Sunday, January 28, 2018
Skating on thin ice
S. Lee Manning: When I was around nine, I loved to ice
skate. I was one of those weird kids who liked to read all the time and didn’t
have many friends. Sometimes it bothered me. But not when skating. I liked to
skate alone.
There was an ice skating rink at the Cincinnati Gardens and
my parents would drop me off at the beginning of the session. I was not very
good, couldn’t do spins or even skate backwards, but I didn’t fall –
much - and gliding on ice felt like flying. Ice skating also made me think of
snow, and snow, for me, was magic, even though we averaged maybe two big snows
a year in Cincinnati that melted within days. But in the heart of the gray Cincinnati winter, with
brown grass and barren trees, there was the skating rink. Skating transported me to a fantasy world.
I would skate by myself for hours while tinny music played,
and I’d make up stories. Day dreaming, my parents called it back then, and I
thought I might be a little crazy, and maybe I was, in the way all writers are
crazy. Time on the ice was my time – and I savored it every Saturday night.
Now, looking back, I wonder what my parents thought about it – and whether they
worried about my isolation and my escape into fantasy.
After a year or two,
I grew out of my skates. I developed bad knees. Then I hit the teen years – and
it was the late 1960s. Skating was not
what young hippies did in the late 60s – and I was most definitely a young
hippie. So I put skating on ice, so to speak.
Over the following few decades, as my life changed again and
again, I would go ice skating from time to time – with friends and then with my
children.
Then maybe fifteen years ago, I stopped. Life is
complicated, and we don’t always have time for things we enjoy. My parents
needed help, my kids had issues, and I had a different job. Besides, my feet
and ankles weren’t what they used to be.
I thought from time to time about trying to skate again, but
the thought of a teenager slamming into me while on the ice kept me from giving
it a try.
Then two weeks ago, on a whim, I looked at the ice skating
schedule at a local rink while spending a few weeks in New Jersey with my son. There
was adult only skating at 8:30 a.m. I
remembered how much I used to love skating. My husband still skies. I am terrified
of heights and therefore don’t ski, but the ski resort where he went in
December has a skating rink. It would be something for me while he skied.
At 8 o’clock the following morning, I dug out my skates and
looked out the window at the inch of snow that had coated the neighborhood
overnight.
I am aware that I am no longer nine. (Not going to say how
old I actually am.) I am aware that my
balance isn’t what it used to be, nor are my feet.
I am aware that a fall at my age could be a lot more serious
than a fall for a nine year old. I know that older people skate, and there’s an
87 year old who competes (and wins) in figure skating. But most of those senior
skaters know what they’re doing and didn’t give it up for twenty some years.
But that morning, I just said, what the hell.
The snow was still drifting down as I drove to the rink in
my Subaru. The skates were tighter than I remembered, but they still fit.
Kinda. I strapped them on and wobbled to the side of the rink. There was a wall
all the way around the rink for grabbing purposes. There was only one other
person on the ice. Perfect. I took a deep breath and stepped on the ice.
And didn’t fall.
But I didn’t glide either. My feet felt like lead, and I
clung desperately to the wall, taking baby steps to move forward.
The sole other occupant of the rink skated over to me and
introduced himself as Jeff. “Bend your knees,” he suggested. He was fifty-nine,
and he also had started up skating after twenty years or so off the ice. That
was reassuring. He also thought that I was younger than him. That was more than
reassuring.
I bent my knees. I tentatively pushed off with my left foot.
I glided a foot and then I grabbed the wall.
I made it around the rink, never far from the wall,
clutching it every few feet. I celebrated my success by getting off the ice and
tightening my skates. Then I tried again. This time, I would make it maybe
twenty feet before grabbing the wall. Then fifty feet. I made it around five
times staying close enough to the wall to grab it if necessary. By then, my
feet were protesting the too tight skates. I had felt the flush of victory –
but it was time to leave.
The next day, I was back with my son’s wider and slightly
better fitting skates.
I did better, lasting forty-five minutes on the ice. I wobbled
here and there, and never strayed far from the wall, but I rounded the rink,
gliding. I remained afraid of falling, but there were moments when I recaptured
that old feeling of flying. Then I grabbed the wall again. My son’s skates were
better than my old ones, but not perfect.
Jeff was there and gave me a thumbs up for persistence. Jeff
had been joined by a man in his seventies who skated backwards to me to offer
his suggestion.
“Buy some skates that fit.”
A week later, I called my cousin, two years younger than me,
and told her that I had gone ice skating.
“You’re brave,” she said.
Am I? I didn’t feel brave on the ice. I felt scared. But I
felt something else as well. I felt alive. There will come a time when I am
physically unable to do the risky things I used to enjoy as a younger woman,
but while I still can, I damn well am going to keep trying. As we age, we have
to distinguish between what we can actually do and what we are afraid to do. I
hate that my body will eventually limit me. I am not going to be limited by my
fears.
So I’m in the market for a new pair of skates. Suggestions?
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I think it's wonderful that you stepped up - or rather stepped out - on the ice once again. You showed a certain "gumption" getting out there....now, yes, get some great fitting skates and go for it again. Then please report back. Keep it up and who knows, you may end up in the Ice Capades! Thanks for this uplifting post!
ReplyDeleteI doubt the Ice Capades are in my future. I'll be happy enough if I can keep it up without breaking anything. Thank you for the comment.
DeleteI had a similar feeling this summer when I got back on a bike after twenty years! That old muscle memory takes a few jump starts before it comes back - but when it does, it’s reassuring.
ReplyDeleteI had a similar biking experience when I first tried it again when my kids were young. It's funny how that knowledge just comes back to us.
DeleteI want to skate again now because of your post, S. Lee! Thank you for the fun, the memories, and the inspiration!
ReplyDeleteIt's a fun activity with friends, too. Thanks for the kind comment.
DeleteIt's funny how so many people I know have started to go back to activities they did when they were young, or trying out a new activity of some sort. That's great you're skating again. I used to skate as a kid, too, but I was never any good at it. I could ski down anything, but taking a turn around the lake on skates was quite a challenge.
ReplyDeleteI was never very good at skating, but I loved it. Never liked downhill skiing, too afraid of heights.
ReplyDeleteI love skating! Never could do anything fancy though. Sounds like fun and next time we're together near a rink let's go!
ReplyDeleteYou're on!
Delete