The end of another (synchro) era

You ever wish for a day to come and when it finally does, you wish you hadn’t wanted it to arrive so quickly? Yesterday was that day for me.

February 21 – the West Coast Challenge Cup – marked the end of another great synchro season. Now that it’s come and gone, I’m really sad it’s over.

The past five months, I’ve had the opportunity to skate with a new team in a new category with a new coach – to say it’s been an interesting experience would be an understatement - but not in a bad way.

We managed to collect some new hardware – two golds and a silver – and a respectable fourth place finish in Ontario against some of the best teams in the country. Although, a medal would have been the icing on the cake….

We pulled together this season to skate a fun, upbeat, Saturday night 90s throwback routine. And we had a hell of a lot of fun doing it.  

Not uncommon with any team, there were moments where the practices felt long and our patience ran thin. Muttered comments were occasionally made and dynamics were tested. We’re women, we have hormones and a lot on our respective plates outside the rink - we can’t help it.

A few gals experienced life changes, some planned, some not; others had hectic work schedules; some fell ill; others just had an opinion, myself included.

Yet, despite all of this, it’s moments like yesterday that matter. Moments where the differences and BS are put aside and we just skate. We skate for ourselves, we skate for each other, we skate for the sport – because we truly friggin’ love it.

Yesterday, we laid it all out and the results were reflective. We achieved our first 50-plus point score of the season and had more energy than any of our previous skates. We stepped off the ice feeling confident, powerful and united – like we had all achieved something great together because, well, we did. We topped the podium the same day we organized and ran the competition.

We all deserve to take great pride in our achievements. It’s something we may not have been able to pull off individually, but as a team, as Ice Evolution, we’ve proven ourselves to be unstoppable.

At the end of the day, we’re different gals from different walks of life and although we may not always agree on everything, we do share the same love for one thing: synchro.

It unites us in our passion, it’s the reason we get up at 4 a.m. with a smile on our face and head to the rink (coffee in hand, of course) and it’s the reason we return to the ice year after year, despite saying just months before that it may be time to take a “break”.

Having only been back on the ice for two seasons after a nearly 10-year hiatus, I can say that the past two years have really ignited a passion for this sport I thought I’d long lost.

I’m grateful to the two coaches who took a chance on me, allowed me to join their rosters here in BC and came up with fun and challenging routines for us to skate to. 

I’m grateful to the two managers who busted their asses, took time away from their families and made sure the team showed up where they needed to and on time, with a back up bag of extra essentials just in case. 

I’m grateful to the other gals on the ice who made me feel welcome and who have befriended me despite my quirks, sarcasm and propensity to swear. I’ve made some friendships on the ice that have further been strengthened off the ice and I’m truly appreciative to have met these awesome gals.

Although I don’t plan to skate next year (no, seriously), I know this won’t be my last season. It’s not a matter of if I’ll skate again, just when.

In the meantime, I’ll keep my three new shiny bits of hardware polished, my memories close and my skates sharpened and ready to go.... just in case.

Synchronized skating: Passion or obsession?

It’s great to have a passion for something, be it volunteering, binge watching Orange is the new Black on Netflix, cooking or knitting. For me, it’s synchronized skating. (What?)

For those of you who don’t know, synchronized skating is a team of gals (and sometimes guys) who perform a routine together. Teams can be as small as eight and as large as 20.

Over the course of 13 or so seasons as a synchronized skater, I’ve had the privilege of skating with many different gals from all different walks of life.And while we are all very different, we share a love of skating.

For us, it’s not just a fun thing to do – it’s a passion, it’s a way to embrace our inner competitive beast without feeling like a complete Neanderthal. A way to bring our inner goddess through carnival make up. A way to deliver a performance worthy of an Oscar without making the millions that usually comes with being an actress. Some might call it obsessed but for us, it’s merely dedication.

So, just how far does this obsession go? If you’ve dated a synchronized skater, have one in your family or you are one, you might recognize some of these behaviours.   

We love talking about synchro. Nonstop.

Whether it’s a colleague asking about a weekend competition or a new friend asking what the hell the sport is all about, we love to talk about it. I, for one, love when people don’t know what it is and I get the opportunity to explain it to them. I’ve mastered the art of telling them it’s like synchronized swimming, but on the ice and without the high cut bathing suits, nose plugs and gelatin.

We also love watching synchro, over and over again.

Whether we’re at a competition or sitting at home in our pjs drinking wine searching YouTube, we love watching synchro videos. Programs from previous years are constantly brought up at practice, we post videos to our Facebook of other teams and share videos of our competitors amongst team members on the regular. To the untrained, un-synchro-obsessed eye, the programs may all look the same but to us, they couldn’t be more different.

We love playing detective and researching steps, moves, lifts, arm holds and transitions. For the parts we really love, don’t be surprised if we pause, restart or screen shot the video just so we can make sure we fully understand how something was executed. It’s a beautiful competitive sport, we can’t help ourselves.

We’re really, really committed to practicing our moves.

 When we hear our program music at a grocery store, friend’s party or a club, we’re not afraid to bust out our moves – arms, heads, chassés  and spirals included. Because, the program looks just as good off the ice as on, right?

A bit of advice: if your friend is a synchronized skater and begins doing program moves at a party, be sure to give her a few feet of space either way or you may end up with her foot in your face while she stumbles across the floor practicing her 135.

When it comes to our old program, we’re like elephants – we never forget.

You think we’ve got good memories for practicing our current routines? You should see us bust out the moves from our juvenile years when our skirts were shorter than Rebecca Black’s career, our scrunchies were the accessory of the decade and  we were thrilled to leave grade three gym class early on a Friday to head to a competition.

I doubt I’d find a synchronized skater on the planet who hasn’t skated to either a disco routine, Sweet Caroline or Pirates of the Caribbean who can’t recite, at the very least, circle steps or an intersection move.

We secretly love competition hair and make-up.

Back in the day as young synchro stars, it took hours to wash the craft sparkles from our hair. We’d complain and whine about finding them for days after yet happily put them in again the following weekend for the next competition.

As adults, layering on sparkly make up, adding fake eyelashes, cheap earrings and offensively bright lipstick is all par for the course. While we may half-kid about the number of showers or bottles of shampoo it’ll take to scrub ourselves clean of the competition evidence, we secretly love it.

And don’t forget the helmet hair. If we all knew then what we knew now, I’m sure many of us would have been more diligent in buying stock in Dippity Do gel.

We’re sticklers for details... when it comes to skating.

Should our arms be on a 45 degree angle or straight up? Is it open palm or closed fist? Should our spirals aim to be 45 degrees higher than our bodies or 48? Does the arm change happen on five, six, or between the two counts?

We constantly ask questions and clarify arm placements, holds, under cuts and counts of music. We can tell you exactly what direction our heads should be facing at each beat in the program, whether  stretch or tuck on our mohawks and the exact moment in the program our expression changes from over-the-top happiness to dark and mysterious. 

But ask me where I saved that all important file at work or who starred in the recent James Bond movie? Pfft. I haven’t  a friggin' clue.

We bitch about skating, but at the end of the day, we really, really do love it.

Sometimes, we like to complain. Be it a bad practice, a snarky comment from a tired team mate, a fall during competition or unfair judging, we sometimes let our emotions get the better of us and end up in a full-fledged rant to whoever is willing to listen.

While we can sometimes complain about the sport, deep down many of us feel more at home on the ice than anywhere else. 

It’s a place to exercise, connect with people who truly understand why you’re crazy enough to get up at 4:50 a.m. for a Saturday morning practice and a way of feeling as though you’ve accomplished something. For me, there’s no greater feeling than stepping off of the ice after a great skate knowing we laid out everything we had. Well, except winning a gold medal.

Oh, for those of you who are still trying to figure out what the hell this synchronized skating is all about, here’s one of the best teams in Canada at a recent competition. Happy watching!

What I really want for Christmas

Lately, I’ve been caught up in the whole commercialized Christmas, which has been a big change for me. It’s been a few years since I’ve actually felt like celebrating the holiday. It all started four years ago when my Dad passed. Since then, I’d been unable to get out of my Grinch-like funk.

The first year he was gone, the Christmas tree I had was taken down before December 25 even arrived. I felt so guilty celebrating when my Dad would never see another Christmas again. 

The following year, I convinced myself I didn’t need a tree and the year after that, I only put one up because my ex and I were hosting my family for dinner and my sister insisted we have a tree.

This year I allowed myself to get caught up in the magic I once believed actually existed around Christmas – the lights, the big, beautiful tree, the ornaments, the presents, the Christmas outings – I even caught myself singing that hideously addictive yet horribly annoying All I want for Christmas song. Thanks Mariah.

For the first time in a long time, it almost felt like it had growing up. Magical. Perfect.

Then today when I heard Joe Cocker died, all of the Christmas excitement and joy I felt immediately dissipated and I missed my Dad. A lot.

The grief I’d managed to bury for so long came back like a tsunami and I was completely overwhelmed, so much so that I actually felt like a beach ball had inflated in my throat and for a few moments, I couldn’t catch my breath. Tears spilled down my cheeks and I felt as though I were literally drowning.

My Dad always told me how when I was a baby and couldn’t sleep, he’d play ‘our’ song, sing it softly to me and rock me back to sleep. “Worked like a charm every time, babes.” I can almost hear him saying it.

My handsome Dad as a young police cadet at Christmas.

Even up until he passed when I was 24, he’d occasionally call me and leave me a voicemail when he’d heard ‘you are so beautiful’ on the radio. His voice would be cracking without fail every time, as though he had just relived a precious memory. I suppose in many ways, he had.

I’ve not listened to the song for years – I just couldn’t. By the time the first few piano notes were played, I’d be hysterical, frantically trying to catch my breath and all the while wishing my Dad were singing it to me. I know he never will again.

Foolishly, I looked the song up on YouTube after I read the news, which only made me more emotional. The song still had the same effect – it made me sad (read: I bawled my frickin' eyes out) – I just miss my Dad terribly.

The Christmas joy I finally found has been weighted down by the fact that I know the one thing I want more than anything, I will never again have – time with my Dad.

That’s not to say I’m not grateful or appreciative for what’s to come this Christmas – I’m in a great relationship, I’m living in a city I’ve always dreamed of being in and I’m on the ice again. I have my health, I have my family, I have my friends. But all of that does little to comfort me today.  

It’s been four years yet it feels like yesterday in many ways – the idiotic move of playing that song reaffirmed to me I’m far from “over” losing him.

While I’d give anything and everything under my tree to have just a few more moments with him, I know he’d be upset with me for not appreciating what I do have, even if he can’t physically be here to share it with me.

So, I’ll try my best to think positively, be grateful and take comfort in the memories we did have – they’re more valuable to me than anything on my wish list. 

And, if I need to cry, I'll give myself permission to. It's not all bad, I suppose - my cheeks get a little rosy after a good sob fest and who couldn't use a little extra colour this gloomy time of year?

How do you cope with grief during the holidays?

Mid-week rant: elevator etiquette

While I was at work today, I noticed something that really irked me – and it’s not unique to my work place. If you work in a building with more than one level, you probably witness this on a daily basis too.

My frustration this morning (I’ll get to it, I promise) inspired my idea to have an ongoing mid-week rant. 

This week’s gripe: elevator etiquette – or lack thereof.

Here’s how it materialized: I walked towards the elevator bank this morning and found myself standing beside another employee who was feverishly typing on her phone.

After a few seconds, the bell chimed, the doors opened and the employee standing beside me – head still down and fully submersed in BlackBerry zone – walked right onto the elevator without looking. She was so oblivious she bumped right into a gentleman who was waiting to get off. She barely looked up to mutter ‘sorry’ before she turned her attention back to her phone. She actually looked a bit annoyed I was holding her up as I waited for the surprised man to get exit.  

I wish I could say this was a one-off, but I see it all the time. Even when people aren’t distracted by phones or an iPod, they still rush onto the elevator before waiting to see if someone might be getting off. Where the hell is the fire?

But this isn’t the only thing that irks me about elevator passengers. I've witnessed many annoying and downright rude behaviours during my time as a nine-to-fiver in an multi-level office building.

I like to give people the benefit of the doubt and have come to the conclusion that perhaps they just don’t know how to behave politely on an elevator. So, I’ve compiled a few pet peeves along with helpful suggestions that will ensure the comfort and safety of all elevator patrons - only if they're executed:

• When the elevator arrives and the doors open, take two seconds and check if anyone is getting off before you bulldoze your way on. 

Think of it as right-of-way for elevator travels. You wouldn’t make a left turn in front of a vehicle coming straight towards you (at least, I hope not), so don’t cut in front of someone who has the right to exit before you get on. By having a quick glance, you’ll save yourself the embarrassment of knocking someone on their rear end or having to help them pick up whatever they dropped all over. By this point, the elevator will have continued on its journey – without you - and you’ll have to wait for the next one anyway. While it may like I'm exaggerating, you’re saving yourself time by taking the extra two seconds – trust me.

• Hold the “open door” button for passengers who may be slower getting on or off. 

Pretending to be on your phone is no excuse for letting the doors close on another passenger.I know this may be shocking to some, but not everyone is fortunate enough to be able to stroll on and off an elevator as they please. I’m sure the older woman with a walker or the young adult on crutches would really appreciate being able to get on the elevator without being squashed like a pancake by the doors while you pretend to look at your Facebook profile. Besides, we’ll all know you’re just being rude – most elevators don’t have reception.

• Elevator placement. 

Sometimes we’re fortunate that we get to stand where we want to in the elevator car. Personally, I prefer leaning on a railing on the right side –it’s a comfort thing. While it’s great to have selection, it’s important to know that the location you choose may come with additional responsibilities. Standing in front of the control panel is like sitting in the emergency exit on a plane. You get the luxury of not having someone directly in front of you, but you also have to be mindful of other passengers’ needs. 

• If someone is getting on the elevator, it’s proper etiquette to ask which floor they’re going to instead of forcing them to awkwardly reach around you to press the button. 

It’s even more important if someone has their hands full. Don’t force them to do a juggling act with their belongings if you have your hands free. Likewise, if someone is getting on or off and needs an extra second, hold the doors open. (See above). Finally, if you choose to stand in front of the doors like an eager beaver, make sure you step aside to let people on or off. Nothing says inconsiderate jerk like the person who forces passengers to bounce around like a pin ball between other riders and the door frame as they squeeze around you to get off at their floor. 

• Unless you’re in a dire emergency, there’s no harm in waiting for the next elevator if the first one is full. 

I don’t care how cutely you ask, no, we can’t just “squeeze you in”. Riding in an elevator is terrifying enough for some people without having the worry that the car is going to be over capacity because you don't have any patience. The idea of being packed like sardines with strangers in a confined space isn't enough to convince you? Throw bad hygiene and hot weather into the mix and you've got yourself an elevator ride from hell. See, isn't it much better to wait? 

• The last one makes me sick, literally. So much so that I’m going to keep it short and sweet: crop dusting is not appropriate. Ever. Unless you’re going to fess up Jim Carrey-style.

What bad elevator behaviour have you noticed? What advice would you give to people?

Easing back into blogging.... West-coast style

It’s been 18 months since I last posted on my blog. 18 MONTHS. A lot can happen in that time. In fact, a lot has.

I’ve moved four times: out of my first house and into my former in-laws, from there I bounced to my sister’s and a year and a bit ago, I packed my entire life into my little red Mazda and drove 4,800 kilometres with a girlfriend in search of a new beginning. Then, I moved into my own place. 

In September 2013, I started the job that enabled me to fulfill a pipe dream I had at 18 years old to relocate to BC. Now, I’m living it. It still feels totally surreal. Except the rain. The excessive rain feels very real. And wet. 

The first couple of weeks felt like a vacation. I started my new job, met people at work, shopped, and celebrated with friends I already had in the city. I was foolish enough to think that life would continue to carry on with my feet floating above the ground.

My crap literally invaded my aunt & uncle's place

A few weeks in and with my much of my stuff still sitting in suitcases that were tucked into every corner of my aunt and uncle’s townhome, reality started to sink in.

Run dates with my sister were replaced by FaceTime calls where I could see her but not visit her. I had to get used to living in someone else’s house, again, surrounded by their things and their routine, which caused me to feel displaced. I missed my friends. I missed my family. I missed home.

I spent weeks, perhaps even months, second guessing some of the choices I had made both before I left and since I arrived in Vancouver. It’s taken some time, but I finally feel like I’ve settled in and can call this beautiful city ‘home’ without feeling like a total fraud..... Except for the fact that I still don't know how to speak Starbucks. 

I've promised myself that I'm going to start blogging again - even if it is just once a week. I mean, my life isn't THAT exciting. So, grab a glass of shiraz or pinot and read on - I’ll be sharing some experiences: the good, the bad, and the ugly, and hopefully providing some entertainment along the way.

Stay tuned!

Letter To Dad

Dear Dad,

Today marks our third Father’s Day without you. Three isn’t a big number, but it’s the days in between those years that have been long.

For the past few weeks, I’ve been bombarded with ads for the perfect gift: a tool set from a hardware store, a particular golf club to help you improve your swing, a pair of pants to improve your style. (For the record, you were always the nicest dressed man I knew.)

The painful absence of your loss has made me realize there’s only one gift that matters and it’s something you can’t buy at a hardware store – the gift of more time.

While you’ve given the gift of time to three other men through your donation, it doesn’t change the fact that I’d give up a lot of things just to have you back for a few moments.  

That being said, I’ve made it a priority to not be regretful for the time we didn’t have, but be appreciative for what we did. In the 24 years I had you in my life, I remember you saying countless times “not every little kid/teen/girl has what you do.”

The older I get and the more people I meet, I realize how true this statement is. Not everyone was able to participate in a sport each year that cost the equivalent of a new vehicle. Not everyone had the opportunity to go on family vacations, sometimes more than once a year. Not everyone was fortunate to have a relationship with their Dad like I had with you.

Just because your accident took you away from us doesn’t mean that our memories are gone, too.

I still remember you coming home from work and opening your arms for a famous bear hug. No matter how bad your day was, you always made us feel like we were the most important part. When I think about it hard enough, I can still smell your cologne and feel your arms around me.

As a child, I learned from you – how to sing AC/DC before I could recite the alphabet, how to give cheeky replies, and how to get exactly what I wanted with a simple “pretty please”. (You never could say no…)

As an adult, I learned to appreciate you both as a father and as a friend. Through your mistakes, you taught me the importance of accountability and forgiveness. 

I credit you entirely for my addiction to chocolate, teaching me to speak my mind even when sometimes I shouldn’t, my love of classic rock, and my inappropriate off-colour sense of humour.

You taught me not to settle and to always strive for what I deserved – in love, in work, in school, in life. Your untimely passing reminds me every day about how short life can be and I’m trying not to take anything for granted.

I hope you know how much you meant to me – to all of us – and that you’re desperately missed every moment of every day. While I’m slightly envious of all of the girls and women who get to spend time with their dads today, I know that there are people who are just envious of me and the incredible memories I have.  

I hope you’re as proud of us as we are of you. The four of us continue to keep your legacy alive, while diligently – albeit slowly - building our own. How great will ours be? Well, you never can tell with bees.

Happy Father’s Day, Daddy.

Back To The Basics: Father's Day

This time of year is bittersweet for my siblings and I.

After losing our Dad three years ago, Father’s Day has become somewhat of a sad holiday instead of one we looked forward to. Dad loved spending time with us on Father's Day, even if it meant just sitting in his backyard with a couple of beers and reciting lines from Ace Ventura.

The 'first' Father's Day was hard, the second was a little less painful. I’m sure this one will be a little less again, but it’ll never reach a point where it passes and I don’t feel a twinge in my heart.

The first year he was gone, I chose to run in a Father’s Day race in support of prostate cancer research. Two years before, my father-in-law had been diagnosed with – and beat – the disease so I was motivated to support the cause that had given us more time with him in hopes of helping others. Plus, running helped expend the energy I would have inevitably spent crying balled up on the couch feeling sorry for myself.

At the race, I was envious of the girls young and old who were either running with their Dads or finished the race with an embrace as their proud Pops waited at the finish line. I distinctly remember watching a girl a few years older than I speed towards the finish line and into the arms of her Dad. With tears in his eyes, he kissed her cheek and thanked her. The back of her shirt said he was a survivor of the disease. I was sure this was a moment they’d remember forever.

My father-in-law remarked how proud he was I had taken the time to run in the race in his honour and raise awareness for the disease. I didn’t buy him anything that year – I had simply given my time to do something meaningful for him.

Apparently the gift of time is no longer good enough.

I heard an ad on the radio this morning, targeted at kids, that said something along the lines of ‘Dad doesn’t want a hug this year, he wants power tools.’ What?

When did Father’s Day become a commercialized, materialistic event? What happened to making Dad his favourite breakfast or taking him mini putting? Perhaps I notice it more because I don’t have the option to spend more time with my father or buy him something he probably didn’t need in the first place. In any event, are we getting carried away?

I used to think Valentine’s Day was the most commercialized holiday but over the past few years, I’ve noticed retailers are putting pressure on us to buy the perfect gift– a day at the spa to give Mom a break on Mother’s Day, an iPad for Grandma and Grandpa at Christmas so they can share those special moments with their grandkids, a new truck for your husband so he can look tough on his way to work while he sits in traffic.

People complain about commercialized holidays and retailers marking up the prices of certain items associated with those days. (Think: a bouquet of red roses on Valentine’s Day, which mysteriously seem to rise in price a few weeks before February 14. Is there an annual shortage I'm not aware of?) Retailers can get away with it because we continue to buy into it.

By participating in this cycle, we place more and more value on the things we buy people instead of the time we spend with them. Granted, I suppose there are people who would rather send their Dad a gift card in the mail instead of actually sitting in the same room with them, but for those who have relationships with their father, why do they need to feel pressure to find the perfect present?

The meaning of Father’s Day is to celebrate fatherhood and their contribution to their families, not provide them with absent-minded gifts.

A pair of Chaps from The Bay doesn’t scream ‘I appreciate you, Dad’; spending time with him and recounting a family trip or making him his favourite meal does.

So, here’s my proposition: while I’m sure your Dad would appreciate a shiny new power tool or a round of golf, chances are he’d rather spend the time with you.

If you insist on buying him something, get him something you can do together – take him for dinner, or if you’re budget-conscious, make him dinner. Show up with a board game or action movie and a few beers, or take him golfing instead of sending him out on his own.

The memories you make will far outlast the warranty on a circular saw.