This is a modified repost from another blog. The photos are from the 1990 Arborg Ice Show, themed Movie Mania.
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It was a gorgeous spring afternoon.
By nightfall, it would be gold.
It was the 1990 Interlake Regional Precision Competition at the Stonewall arena. Otherwise known as Synchronized Skating. The final competition of the season for our 16-member Arborg Junior team, and the Juveniles and CanSkate teams.
Stonewall is about forty-five minutes north of Arborg, and a convoy lead out of our town about 4:30 p.m. Almost everyone on Highway 7 that day was either a synchro skater, parent, grandparent, gf/bf, or somehow associated with the competition.
For some reason, synchro Regionals were usually held late in the evening. Plus every team had to be on the ice whether they won a medal or not. Since my parents were still married to the dairy cows, they couldn’t drive my older sister and me. Another team mate’s mom drove us. In figure skating – especially synchro with a 16-member team – carpooling was/is part of skating life.
At the arena, I could smell that arena smell. Most skaters would agree arenas have a certain smell. We can’t describe it, but we own that smell. The smell of a changing room, well, that’s another story.
We walked into the changing room, and we missed “the board.” The board lists the categories, teams, and order of skate. After we dropped our stuff, someone said, “Did you see who we’re up against?”
The board was across outside our dressing room. I stared at the team name. Are you kidding me? We were one of two teams in the advanced category. But we didn’t celebrate that we’d receive a medal by default.
We were up against the St. Andrews Precise-ettes. The best team in the region. One of the top teams in the Manitoba.
One does not beat the St. Andrews Precise-ettes. Sure, we were the provincial champions. In Recreational C. They’d played at the previous Manitoba Championships – in Novice – and advanced to the Canadians. No one takes down the Precise-ettes.
We were skating last in the competition after St. Andrews. As our team of 16 lined the hall, I watched St. Andrews skate their program through the chicken wire window in the door. And a Precise-ette fell. We started to trickle towards the ice when another Precise-ette went down. By that time, our team was at ice level. In time for another fall. I turned to one of my team mates with raised eyebrows.
St. Andrews looked shocked when they came off the ice. I was friends with one of the members, and we’d chat at competitions. And she looked crushed.
Our starting position was an “A.” Yes, “A” for Arborg. I don’t remember anything except bits and pieces. I’ve heard those are usually the best performances – when you remember bits and pieces or nothing at all.
I remember two things. All 16 of us speeding down the ice in a straight-line and performing a perfectly timed drag. And that we didn’t fall.
After our program, I remember we sat in the changing room in silence. Fixing our hair, or what not. Pretending to dig in our skating bag. Within ten minutes, we were back on the ice for the medal ceremony. But the results for our category weren’t posted. None of my team mates knew whether we won silver or gold. Our coach, Joanne, and team manager, Jackie, were also in the dark. It felt like the 1988 Winter Games in Calgary when the audience didn’t know until the medal presentation which Brian won – Boitano or Orser.
Each team placements were announced for other categories since they were posted, and Stonewall skaters brought out medals on wooden dowels.
Call it a miscommunication or an element of suspense, but in the advance category the medals were skated out prior to the team placement announcement.
And 16 faces fell. It. Just. Got. More. Interesting.
The gold medals were in front of our team. I glanced over at St. Andrews where a silvers dangled in front of them. Our team turned, whispering. Their team was silent and didn’t appear happy. Maybe there was a mix up. Or an error. But murmurs could be heard throughout the arena. There was even a hesitation before the announcement.
When they announced the winner? I’ll never forget the screams. Our screams. The screams and cheers from our family and friends. From the corner of my eye, I saw Joanne pump her arms into the air. One of my team mates behind me jumped about a foot off the ice. We were hugging, shouting, and laughing. And giggled, like young girls who won gold medals.
We were still celebrating as the medals were being looped around our necks. Back in our changing room, our coach was crying and hugging everyone. It’d been an emotional roller coaster season – and it was capped off on a high note.
I remember getting home. My sister and I had a skating tradition. If my parents weren’t at a competition or had to leave early, we’d hide our medals under our shirts and pretend the competition didn’t go well.
This time, we said, “We were up against St. Andrews” and my sister and I went downstairs. Our parents followed us and said, “And?”
My older sister and I looked at each other and whipped out the medal, and mom screamed. My dad said his usual whenever we won a gold medal: “We’ll have to get those bronzed.”
And my sister and I giggled. Like girls who won gold medals.
Skating Scene 