Checking In

Checking in. 

It has been 8 months.  And it feels like it.  People are tired, physically and emotionally.  

Me included.  My new favorite thing is to lie on the floor, face down, arms and legs stretched away in the shape of an “X.”  I figured this is for a few reasons, and these reasons shed some light on my feelings at this point on tour.  First, I think I want to give someone a hug, mainly because I really want one myself.  But instead of hugging someone, I just hug the floor.  Or, as I like to tell my dressing roommates, “I look around and cannot find a single one of you that I want to hug.”  Second, as our hotel rooms continue to shrink in size my desire for some space grows and therefore I like the idea of taking up as much room as possible (even if it is that of a dirty floor.)    

I am not crazy (or if I am it is not for the above.)  Others have adopted their own thing.

Jane has started assigning family roles to different cast members.  For example, sometimes she calls me “Mom” as in, “Can I barrow some hairspray, Mom?”  And sometimes she refers to Joel as “Grandpa” as in, “Grandpa is cranky today.”  She was happy to report that she psychoanalyzed herself and realized that she missed her family.  Fair enough.

There is no way around it-  this job feels very repetitive.  Or more so, it is repetitive.  The same steps, the same outfits, the same music, the same order of things you do in the show, etc.  Like that movie Groundhog’s Day. 

My mom told me recently, “You know, I was thinking about this.  Since I saw you last [in February] you have been doing that same show, over and over again.”  What she was getting at is that while she was at the grocery store, I was doing the show, while she was driving to Oakland to see my new niece, I was doing the show, and when she was watching my (not so) little brother play baseball, I was doing the show.  While she was busy not doing the same thing every day, I was.

This is all exaggerated by the fact that we are in our third “split-city” week.  That means we play two cities in one week, with one day of travel and no true days off.  And we unpack and pack up twice a week.  I cannot even keep track of the things I have lost these past two weeks (a bar of soap here, a pair of socks there, a piece of the sanity somewhere.)

I turned to a friend, a veteran show skater, who has been in these shoes/skates before-- hi Cindy!-- and she knew exactly what I was talking about.  First year tour is always the longest, and seemingly never-ending.  She gave some good advice, a virtual shoulder to cry on, and a little something to look forward to- resilience.  She said once I return home, I will be amazed at my resilience.

That is, if I don’t accidentally forget it in Saint-Etienne.

Side Trips

The number one perk to this “backpacking through Europe” year is, well... Europe.  JR, you are right, it is much harder to get the full effect when in Sacramento.  Hi Molly!

Show director and choreographer, Karen Kresge, told us (Brent and me) during the beginning of this tour- “don’t let the show get in the way of your experience.”  Ah, such words of wisdom.  Although there are some definite responsibilities Brent and I have to fulfill within the show, we have some responsibility outside of the show to see as much of Europe as possible.  We wouldn’t want to upset Karen. 

Enter “side trips.”

The first side trip came impulsively, in more of a problem solving scenario.  It was way back in Grefrath, Germany, our third official “city” on tour.  And I say “city” instead of city because, well, I am sure there are some criteria that a geographical place must meet to be called a city that I doubt Grefrath meets.  Sorry Grefrath.

As our tour bus pulled up to the hotel, Laurent turned to me and asked, “Do you think we could rent a car and go somewhere?”  Because, it seemed, we were nowhere.  

And that is how we--Laurent, Michael, Charlene, Brent, his whiskey flask, and I--found ourselves in Cologne, Germany the next day.  We went to what was the Philly gang’s (that would be me, Brent, and Michael) first ever Christmas market (amazing!) and stayed in a five-star hotel for super cheap (thanks Michael, Priceline.com, and Brent and flask, who both slept on the floor.)  

The next side trip occurred between cities number four and five (Dortmund and Rostock....notice no apostrophes)  This trip was planned ahead of time by Brent, and planned pretty perfectly.  A good friend, choreographer, and just one of those people you want to be around all the time-- Stephanee Grosscup-- was choreographing an ice show at the Autostadt in Wolfsburg, a city that lies almost evenly between Dortmund and Rostock.  Easy.  And it would be Stephanee’s birthday and there was a chance we would stay at the the Ritz Carlton.  Well, we had to go.

So that is how, or more why, we-- Michael, Brent, Fatima, Dear Joel Dear, and I-- ended up at the VW Autostadt, picking out our favorite cars in all museums, taking ridiculous photos, watching a skating cyclopes run into a palm tree, “frolicking” in a heated outdoor pool, enjoying both a chakra sauna and regular sauna, drinking out of enormous wine glasses, and hearing “Tales from Burning Man,” by Stephanne Grosscup.

While walking around city number nine, Hannover, Michael noted that Berlin wasn’t too far by train.  Deciding that he didn’t want to go back home (U.S. home, not hotel home) without having been to Berlin he asked, “You want to go to Berlin tomorrow?”

And that is how Michael and I ended up seeing Berlin, checking out Egyptian art at the Neues Museum, grabbing a drink and playing a little piano in a fancy hotel, taking our time at a nice Italian restaurant and.....oops....missing the last train back to Hannover.

And that is how Michael and I ended up staying at a Holiday Inn Express in Berlin, sleeping in our clothes, getting ready early (easy when your clothes are already on!) seeing some of the Berlin Wall and checking out the Checkpoint Charlie Museum.  

The next side trip was once again a planned one, by travel agent Bommentre.  Although city number eleven was Cologne, we were staying in Dusseldorf (another reason I am grateful for the earlier side trip to Cologne.)  Brent figured out that Dusseldorf was a little over two hours from Utrecht, the Netherlands.  Another good friend, talented choreographer, and person who makes you want to break out in song and dance--Doug Webster--would be in Utrecht working on a skating television show.  Yes, we had spent many weeks in Utrecht during rehearsals, but we had never done Utrecht with Doug Webster.  We had to go back.

So that is how we-- Brent, Erik, AJ, Lucy, and I-- ended up in Utrecht, eating about twenty five too many tapas, drinking about three too many glasses of wine (okay, huge underestimate,) and eventually breaking into ice skating choreography on the streets of Utrecht.  Thanks for taping all four minutes of that disaster, Erik.  Proudest moment that I don’t remember.

Since then I have also ventured to Brussels with Charlene and Michael, seen good friend Natalia Zaitseva skate in Disney On Ice in Rouen, France, visited Mark in Dijon, and visited Bordeaux with Mark (highlight- St. Emilion.)  Always about the wine isn’t it Mark?  That better be a promise.

Most recently--as in these past few days--Brent, Joel, Michael, Brian, Jane and I celebrated our last four days off in a row with a side trip to Italy.  We stayed in the cutest smallest town and felt like we had the place all to ourselves.  We tasted Borolos and Barberas in Barolo.  We had an amazing meal; the kind where you don’t order off the menu but tell the chef (“crazy” Nino) what you like and dislike, because that is how he likes to do things, and he has just sat down in the chair next to you.  And you might be just a bit scared of him.

And the grand finale to what will be the last side trip for a few weeks was a breath-taking drive through the snow capped alps.  Absolutely incredibly and completely worth the million euro toll.

Next up:  side trip to Braux, France for a house party.  Come on Mark, Sarah, Daphne, JR and Molly-- let’s put the above stories to shame!

Things I Have Lost Along the Way

Every week it is the same thing.  We have to pack up our stuff into two suitcases (one large, one small) and each week it proves challenging.  I feel like its natural to accumulate things over time, but we try our best not to on tour.  There is just no room for a bunch of shtuff.

Luckily, I have lost a number of things along the way.  Some intentionally, some accidentally.

I can easily remember the first item I lost because it continues to perplex me-  Pajama pants.  And I lost them mid-week.  Tuesday they were in the hotel, Wednesday they were no longer.  They were dark blue with small white polk-a-dots.  Capri length.  Please let me know if you see them anywhere.

Other things I have accidentally left behind:  slippers, cord for an Ipod, a sweater, dishwashing soap, a loofa. 

Then there are the things I left behind intentionally.  Two Tupperware containers(Paris,) a broken purse (also Paris) an old make-up bag (Nantes,) a pair of skating tights (Nantes again,) and an exfoliating sponge (Toulouse.)

And there are the things--more specifically the thing-- I have left behind (twice!) on accident and have been recovered by someone else.  My Ipod.  Once I left it on the tour bus and once in the hotel room.  Thank you Allister and thank you “eye-candy” roommate Michael for its recovery.

To all these things that have ended their European travels abruptly, I want to say sorry and I hope you enjoy your new home.  It just wasn’t meant to be that you continued tour any longer.

Then there are some things that I expect will literally disintegrate into nothingness before I make it back to the states.  My jeans, for example.  When I bought them, they had no holes.  That was not their style.  Yet through daily wearing and bi-weekly washing I have noticed the fabric thinning and my skin peeking through.  And that is just to mention my left pant leg.  My right leg has a massive hole from an incident while trying on shoes.  While in Paris, I saw some cool-looking shoes, tried them on, and when I went to pull up my right pant leg to get a better view, my finger nails went right through my pants. Just right through them!  And I don’t have particularly long nails.  I left the store with zero pairs of cool shoes and one new hole in my jeans.

But this tour is an excellent opportunity to feng-shui my life.  And yes, I like to just toss around terms that I don’t know much about.  I “feng-shuied” my life once prior to this point in time, before I moved to Philadelphia.  I broke up with my then boyfriend, got rid of my apartment, and got my life down to two duffle bags.  In retrospect, I may have been thinking too much big picture.  This time around, I can start small.  How many forks, spoons, or knifes do I really need?  Turns out, just one of each, and I can get them all in one combo camping knife.  

My mom sent me an article about a couple who got their life down to 100 things.  100 items.  I guess this “100 Items Challenge” became pretty popular a few years back.  It is embedded in the idea that material things do not lead to happiness.  This article (from the New York Times, check it out!) talked about how research shows that life experiences lead to happiness more in the long-run.

So, me being me, constantly fascinated by what leads to happiness, I am thinking I am on the right track.  One combo camping knife, a pair of jeans that will disintegrate before the end of tour, and a ton of stories.

And now off to enjoy Marseille, France!

January Nerves

It’s funny.  Even though I am far away from the competitive world, I can just feel that Nationals is close by.  I think my body has been programmed to get really nervous around mid-January.

I haven’t kept up much with the going-ons in the competitive world. However, the other day those mid-January nerves began to kick in and I found myself online, researching the world of competitive skating 2011.  

Somehow I found my way to a site where people were predicting upcoming results, or analyzing past competitions or programs or teams.

And something struck a nerve.  I totally absolutely understand the desire for people to express their opinions about something they are not involved in first-hand.  It is along the same lines as reading a tabloid and then discussing the spilt of Sandra Bullock and Jesse James (who, by the way, is getting married to Kat Von D? what?! :> )  And, I get people guessing the outcome of an upcoming competition.  I have heard of that thing called betting.

But what makes me laugh is the questioning of choices.  Choices of choreographers, music, costumes, or even lifts. 

To answer those questions, I think we should focus on the basic idea that people make choices because, well, they thought it was a good- nah, the best!- choice.

I remember Tanith (Belbin) saying “it wasn’t for a lack of effort on anyone’s part” that they did not have the result outcome that they had hoped for or expected at a competition some years ago.  It is such a simple things to state -- everyone involved tried their best-- yet you feel you must make it clear.   

So, just to be clear, I have never, on purpose, made a bad choice.  I have always thought it was a good-- nah, the best!-- choice.  But, alas, sometimes I am just a dumb ass.

Okay, so this venture into the online competitive skating world got my wheels turning.  I started to do a compare and contrast of the competitive skating world and the show skating world. Wait.  Clarification:  The competitive skating world and the show skating world, relative to me. Of course. 

One of the most drastic changes has been the fact that in the show world, not every performance is special .  During a competitive season you really only get to perform a handful of times, and each time you do it feels pretty important.  And Brent and I always did a good job making each program feel special in that moment.  Well, now that we perform multiple times a week, it is a bit different. A few shows feel good, a few bad, and most just right in the middle.  As Jillian, a show veteran in our cast, would say, “Just another day at the office!”  I swear I skated out there sometime last week and thought, “what are all these people doing here? It is just a Sunday afternoon in Cologne.  I wish they would stop looking at me.  I am kind of tired.”  Whereas before, during a competition, I knew why they were looking at me-  I was competing at THE U.S. FIGURE SKATING CHAMPIONSHIP! (best said in a booming, echoing voice like a movie trailer voice-over) and that only happened once a year and was pretty damn important!  

Which leads to me to note that the level of mental stress for us has definitely lessened.  This has been a welcomed change.  Though that is not to say that there is not a set of stresses in the show world, but they come more in the form of challenges.  For example, the ice size changes from city to city, and I am told in France we will see the smallest ice imaginable.  Or the ice condition is just plain bad.  Or there is giant hole downstage, right where you do three big tricks.  Or there are two pink feathers where you do a lift.  Or there is a giant fountain in the middle of the ice during your number.  Or your heel splits mid-show and you have to go into another pair of skaters for the second half of the show.  All challenges, often annoying, but definitely less stressful.

And I guess that “annoying” feeling comes with the territory, considering that this is a job now.  Jobs can be just that- annoying.  As much as I tried to put it off, that is a lesson I must learn as I approach my thirties (how embarrassing!)  But the great thing is now I have a license to complain, just like a grown-up. “Argh!  I am so annoyed at my job!”   I didn’t really earn that right while competing.  It just makes no sense to say “Argh! I am so annoyed at this thing I pay to do” or better yet, “Argh! I am so annoyed at this thing that my closest friends and family help me pay to do!”

The coolest thing about being in this show world, having a job and having some income, has nothing to do with skating at all.  It is the fact that I can help fund my boyfriend  through wine business school, which he found when Brent and I were offered the Holiday On Ice contract.  So, Mark is living in Dijon, France, pursuing something he has been passionate about long before moving to Philadelphia to work as an accountant and help pay his girlfriend’s rent.  

It feels really good to help someone pursue their passion.  And Mark has been really grateful for the support.  Having previously been on the other side of the coin for so long, I hope I have been as grateful.

If you are reading this, chances are you deserve another big THANK YOU.  Hope you know that I am “paying it forward” as the saying goes, and we should all share some good wine together under Mark’s tutelage.  Prost!

Laundry

It’s the small things that prove difficult here on tour.  One such thing- laundry.  

There has never been a laundry mat just next door or across the street from any given hotel.  The only time there was one nearby was during our stay in Utrecht, where we were rehearsing for five weeks.  I had no idea how good we had it then.

I have gotten into an every two weeks schedule.  It takes me about two weeks to have a desperate need to do laundry.  Which is crazy because when I fill a bag with all my dirty clothes it just looks like the saddest smallest bag.  It is mind-boggling that I can’t get on comfortably with my life without first getting this small bag of clothing clean. Yet this small bag makes up for at least 50% of my wardrobe.  Sigh.

So, every two weeks, also known as “every other city”, I trek around Germany with a few skaters and a small bag of dirty clothes.  In Bremen the laundry mat was four tram stops away, in Dortmund we walked twenty five minutes, in Erfurt we walked ten minutes (in the snow, backwards and barefoot!) and then took the tram for ten minutes.  The journey is always an adventure, filled with self-doubt (“are we sure we are going the right way?”) and that is after the entirely different adventure of asking for directions to a “waschsalon” at the hotel reception.

Essen was the next city in which I had a few things to wash, and I was so excited and impressed that the hotel already had directions to a few laundry mats printed out!  Surely this would be one of the easier laundry days on tour.

Right after we checked in to our hotel (Ypsilon Best Western) Charlene and I headed out to the closer of the two laundry mats.  We followed the directions without any problems and ended up at “Clarissa Steeger “ about fifteen minutes later.  It was a strange looking laundry mat.  It looked more like an apartment.  The door was closed, so we rang some doorbells but nothing happen.  We looked at a small German sign with some times on it and figured out that the laundry mat had closed at 2pm, but opened the next day at 10am.  Okay, not a huge problem.  The next day was another day off, and we would just return to Clarissa Steeger after breakfast.

Day two.  After breakfast Charlene and I acquired two more skaters, Michael and AJ, and together we set off to Clarissa Steeger with four small bags of dirty laundry. Again, fifteen minute walk to strange looking laundry mat.  This time the door was open.  We walked in only to find a group of Germans washing restaurant linens in some kind of big washing machine.  They looked at the four of us questioning and after a quick game of charades pointed us in the direction of a laundry mat.

Because we were embarrassed, we just nodded, said thank you, and walked off into the direction we were pointed.  Of course after only a few blocks down the road we assessed that none of us had a clue as to where we were heading, where we needed to go, or if in fact the Germans washing the restaurant linens had pointed us towards a laundry mat.

This is when we decided that postmen and grocery clerks were our “go to” for information.  Each person we saw delivering mail (oddly we did see two in the course of three blocks,) we would ask  “do.. .you...know...where...a....laundry. ...mat.....uh....waschsalon....is?” because you know, when you ask a question in English s l o w l y, it magically turns into German.  

When that didn’t work, AJ--who is actually an actor in LA when not on tour--went into the grocery store and acted out “washing clothes” to the clerk, which looked more like “I am really itchy,” but he must have done something right because the clerk tried to sell him some laundry detergent.

Since laundry detergent wouldn’t solve all our problems, we decided to consult the hotel print-out.  The first laundry mat listed was a bust, but the second one would have to exist, right?  So we began asking for directions to “Klarastrasse,” where the second laundry mat was located.

Of course finding the street was nothing short of difficult.  We walked pass it at least once and at some point figured out we had made almost a complete circle from where we started (the Ypsilon Best Western.)

Finally finally finally we found Klarastrasse with the help of an English speaking German woman who recognized four foreign faces in distress.  We followed Klarastasse to the address listed on our trusty hotel print-out.

It was a dry-cleaner.

So, we were getting warmer.

We asked where the $#%^ a laundry mat was (but in a much nicer, more charade-like way) and got directions to a whole new place.  A location not listed on our hotel print-out, which at this point felt like a really good sign.

We walked and walked and looked and walked...and then, we saw it.

“30,40, 60” laundry mat!  There was even a painting of a laundry basket on the window.

Charlene, AJ, Michael, and I ran across the street (in the snow!) Ran across the street and right up to the glass door.  

Only to see...

two repair men pulling the washing machines out of the wall. 

The laundry mat would be closed for two days for repairs.

WHAT?!  This was the one true laundry mat we came across in our hour and a half scavenger hunt.  How could it be closed?!

After we surrendered to the laundry gods (for what, we do not know) falling into a heap of tears and dirty snow, we walked with heads hanging to find a cab back to the hotel.  We had no idea where we were at this point, but knew laundry was not a possibility.

At the intersection I decided to part with the group to find an internet “surfstick.”  Internet is another small thing that proves incredibly difficult on tour.  So, the remaining three said they would take my bag of dirty clothes back to the hotel for me.

On my walk to the O2 store my phone rang.  It was Michael saying they just told the cab driver to take them to a laundry mat, so they had no idea where they were going, but they would wash my clothes for me.

So, yes.  Essen was my easiest laundry day on tour so far.  

Thanks guys.

Backpacking through Europe

Because I am embarking on another good old life transition--transition out of competitive skating, transition into my thirties--this new adventure has already felt like a bipolar roller coaster.  One day I am up, one day I am down, and many days I am “up up up” (which is what my new French friend Charlene calls being drunk.)  But I am just kidding about that, Mom and Dad.

When I think about choosing not to compete anymore, I feel content.  When I think about doing what I am doing now for a large chunk of my life, I feel hesitant.  I know where I am not supposed to be, but not quite sure where I am supposed to be now.  Make sense?  It’s okay if not.  I am going somewhere with this that is far less confusing. Promise.

Because I am unsure if I have found the perfect fit, the idea of committing to this tour life for years on end is overwhelming.  BUT when I think of this as my backpacking through Europe year, it feels pretty perfect.

A lot of college-aged kids do that backpacking through Europe thing or a semester or two studying abroad.  Because of training, that is an experience a lot competitive skaters miss out on, including myself.

Well now I get to have that experience, but on a pretty cushy level.  Which is weird to say because things like our accommodations are not cushy in the least.  BUT if I were backpacking through Europe, they would be!  See how that works?  If you look at your life through the “I am backpacking through Europe lens,” everything looks a lot nicer.  Try it sometime.  

So far I have visited Utrecht and Amsterdam in the Netherlands, and Offenburg, Hamburg, Bremen, Grefrath, Dortmund, and Rostock in Germany.  Right now I am en route to Erfurt.  On a bus!  Cushy for a backpacker, right?  And I didn’t have to arrange the bus, pay for the bus, or transfer to another bus.  

Also, I don’t actually have to carry a backpack as I backpack through Europe.  I have two Samsonite rolling bags.  One big, one little.  And they are the kind that have four wheels and can roll different directions.  Fancy!

What else?  Oh yes, I get to wear a lot of makeup and glitter as I backpack through Europe.  And fake eyelashes.  Who gets to do that while trekking through Europe?  Me.  It’s my job!

Speaking of which, I have a job while backpacking through Europe.  That is pretty cool too.  And you know what my job entails?  People clapping for me.  Yep, that’s right- people clap for me as I backpack through Europe.  

Okay, maybe I glossed over the skating part, but it is true.   This job makes people feel obligated to clap.  Regardless of opinion, at the end of the show people are going to clap.  They just will.  So, in my head, I get paid to make people clap for me.  And I feel pretty lucky about that.  If I worked at a bank I am pretty sure no one would clap for me when I deposited their check.

One of our coaches, Cheryl , was trying to explain the novelty of this as we prepared for the World Championships last March.  Because we knew World’s would be our final competition, she really wanted us to appreciate the experience.  She told us how lucky we were to get to stand out on that ice and have so many people clap for us.  She told us how no one clapped for her when she made a nice dinner for her family.  And she told us that World’s would be one of our last opportunities to experience this.

I thought about that a few cities back, on Thanksgiving day.  Brent and I have this moment backstage, each show, where we wonder “what have we done with our lives?!”  It is right after we have done the running-man with some pigs and monkeys on the ice, and before we go do our program dressed as snakes.  It is a moment filled with sadness and humor, both which were magnified when Brent grabbed my hands and said, “Hey. Happy Thanksgiving.”  Anyways, I thought about Cheryl’s words.  How we wouldn’t have the opportunity to stand on the ice and receive applause much longer.  Little did Cheryl know that it would become our new job--to make people clap for us--alongside pigs and monkeys.  Egg on your face much Cheryl?! ;>

The beginning

Since I think that just may have worked...let’s get started!

Where do I being? 

Okay, to catch you up to speed, in our fifth season of competitive skating, Brent and I realized we had had our fill.  Fill of competitive ice dancing I should say.  I wanted to perform, he wanted to see the world, and we wanted to keep skating together.  So when  we were offered the opportunity to perform in a professional skating show that would tour throughout Europe, it seemed like a good fit.  Oh yeah, and we would get paid.  That helped.

And having “blogged” (ugh, I hate that word) before at skating competitions, I know that although typing out these experiences is a pain in the ass, it is a record of something I will surely forget.  Not because these experiences are not memorable, but because I will get old.  Therefore forgetting.

So I told myself I would “blog” (ugh) about this new adventure.  And more so I told other people I would.  And two months after arriving in Europe, guilt has gotten the best of me.

I have a friend--true story!-- who finds the word “sequin” very funny.  He thinks it sounds more like a form of measurement than something used to make a skating costume sparkle.  He has decided that a sequin is “an SI unit (system international)” and the equation is as follows:

 10^6 sequins = 1 megasequin

 10^-6 sequins  = 1 microsequin

 *a sequin is one unit of fabulousness

And thus we have MegaSequin, the blog! (ugh)