After years and years of college, a perfect 4.0 GPA in grad school, a professional career, it has come to this. I am standing before an audience of hundreds (actually, about 56 people) dressed up as a giant teddy bear. This is what skating does to you, my friends. For the sake of an ice show, you’ll readily sacrifice your dignity.
Adult figure skates participate in their club’s annual ice shows. Sometimes these are slick skating spectaculars, featuring beautifully choreographed numbers, exquisite lighting, and elaborate costumes. An ice show has group numbers (and if the club is smart it’ll include lots of cute kids from Learn to Skate/Group Lessons), punctuated by solo numbers. It’s a lot of work to mount these productions. Sets and props need to be constructed; rehearsals go on for months; skaters and their families sell tickets; music is edited and cut; and everyone freaks out.
I love ice shows because I have a fine-tuned sense of camp and irony. It’s always fun to watch skating but amateur skating productions are just wonderfully goofy. I mean, how can you take yourself seriously if you’re dressed up as a giant banana? I don’t mean to detract from the serious work and effort that is invested in these shows. There are beautiful “serious” numbers that leave the crowd in awe. However, what I really appreciate is the earnest awfulness of the “entertaining” numbers.
Since a lot of adult figure skaters don’t perform solo numbers, we’ll get roped into the costume roles. There is no need to do a double salchow if you’re dressed up Mrs. Claus. This year I play the coveted role of Teddy the Hip Hop Skating Bear.
I’m loving it! I can get away with total devotion to my part, since my costume disguises my identity. I’m the cute rebel—instead of skating to Christmas music like the rest of the pack, I pretend to mutiny and break out into a Hip Hop dance. I’m supposed to dance for about a minute and then someone will forcibly remove me from the ice with a hook (in this case, a hockey stick).
Hilarity! I don’t even have to learn any moves, it’s all improvised. What could go wrong?
Sure, the costume is huge, hot, and the head weighs a ton. In fact, the head is so big that I can’t really see out the little mesh eye holes. When I dance it starts to bobble around and the uneven weight of the plush muzzle pushes the entire mask to the side. It can look like Teddy’s neck is broken.
I think I may suffocate.
With practice I learn to manipulate the arms and head like a puppeteer and by the time of the show I’m pretty adept at gyrating around, shaking my booties, and all the other smooth moves that go into fake Teddy Bear hip hopping.
When it’s finally my turn to do my number in the show, I’m adrenaline-addled. I start off with some Yo Yo punches and immediately start shaking and hip rolling to the music.
The crowd is eating it up! Pumped, I start doing some of those jumpy things while waving my arms. Naturally by this time my head is starting to roll around exorcist –like and consequently I’m completely blind. I spontaneously decide to drop to the ice and do some of those worm-wiggle things I see on Youtube.
And then my head falls off.
The audience, who up to this point have been clapping and laughing, suddenly hush. I hear a collective “Aw!” It’s like discovering the true identity of the Wizard of Oz. Teddy isn’t a cool kid—he’s a middle-aged female adult skater. Oh no!
I replace my head and continue on. The hook comes out and I am appropriately dragged off. It is part of the show but I hope the crowd thinks it is because Teddy screwed up and was temporarily decapitated.
There is lots of applause.
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