By Jesse Marx
By Chris Parker
By Jake Rossen
By Jesse Marx
By Michelle LeBow
By Alleen Brown
By Maggie LaMaack
By CP Staff
THE ST. PAUL CURLING CLUB STANDS AS A STATELY, white stucco building along the fashionable stretch of Selby Avenue. Most people passing by surely have no idea what it is; the only clue is a small nameplate above the recessed entrance. Inside, the place is as big as a bowling alley, full of burnished wood and Old World charm and dominated by a massive slab of ice behind a glass wall.
The St. Paul Curling Club was founded in 1912, making it one of the oldest such clubs in the country. And with nearly 1,200 members, it is the largest curling organization in North America. Today, however, the place is virtually deserted. Only two lonely figures are out on the eight curling "sheets," or playing fields.
One of them is Allison Pottinger, a member of the U.S. Olympic team that will be traveling to Vancouver in February for the 2010 Games. The 36-year-old curler is a lean and petite 5 '1", full of so much energy that her Olympic team captain, Debbie McCormick, jokes, "We have a rule that she can't eat candy or chocolate before a game. She just bounces off the wall."
Pottinger has staked out a sheet near the far end of the building to practice her arsenal of shots—draws, takeouts, and blocking maneuvers—that have made her one of the best women curlers in America. Over and over, she pushes off near one wall, swinging a 40-pound, polished granite stone (or "rock") in one hand and a curling broom in the other for balance. In one effortless motion, she crouches into a lunging position as low to the ice as possible and glides toward the center of the rink. At a certain point she releases the rock's handle with the exaggerated delicacy of someone building a house of cards. After a few throws, she skates to the other end of the sheet to do it all again.
"When I practice, there's not a ton of people around," Pottinger says. "It's either in the middle of the afternoon or it's late at night at 10:30 after people are coming off from playing."
Technically, in fact, she is on her lunch break, and she typically has about 40 minutes or so, two or three days a week, to practice before she has to get back to her job as a marketing researcher for General Mills. As a working wife and mother of three-year-old and 15-month-old girls, Pottinger must sandwich her Olympic dreams between the everyday realities of job and family.
Curling isn't a particularly taxing sport—curlers would be lucky to break a sweat during most games—but Pottinger's preparation is surprisingly rigorous. Most mornings she gets up early for a 40-minute run. She lifts weights three days a week, including one session with a professional trainer, and, like her teammates, works individually with a sports psychologist. Several times a week she practices at the club by herself or with her husband, Doug, who is also an elite-level curler.
Though her four Olympic teammates are scattered (two players and an alternate in Madison, Wisconsin, and another player in Bemidji), they generally come together a couple of times a month for training camps or international competitions.
Since late August, the women's team has been to Europe twice and Canada four times for training and tournaments (known as bonspiels). They were in Madison last weekend for another bonspiel, and later this month they head to Green Bay for a high-performance camp.
A typical day at home involves rising at 5 a.m. for a run, readying for work at 6:10, getting out the door with her toddlers at 7, and working from 7:30 to 4, with a few lunch hours a week for practice. After work she might lift with her trainer from 5 to 6, "and then it's home for dinner."
CURLING IS THE DUCKBILLED PLATYPUS OF SPORTS—a strange creature that looks like it's been cobbled together from an odd mix of shuffleboard, ice skating, and cleaning your house.
The sport is thought to have been invented in medieval Scotland. In the modern game, teams of four take turns throwing the heavy granite stones toward a target of concentric circles (known as the "house") at the far end of a 150-foot-long sheet. The surface of the ice is pebbled, which makes the rock curl slightly as it wends its way down the sheet.
The objective is to get one of your team's rocks closest to the center of the target. You then a point for every rock inside the house that is closer than one of your opponent's rocks.
The oddest-looking components of the game are the two brushers who glide ahead of the rock, sweeping furiously as another teammate barks instructions. The movement melts the ice ahead of the stone, reducing friction and keeping the rock on a straighter path. Curling has been called "chess on ice" because the goal of getting a rock closest to the center involves an elaborate strategy of blocking opponents' shots and knocking their stones out of the house.