Skating - Tamar

Yesterday morning, while digging in the bottom of the closet for a pair of gloves, I banged my head on a pair of skates that were dangling from a hook. This actually was the first time they caused pain to my head, but they had on several occasions over the past year, caused a couple of other body parts agony.

In a moment of frivolity last February, my co-workers and I decided to try out the ice at the new Olympic Speed Skating Rink in Richmond. Since it had been years since any of us had skated, we thought it would be fun and exciting. Ha.

Pauline, always wanting to be the centre of attention, skated a few feet and fell down, landing on the back of her head. I was still on the bleachers tying up my skates when I heard the commotion and saw the remaining two of my group standing and staring at the lump on the ice. I sped up and stepped on the ice for the first time in fifteen years. Holding onto the side of the rink, I half-skated, half-walked, to the spot to see what was happening.

Languishing in the attention, surrounded by all the skaters on the ice, she waited for the first-aid attendants, who fussed over her and pushed her on a chair to the first-aid room. Very classy.

Dazed and a bit confused – so what else is new? – Pauline spent the rest of the evening sitting off-rink and watching the other skaters flow by gracefully.

I was doing pretty well, actually, until the spiky thingies at the toe of my right skate caught in some invisible something, and I went down too. Instead of choosing to land on my head though, I decided to land on my right knee, which accepted my weight with a slight crunching sound and enough pain to ricochet several naughty words in my brain. Unless I crawled to the side of the rink and pulled myself up on the barrier, I was there for good, or at least until the Zamboni came out and scooped me up.

This, I found, was indeed a good way to receive attention, as several younger gentlemen skated to my aid.

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I’m fine, thanks. Just need a hand-up. “

Half-skating, half-limping, I moved along to the gate and half-hobbled to a bench, where I sat and nursed the tender, throbbing lump that once served as my knee.

After a few minutes, it was twice more around the rink, just to prove I could, then we capped the night with a visit to Tim Horton’s, replacing the calories we had just burned with lattes and donuts.

Skating and Timmy’s – how Canadian, eh?