Figure Skaters Jump Through Hoops to Pursue an Icy Passion

It’s just after 6 in the morning. It’s still dark out. It’s cold.

And Kari Latta and Irene Wainwright are standing on a grungy Van Nuys side street. In their ice skates.

Illuminated by the weird glow of the GTE sign over the pay phone, they are trying to find Brian, the guy who was supposed to have opened the Iceland rink at 5:30. But no luck.

“We could be in our beds, snuggled up nice and warm with our husbands. But here we are, waiting to try to get in to the ice rink,” Latta says. “What’s wrong with us?”

Just a passion for figure skating--the kind of passion that drives otherwise ordinary people to extraordinary lengths.

At Valley rinks such as Iceland, the early birds are the perky and dependable harbingers of the new day, there before the hockey goons to take advantage of smooth ice for their spins, loops and jumps.

It’s a way of life, and not just for tots or Tonya Harding--well, Nancy Kerrigan--wanna-bes.

Latta, 27, lives in West Los Angeles and teaches first grade at the Buckley School in Sherman Oaks. Wainwright, 49, the mother of two sons, lives in Reseda; she is a researcher at UCLA currently working on a book about epilepsy.

Wainwright took up ice skating about 10 years ago. Growing up in South Africa, there were no rinks. “We used to skate around frosty front lawns and pretend it was a rink. So this,” she says, “is the fulfillment of a childhood dream.”

Now she’s at the rink three times a week. “At first, my husband said, ‘What are you doing skating with all these little kids?’ Then when he saw what it was doing for my psyche--and my figure--he was all for it.”

Latta skates five times a week. She is always on the lookout for professional opportunities and, in fact, had a brief cameo in a movie spoof of the Harding-Kerrigan affair, “National Lampoon’s Attack of the 5 Ft. 2 Women.”

But skating, she says, is not about making money. The real reward, she says, is in the repetition of practice, the demands of combining the physical challenge of a perch on skates with the artistry and grace of ballet, the unrestrained joy of landing a difficult maneuver.

“When you land that jump, you nail that spin, it’s like nothing else,” she says.

She adds: “It is the essence of my being, this skating.” And her routine is organized entirely around it.

On weekdays she’s up at 5 a.m. She gets dressed and makes breakfast--two eggs and two pieces of toast. On the way to the rink, she eats. And she washes it down with a cup of coffee from Starbucks.

But--she doesn’t stop along the way. That would take precious time away from skating. Instead, she drinks coffee she bought the night before.

“A grande half-caf,” she says, referring to the coffee’s size and caffeine punch, “with a lot of milk. I buy it at night. I warm it up in my microwave in the morning. Starbucks isn’t open at 5 in the morning.”

Iceland opens at 5:30. Latta is on the ice by 5:45 and done about 7:15. Then it’s off to work. “When you have to work for a living,” Latta says, “this is the only time you can skate--early.”

The value of work, of course, is that it pays for all that skating. Like scuba diving or skiing, skating is an expensive habit. Skates, good ones, cost hundreds of dollars. Latta’s, a nifty beige pair--”When you wear brown tights, the skates blend in with your tights. And it makes your legs look longer”--ran $1,100.

Then there are lessons. A coach often charges $50 to $100 per hour. Wainwright has two coaches--one for freestyle skating, one for ice dancing.

That’s why Iceland is a popular practice spot. It’s located near the Van Nuys government complex, across the street from an LAPD auto repair barn, between a nut store and an auto parts shop. With such low overhead, early morning time at Iceland costs as little as $5 per session.

Over the years, national champions such as Linda Fratianne, Christopher Bowman and Tiffany Chin have all taken to the Iceland ice.

But on this morning, the skaters are marooned on the asphalt outside the rink. Robin McCarthy, Latta’s coach, arrives about 6:30 a.m. The sun finally brightens the morning. But still no Brian.

“It’s disappointing,” Latta says. “You get yourself out of bed. . . .”

“And that sheet of ice is just sitting there,” Wainwright says. “It’s just sitting there.”

“Now we have to wait until tomorrow,” Latta says.

“You could always break through the side door,” McCarthy says.

“I’m tempted,” Latta says, and sighs. “I’m very tempted.”

Finally, about 7, the iceman cometh. But it’s not Brian. It’s Barry, who’s Brian’s relief. “It’s pretty shocking that (Brian) isn’t here,” McCarthy says. “He’s usually very good.”

Barry opens the padlock. It’s too late, however, for Wainwright, who has to go off to work. “I didn’t get the exercise that I really needed,” she laments.

Because school’s out for the winter holidays, however, Latta has time on her hands. She blissfully toddles onto the ice for 90 minutes, swishing through spins and working earnestly--under McCarthy’s direction--on double-toe loops and double salchows.

When she steps off, she pronounces that life is indeed good: “I fell a few times, which is the nature of the game. But the important thing is that we skated. That’s what counts.”