Going Back

Before last Thursday, it had been over 10 years since I had put ice skates on my feet and almost 20 years since I had skated for real. (Holy cow, I'm old.) I had almost convinced myself that skating was something I had done in the past and I that could just remember how wonderful it was without ever doing it again. But then I got invited to go back. I was all kinds of nervous. What if I couldn't even stand up on skates? What if I fell all over the place? What if it turned into an awful experience that made me forget all my good skating memories? I have an overactive imagination sometimes. But as I laced up the crappy rental skates with practically no edges and even less ankle support, all those fears were very real.

Then I got on the ice. It took all of one lap around the rink for the joy to come back. Sure, the left blade was so dull I couldn't even stroke properly. Sure, there was no way I would even be able to try a layback with the way my ankles were wobbling. But I was flying again, and it was just as wonderful as I remembered. By the end of the night, I had landed a spectacular waltz jump and a wimpy split jump, and I had done as much of a spread eagle as I could with no edges. I was extremely frustrated that the skates wouldn't let me spin or do any cool footwork, but as I drove home I realized even that didn't matter so much. All those things that made me love skating as a kid were still there, and I'm grateful that some friends got me back in the rink so I could discover that. Now I'm itching to go again. If only my real skates weren't three sizes too small.