Datebook: Monday, October 15th ~ 2007

With USFSA unleashing the perpetual countdown clock of 100 days until Nationals, we must force ourselves to remember a few other events that fall under that umbrella of time:

Thanksgiving—36 Days—a true Holiday as it is one of three that no one actually has to skate anywhere in the country.

Christmas—70 Days—(Please, I haven’t even started shopping and am considering creating a mix CD of “Programs She has Skated To” with a bonus CD of “Songs that Played in the Arena While I Waited for Her to Skate and Are Now Stuck in My Head,” (Not Sold in Stores!) to be distributed to relatives.) Another Skate-Free day.

New Year’s Eve—76 Days—this is where my husband and I sit on the sofa and watch the revelers in New York party-hearty while we sip hot tea and comment on Dick Clark’s medical progress with all the skill of a trial judge.

New Year’s Day—this is truly bittersweet. It is also a day without skating, but the flip of the calendar reminds of us of so many things. It is a mere fortnight until Nationals. We must fill out Fafsas again for colleges although we receive no benefits—apparently the space for “unusual expenses” is only a source of laughter for the Free Application for Federal Student Aid employees who must yell out whenever they get one from an ice skating household,

“Marty, look at this one…10,000.00 a year in costumes, 8,000.00 a year for ice time…whadda I tell you…it’s cheaper to live in the Midwest…even with the cost of shipping crystals to the middle of the country…those eastern states always round up to the nearest hundred on labor. Geez, what is with these ice dance people?

The other problem with New Year’s Day is that it is the day of resolutions.

We are way past recreational pledges of losing weight and smiling at strangers. We are mainlining mandates of “keeping the same Free Dance”, “no changes to the Original Dance AND Free Dance after Placid” “Getting back to the basics of costumes without beading” and “We are taking a 10-day vacation this summer”. These sound firm and resolute at 6 am as we sit at the table sipping coffee and reading the Book Reviews in the New York Times. “That’s right, this is a different year. Those coaches work for us. We need to start telling them what is what and when is when. And another thing, I think I’m going to sit down with them and tell them they need to get rid of that spin—what is with that—I mean, I pay the bills they have to consider my opinion.”

My husband just looks at me briefly as he folds over the sports sections. It’s true; he has seen this look before. It is the same euphoria that follows eating ten baggies of brownies that I buy from the Girl Scout’s bake sale table at the grocery store. It is the same logos that I have used when attending a sales pitch for a time-share at St. Maartens, Orlando, or Las Vegas. I can get caught up in the moment.

Reality returns the week before Nationals.

It is riding the coattails of nervousness, anxiety, and insomnia. I imagine it is like riding one of those new roller coasters without being belted or clamped in. During Nationals week you are just holding on, keeping your eyes closed, and praying to whatever muse or higher power you can to just survive it.

And like a recovering malaria victim, it takes until Washington’s Birthday in February to recover. By then, you have committed to whatever plan de Jour is in action. Scuba diving lessons to increase lung capacity. Interpretative Japanese Drum Ballroom dancing. Non-Diesel Zamboni Aroma Therapy for Cognitive Awareness.

And the next year begins. In 107 Days.

And of course, the real year begins in 278 days. At Lake Placid.

Mombo