I have skated a lot in my life. The whole of my childhood years was spent on community rinks, followed by teenage and young adult years gliding along the pond at Bowness Park in Calgary. We’d blast across the ice holding hands and playing crack the whip until the whole lot of us tumbled in a heap of laughter – and no broken bones. How is it that we could skate pell-mell, without a helmet or pads of any kind, and not get hurt? And no one else ever seemed to be around, so we had the entire pond and all the canals that lead off it to ourselves.
Fast forward to my daughter’s childhood and things seemed a bit more stiff and regimented around my skating. It had been several years since I had laced up, and those intervening few decades had left little room for pell-mell. We’d skate together a lot back then, but even that was three decades ago. So when she suggested we take skating lessons, it sounded like a grand idea.
I dug out my old bike helmet to be safe, while she purchased a real skating helmet and sparkly skate laces and proceeded to step onto the ice surface like an Olympian. I, on the other hand, clung to the boards like I was caught in a raging storm at sea and my very life depended on not loosening my grip. One foot held fast to the rubber flooring near the bench while the other toed tentatively along the edge of the ice, feeling for any sense of familiarity in this odd activity.
Managing somehow to get both skates side by side allowed me to slowly half-circle my body to face the boards and flop gently over top, ensuring any change in equilibrium would catapult me back into the bench area and not fully onto the ice. Partway through that first lesson I managed to pry my talon-like fingers away from the wall and turn my body to face alongside it. I stood like that for another spell, but at least I was facing forward and preparing to join the group of people gliding in a circle around the big arena.
Looking around, I was happy to see it was a very small class of about 10 people on the ice, leaving enough space that none of us would take anyone else out should we tumble. And tumble we did. One guy, who was also padded from head to toe, fell and laughed and took many chances. His partner seemed to straddle the wall a bit like I was doing, as she worked to get her skating legs under her. But it seemed we were all at about the same comfort level with skating. Good thing we were taking lessons!
Soon I found myself stepping/skating along the ice, remaining close to the wall but still flexing some muscles. The instructor commented helpfully that my upper body was bowing forward slightly, which would make everything else fall forward with the momentum. I was to stand tall on my skates and bend my knees, as if I was sinking into a chair. Ah, Chair Pose, I thought of my yoga practice, I knew that pose.
It helped and I might have even been picking up speed by the time she announced we were to change direction. I scampered to the boards and reversed my body, which began a cartoon windmill movement with both skates until I finally fell. But it was a gentle fall, and Daughter and Instructor both skated swiftly to my side to be of assistance. We somehow got me upright and I simply proceeded onward.
I found things worked better if I didn’t overthink them, so I tried to clear my mind of thoughts, just like we do in yoga. I called upon Mountain Pose to ensure my stance was tall and solid, and that I could feel all four corners of each foot securely in my skates. I let my increasing comfort level allow me to feel some of the old familiar smooth glides from days of yore, and I began to feel happy. I’ll keep returning to class – there are still 11 lessons after all, but I think what makes me feel most happy is when I’m practicing yoga while skating!
It has been a hoot to challenge myself and try new things each month leading up to my 65th birthday, but I think I hit my personal goldmine when I discovered yoga 25 years ago.