The second in a series of posts on the details of technique that focuses primarily on steps I’m struggling with. Take it with a grain of salt.
I find it helpful to write things out in an effort to get a grip on them. These aren’t so much instructions (though if they work for you, awesome!) as observations.
Hi. My name is Asher, and I’m a baby-flinger.
Wait, wait, wait! I don’t mean it like that.
I have never literally flung a baby. Hell, I’ve (still) never even held a baby. Those things are terrifying. I reserve my child-handling efforts for those at least one year of age, and by then, they’re toddlers already.
What I mean is that I do crazy stuff with my arms when I’m doing turns. Sometimes, anyway.
And this isn’t your standard crazy stuff, like the traditional “winding up for the fast-ball pitch” method or the beginners’ special “just not even having any idea what to do with the arms in the first place” method. I’ve (mostly) overcome the fast-ball method and I don’t think I ever suffered from the “not having any idea” method(1).
- At least not with turns; with everything else, on the other hand…
No, this is something else. Something, erm, special.
So here’s the thing:
When you do turns, your supporting-side arm opens in preparation, then closes as you initiate the turn.
Your shoulders and hips stay together.
Your working-side arm does not then lead the supporting-side arm in a breakaway that basically resembles attempting to rock-a-bye baby right into space.
Me? I’m a baby-flinger.
Apparently, just as I get excited about piqué turns and sometimes wind up doing them as if they were some kind of insane piqué-jeté en tournant, I get excited about pirouettes and try to launch babies into orbit.
- Vintage Chinese Space Program poster, via Ricardo Goulart, via Tumblr, via shameless internet thievery. You’re welcome.
My supporting-side arm closes to meet the working-side arm, and then they both continue merrily along on a trajectory that throws the whole thing off kilter(3).
- The fact that I have ever managed a triple turn is particularly astounding in light of this revelation.
Obviously, this is a problem—and it’s one I never noticed before JP subbed for advanced class (because Nutcracker) and called me out on it.
Oddly enough, when I control it, turns are so much easier.
Now, if I was a Real Grown-Up™, I might just remember that my arms should stay with my body and not go sailing off on their own mission.
But I’m not. So instead, when it’s time for turns, I tell myself:
Don’t fling the baby!
It’s probably worth noting that I do a lot more of this when I’m turning from fourth or second. Why? Because those are POWER TURNS!!!!!!!!1111oneoneone1one
And apparently I am maddened by power. But with great power comes great responsibility—specifically, the more powerful the turn, the more responsible you are for NOT FLINGING THE BABY, for goodness’ sake.
If you’re having trouble with turns and you’ve already checked and found that you’re:
- not winding up for a fast-ball pitch
- not letting your shoulders twist away from your hips, and
- not just completely uncertain how to do turns in the first place,
consider asking yourself, “Am I flinging the baby?”
Parents everywhere will thank you.
Or maybe they won’t, as previously noted:babies—those things are terrifying(4).
- Though this doesn’t mean I don’t want one of my very own sometimes. I have noticed that they’ve grown less terrifying in recent years, culminating in the birth of O, the Actually-Adorable Poster Baby, to one of the Aerials Goddesses who owns my studio.
I forgot to note that, on Saturday, I finally got the thing where you tour lent/promenade just by scooting the heel.
Seriously, I thought I had this, but evidently I didn’t. When you’re doing it right, you really don’t have to bounce up onto semi-demi point.
On the other hand, you do have to engage the living daylights out of your turnouts and keep everything square.
Obviously, this is a topic for another post, but I thought I’d write myself (and you) a note about it so I don’t forget.