Plus Ca Change, Plus Ca La Meme Chose

The more things change, the more they stay the same (I can't seem to make diacritical marks in this blog program, but you get the message.)

Although, as I reported earlier, the prevailing spirit is quite wonderful here, there are a few minor chords.

It's not as if they're difficult to spot: competitors who have parked themselves in an age and division class and who win year after year, electing not to test into the next division; competitors who were "grandfathered" into their division (as I was) according to tests we took when we were kids, but who, perhaps (I've heard) didn't report their earlier achievements in full, whose records, perhaps (I've heard) were not maintained by the USFSA and who perhaps (I've heard) are competing in divisions below what their actual placement might, maybe, should be. If a person, say who's fiftish, has swept his or her division three or more years running and is landing jumps and so forth well above the field...well. It is a topic for discussion behind the scenes here.

If you golf you know this story already: you faithfully report all of your scores and your handicap is correct. Other, better golfers, elect to drop a few, most, of their better rounds and end up handicapped in your flight.

One word: karma.

Another word: c'mon.

Imagine, that is, the Buddha's version of c'mon. So...I've noticed that certain persons have an attachment to self (judging, winning) that I may not understand or share. Really, what does this have to do with me? When I was ten, taking my first figure test-- a lot. I was crushed, *crushed* when I saw my score sheet: "Judges prefer tan tights." My mother had taken special care to match my blue leotard *and* tights to the tunic she'd sewn for me for the test. Who knew that my leg color was so critical?

And so it goes here, too, still--la meme chose. A complicated system of rules and codes, some confusion, some outright strategizing, some resentment, some shrugging and stoicism. As for me and the new friends I've made this week, you could say we've decided to wear the blue tights and to let karma and c'mon sort themselves out. As psychologist Jean Shinoda Bolen writes, "Crones don't whine."

In the meantime, there are plenty of private ego-delights to indulge in that only marginally impact the road to enlightenment--I hope. There is, for example, a photographer with a telescopic lense in the stands taking second-by-second action pix of you as you skate. You can then go to the viewing station and purchase (for a not insubstantial price) a few of the most flattering images of you in motion that you might *wish* your husband could get for free with his little digital camera, but can't. There is, for another example, a videographer with state-of-art equipment recording on DVD your entire skating routine and music, which you can purchase (for a not insubstantial price) and re-view for years to come--or as I did, immediately after acquiring it, on the computer in our hotel room.

Wheew. As I said, I didn't biff during or barf at the end--and yes, I did feel extreme relief and joy watching it and that *is* undoubtedly all about me. I have tried to spread those good feelings around--but oh, well, back to the meditation mat...

The REally Big Show is tomorrow: the championship events followed by the closing party. Off to polish the sequins on my evening frock now....

;-)

Until tomorrow!
Dawn