Every year without fail, the winter season
rolls in and the notion of ice skating rears
it’s charming head. Without much persuasion,
I jump at the chance. Every. Time.
Almost immediately, visions of me gliding along on the ice come to mind. Hands clasped behind my back, I move as elegantly as a swan on a tranquil pond. Right foot, left foot, wheeeee! Where these visions come from, I don’t know. In fact, I’m sure at times I believe them to be memories.
I would say around here is the point where reality then swiftly descends. The first issue I face is the skates. Even before I make it to the ice and take my first tentative steps onto the alluring slippery hell, my feet start aching. No matter what size or style of skate I try (apart from that one time at Somerset House in London. You guys rock!).
This time was no different. I got on the ice and almost immediately I feel my feet get enveloped and then crushed by Satan’s Kung Fu Grip. I persevere. After a couple rounds I decide to go change skates. Still no relief. Again, I join the mob at the skate rental booth to change my skates’ style. My irritation with the lack of queuing grows. I miss England. Why can’t the world queue?
Armed, err… footed with new skates I challenge the ice to defeat me once more. It does. I make my way around a couple more times. No pleasure, no joy. Just concentration and wavering endurance. Satan’s grip loosens, I presume as he turns his attention to a new victim. He already knows my time is near.
I regret not making my way down the skating paths that branch off of the main rink. I’ve never been anywhere that was set up like that. However at the time, I feared if I went down that way I’d end up having to be airlifted out of Rathausplatz.
I’ll probably give it a go a couple more times back in the Czech Republic before the season is over. If not, I’m certain my jumbie and I will be back for more next year.
~~~The Wandering Pier