Ice Skating

I learned how to ice-skate today!

More specifically, I got to practice stopping, which is something I'd never really practiced. I'd tried that "push out with your heels" thing, but I always ended up falling or slipping or something that wasn't that ice-scratching stop I was trying for.

Today was a very strange day, and I miss days like this.

Today, I woke up for church, and I wanted to cry. Last night, I don't know, I felt free--for even just a moment. It's amazing that I could forget I'm a human being and capable of creating art, or of expression or of something meaningful... And yet, I had forgotten. So, last night, when I was listening to my music--which I hadn't heard for months--and making sketches--something I hadn't done seriously for months--I realized how much I had lost.

I lost so much of myself when I moved up from the water damage. I lost my room--my computer with my writings, my journals, my morgue of pictures that brought me joy, my music... And to have it all back--that wasn't what made me cry. It was the thought: "I don't have time for that now, I need to get up early tomorrow" that made me cry.

I don't know what's happened these past months, but it scares me.

I went to church today, and the wife of one of the pastors, she came up to me and asked how I was. Mokai, my friend, has told me that she is a wonderful counsellor, and I believed him, but in a "head knowledge" type of way.

She came up to me after the service, and asked me how's life, how's my mom, my dad. I told her I'm running three jobs, at least one of which is terribly unsatisfying. I told her about Dad's leg, and that I didn't know much about it (because I try not to think about it so that I can go to work the next day without crying--but I didn't tell her that).

And then she prayed for me. She had even forgotten my name, and yet she still knew my face enough to know that I hadn't been here for a month, and that something must be up. After she said Amen, I looked up and thanked her, and then had to leave because I was starting to cry.

I went downstairs to the washroom, and tried to cry soundlessly. It felt awful--crying silently in the far bathroom stall in the basement of my church. I decided I needed to cry properly--which wouldn't have been possible, since I was scheduled to work today.

I called in sick.

"I'm not feeling well," I told the scheduler.
"Get better," he said to me.

I went to Mark's house.

I called him first, and although I knew I was intruding, it's technically his house, so as long as I'm not intruding on him, I'm not intruding. It was so good for me. I just sat and cried, and cried, for about half an hour. He'd play piano or watch TV or throw cats at me. "They're very comforting," he said, and he was right.

We went to an outdoor hockey rink and his brother took shots on him while I tried to skate.

I've ice-skated before. Twice. It's like roller-skating, but you can slip. And where roller-skating has wheels and friction, ice-skating has blades and considerably less friction!

The first time I ice-skated was with James, while we were dating. To his credit, he did all he could to teach me; but he's not a very good teacher for me. I didn't know how to stop, so every time I wanted to stop, I'd just glide into a snowbank and start walking until I felt my momentum die down.

I learned something about myself today.

I learned I was afraid to fall.

Mark's brother seems to glide naturally on the ice (of course, when you play hockey, I guess that skating is the last thing you should need to think about). And I saw him fall!

I got over myself--my fear of falling. I mean, what the fuck, it's ice, and I'm wearing a fucking ski jacket! It's not going to fucking hurt that much!

So I kept my eyes on some of the parents who were teaching their young ones to skate. At least two were extremely good: natural and even a little showy, as if to demonstrate to their kids that skating is fun and exciting and full of impressive tricks; and also to instruct. I liked that.

There was this one little girl in a baby pink jacket who was also trying to learn how to stop. She was skating around, falling over; and at one point, she called to her guardians, "Look, I can stop now!" as she sat awkwardly on the ice.

The one method of stopping that I wanted most to try was pivoting on the toe, and sliding the heels out by 90 degrees and coming to a full halt. I knew that wasn't going to happen immediately, but I also recalled another method where the skater is going forward, and then suddenly swings around 180 degrees, the skates describing a circle, and stops. I wanted to try a combination of both.

Most fortunately for me, by this time, everyone else had left, so I had half the rink to myself! I can't count how many times I fell, but it was so worth it.

I realized that I had been afraid of scratching the ice; like if I put my skates that way, I'd simply fall over instead of halting. And sometimes I wouldn't even be trying to halt, because I was scared that trying to stop would make me fall over--so I'd be only changing directions or only slowing down, instead! What dumb fears!

By the time Mark and his family were ready to leave, I had gotten the gist of stopping. Mark had fallen over from exhaustion (it's normal, he says), so I skated over to him and halted. Oh man that felt good.

"You can stop now? Let me see!" he managed.

I skated around and stopped by him. I was so happy!


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--Charissa