Montreal,
Quebec
Skates Meant Fall on Butt
At primary
school, I used to express to my home-room teacher that I was not feeling well when
it was Monday afternoon, and all the students would go to the arena to skate. We kids had the freedom to shoot the puck—as
in hockey—or just skid around on skates.
However, I was terrible at it. I
suppose, or I believed, that I had weak ankles.
I was this skinny thing, and I just wasn't strong in many areas of my
physical body. I could run and move like
a swift wind, but those heavy, awkward skates wrapped around my feet were just
too much. I couldn't make those curves
like the other guys playing hockey. I
would never become a figure skater. I
was an absolute klutz on ice. I was, as said, hopeful as a runner, quite
fair at baseball and high-jumping, but skating—an absolute failure. I sat in the classroom, skipping out, doing
homework, with my teacher up front at the desk and maybe one or two other
students at their desks, perhaps also with ‘excuses’. I was thinking: At least I'm not falling on my butt.
I had
these flashbacks, as I walked in Montreal's downtown eastside, when I came upon
a skating rink, where young boys were on ice, artfully swerving about, gliding;
at play with puck and sticks.
So where
am I now? Well, I'll likely never try
skates again, but I have been walking and walking, and my flimsy weak ankles
have been strengthened over time. I'm
not worried about climbing down the ice-covered snow bank in front of me, at
the rink. I guess you could say, I've
somewhat conquered that past, with some help from my friend, Krishna.
May the
Source be with you!
4 km
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