The not-so-great skate
Nothing says winter fun like ice skating.
Well, maybe skiing or snowmobiling or curling, or something else I avoid in favor of trying to stay warm inside.
But half a century of seeing the Peanuts gang frolic on a frozen pond in “A Charlie Brown Christmas” has me convinced that skating is the way to go. If Pigpen can do it, so can Harry.
And so I journeyed to the Mt. Lebanon Ice Center, full of enthusiasm while trying to repress memories of the last time I attempted to emulate Dick Button, when as a gawky grade-school schlub I discovered that my weak ankles couldn’t support me on skates.
Surely, I could fare better as a middle-aged schlub.
Or perhaps not.
My first challenge was having the friendly folks at the ice center find skates to fit my fat, flat feet. The second was, once I squeezed into a pair, tightening the strings sufficiently to support those still-feeble-after-all-these-years ankles.
Enter Gwyn Rosen, the center’s learn-to-skate coordinator, who didn’t know she was about to be giving impromptu lessons to some big old kook. She came to the rescue with what’s known as a skate hook, grabbing the shoestrings and pulling them snug.
Then she presented me with what’s known as a skate aid, which basically is a walker on ice.
“This is an adult size,” she told me, “just in case you need it.”
She knew.
Simply getting up and walking toward the ice was quite the adventure, especially for the ankles. And the calves. And the thighs. And the hips. And the back.
Still, I was encouraged. I saw a fellow who didn’t seem to be that much younger than me out on the ice, skating like an Olympian. Why not me?
Well, having a clue as to what I was doing certainly would have helped. For example, once I made it onto the slippery stuff, I couldn’t figure out how to propel myself forward. The best I could do was shove off from the side wall, a maneuver that promptly landed me on my behind.
Gwyn, who was keeping an eye on me lest I perish in the rink, called out instructions for me to get back on my feet. That wasn’t going to work on the ice, so I crawled the floor, and even there I had a tough time of it.
Once I was standing again, Gwyn attempted to teach me how to gain momentum on the ice by lifting my legs while keeping my arms outstretched in front to aid with balance. With a renewed sense of confidence – or maybe not, as I made sure to bring the skate aid – I went back out there for a more informed try.
I’m proud to report that I didn’t fall again. But about all I could accomplish was to push the skate aid about three or four feet in front of me, then struggle to reach it.
Sooner rather than later, my aching everything told me to head back and call it a day. Or what turned out to be half an hour, tops.
In the nicest manner possible, Gwyn informed me of a much better option for a would-be skater: “We have adult lessons here on Saturday.”