drama

In the changeover between two of the groups I retreated to the cafe to get a hot chocolate and keep warm. There were two girls next to me that were handling their performance results with opposing outlooks. One girl was in tears:

"My second Axel didn't even get counted!" she wailed, her makeup smudging as her coach tried to console her, "and my double toe was downgraded when I'm sure I made the rotations!" She was distraught. A friend tried to reassure her that it was fine, but the girl tore her score sheet printout in half through her tears. Conversely, the same friend was laughing through her own mistakes and uncounted elements that had plagued her routine. She kept smiling and chatting enthusiastically about her results even though it sounded like it'd been a bad day for her.

Overall, what amazed me most was how stoic many of the skaters were about their results. Aside from the odd crying girl, many of them sort of shrugged their way through the outcomes, even as another skater's score that trumped their own was announced. I know the young skater competitive scene is made up of a lot of events, which would bring a degree of battle-hardeiness against the highs and lows of the results, but, nevertheless, the maturity shown by these skaters, many of them not even sixteen, was humbling.

The show must go on

As another group got going, the first girl on the ice began her routine. I turned away for a moment to talk to one of my fellow spectators, but when I looked back the girl was gesturing at her coach and had broken her stream of elegant steps to skitter over to the barrier. Her music continued to play as she spoke with her coach who gestured up towards the judging panel. The girl skated up and spoke with a judge before getting off the ice.

The person on the music, still unclear as to what was happening, gently turned it down, as if she expected the girl to start again at any moment, before finally switching it off as the girl left the ice. Some sort of scuffle with the girl's skates ensued off the rink while the spectators debated what was going on. A few minutes later, the girl got back on and paid another visit to the judging panel. They indicated where she had stopped her programme and she went to stand there as her music began again. It dawned on me then the horror of what was about to occur: she would have to stand there and wait for her music to catch back up to where she'd been before she could resume her routine.

Awkwardness set in as she stood on the ice, clearly frustrated by the problem, but bound by the judge's ruling to wait for her music to get back to the point she had stopped. As she resumed the spectators clapped enthusiastically, as much to alleviate the awkwardness than a show of support, and she finished her routine without further incident. I later found out that this "interruption in excess" (as it's called in the scoring) had cost her five points, about a tenth of her final score, ouch!

In conclusion

Overall, it was an interesting experience, I don't really plan to compete any time soon, but it was good to get a look at how it all works. Unfortunately, I didn't get a chance to see any of the mens' groups as I had to head off back home before they were on, but I got to see my friend skate and she ended up winning her event, so that was good!

The other bad news was that the Tammasaurus caught me nursing my hot chocolate with caramel shot, whipped cream, chocolate flake and marshmellows and her eyes popped out of her head.

"How are you going to get your Axel if you keep drinking those?" she remarked with a disapproving teacher smile on her face. Woops!