Growing up I was not a fan of skating. It was hard and scary and my ankles and feet hurt. When I was about 10 I got a pair of moulded skates and it was an instant difference. Then my older sister switched from figure skates to hockey skates and I followed suit.
My feelings about skating changed after that. I went willingly sometimes. Even outside where it was cold and there were no boards to hang onto.
When the kid was born I had the brilliant idea to take her out on the canal at Winterlude in her stroller. In fact Joe had never been to Winterlude either. I put on my new skates, I looked out at the ice and it dawned on me that I hadn’t actually been on skates for more than a decade.
And I immediately felt like I was going to die.
Last year we took the kid out to an open skate and again, I was totally unsure on my feet, scared, not comfortable.
One of the reasons we put the kid in skating lessons when she was 2 was because I was never a good skater. I could move forwards, make turns, but I could never go backwards or stop or stand up by myself if I happened to fall down. I wanted her to have comfort on skates.
Today the kid’s school went skating. She went out twice because Joe (was) volunteered (by me) to help out. In the morning I watched them from the stands and was in awe of how much she keeps improving. We went out for breakfast and she declared that she didn’t want to go back for the afternoon, but we told her that Daddy and I both had to be there. She maintained she didn’t want to skate again. I suggested that maybe I would get my skates out.
By the time it was time to go I had been roped in and she was going back out.
I don’t know if I was more scared of hurting myself or embarrassing myself, but I did it anyway. I went out wobbly and by the end of the hour I was feeling much more comfortable, though not entirely stable. I took a few breaks because my feet were hurting, but I kept going back out. I did it. And I’m proud of me.