Every single woman coach would let me fall. They didn't even step in to steady me. "My goodness," they'd exclaim as I'm crawling up from the ice, "You're a slow faller." (I tilt, and get some hang time and then fall. I think it's telekinesis).
Dance Coach? I show even the tiniest bit of wobble, he gets a panicked look on his face and moves to be ready if I fall. It's sweet, like he's ready to catch his grandmother falling down the steps. "Boh zhe moy," he'll swear under his breath.
Female coach--you're on your own. Male coach--you're his responsibility.
|I'm sure he wishes there was a handle sometimes.|