It’s ice time and I don’t mean the bad kind of ice that we slip on but the good kind of ice that belongs on skating rinks. I love skating. Not that I am very good at it, not at all, but I can stay up and go forward which are the two most important things to do, I think, other than being able to stop!
I grew up on the west island of Montreal and every winter my girlfriends and I would lace up our skates and head out onto Lac St Louis and skate for hours. The ice was terrible, all bumpy and cracked but it didn’t matter to us. We would fling ourselves around, tripping over sticks frozen into the lake, fascinated by the deep black, murky ice full of bubbles and debris trapped below the surface. Fissures would lace the ice with fantastical images that were woven in to the cracks. The wind would whip our cheeks red and sometimes freeze our eyelashes with snowflakes. Often we would skate until the blisters came and then we would hobble home to warm ourselves up, tired but happy.
I forgot about skating for many years, I was a grown up too busy with other things to do, and I only re-discovered its joys after about forty years. It’s amazing what our bodies can remember to do if we let them. So strap on your skates, TPW’s, and join our little group for our weekly skate together. You’ll have more fun than you thought possible.