I ice skated twice when I was 16. The first time was in a PE lesson, at a temporary rink across the road from our school, and the second was on a family skiing holiday. I’d always wanted to try it. I spent a good chunk of my childhood on roller skates, loved skiing, and of course figure skating always looked terribly glamorous. I had enough roller skating muscle memory to stay upright confidently, but both experiences were crowded and short-lived.
The next time I went ice skating was about a decade ago, on what remains the best work Christmas do I’ve ever been on. I was working at the Society for the Protection of Ancient Buildings in London. Quite a few colleagues worked from home, based all over the country, covering historic conservation casework in their areas. We only all got together twice a year, so they were made all-day occasions. That Christmas we went on a private tour of St Paul’s Cathedral, had lunch at St Paul’s Restaurant, and… went ice skating at Somerset House.
The whole day was the loveliest treat, but my ice skating was a lot less confident than those previous times. A colleague and I timidly went round clinging to the barrier, enviously eyeing up our German-raised colleague’s seemingly professional moves. I guess it had been a long time since I’d put any kind of skates on, and in those commuting days I was both rather unfit and permanently sleep-deprived.
Since then I have got back into roller skating. Or at least I keep trying to. I haven’t skated with any consistency, because doing so on my own in public places, up and down the same path with my neighbours nearby, only has limited appeal.
I’m not sure if this is what got me thinking about ice skating, but when I decided to do this 50 to 50 project, it was one of the few things that were a definite on my tentative, incomplete list. Not only had I always wanted to ice skate, but it was also potentially a more appealing (and less weather-dependent) alternative to roller skating. Because you see, while ice skating in my childhood wasn’t really an option, with nowhere near to actually give it a try, these days I live a walking distance from an ice rink.
So it was a definite, but still a little scary. I get nervous about doing anything new or going anywhere I haven’t been before. I could have looked into joining a class, or taking a private lesson, but group activities with strangers just mean extra stress for me, and one-on-one instruction felt rather intimidating and, frankly, over the top for something I just wanted to have a go at.
Luckily I had another option: my lovely ex and close friend, who happens to play ice hockey and skate like a pro, agreed to go with me. Even then, I was nervous. As we walked in and I got my first full view of the rink, before I’d even rented a pair of skates, my legs started shaking. I’m honestly not sure why I was so worried, especially looking back at it now.
I’d expected to need a full-on beginner’s lesson, and maybe a little hand holding to coax me away from the barrier. But it turned out that I apparently already knew how to skate. Not brilliantly of course – and there’s nothing like being with someone who suddenly turns round to skate backwards while still chatting away to keep you humble about your skills – but reasonably confidently. I think it was a combination of getting back on roller skates in recent years, and having someone next to me who I made clear should not disabuse me of the idea that he’d catch me if I fell. But all that wobbliness from Somerset House had vanished.
I loved it. I’ll be back. The only question is: how soon is too soon to start hunting for my own perfect pair of retro-looking ice skates?
Good for you, being brave. We are often not! And good for you, asking for help. We often don't!