A love letter to: My ice skating lessons

A practice in humility and failure and small sparks of joy

I am not a very good ice skater by the standards of other ice skaters. I am a very good ice skater by the general population of New Zealand standards. I am probably a very average ice skater by the general population of Canada standards. (I include Canadian standards here because I am a Canadian citizen, so when I think about my performance on the world stage in any field of life I am constantly comparing myself not just to the average New Zealander but also to the average Canadian, since I could compete for either country should I ever find myself at the Olympics. As a very small 7 year old I once won our school’s high jump competition and went on to compete at the inter-school district high jump competition, where I did terribly against the long legged high jumpers of inter-Auckland, and I humbly noted to myself that if I went to school in Canada I probably wouldn’t have even made it this far). But I can ice skate, averagely. I can go forwards and backwards and do tiny jumps and spin for about 7 rotations before I lose balance and momentum and shake my head with dizziness.

Photo by Kelli McClintock on Unsplash

At the start of 2022 I was a less good ice skater than I am now. I could only go forwards and backwards. I could not do any tiny jumps or spins and I couldn’t do backwards crossovers: which make me feel like a regal ballerina because my blade slices across the ice and if I am careful and doing them right I do not clash my blades into each other and stumble and fall but go faster and faster and faster until I am out of breath and I feel like I am flying.

I decided in December of 2021 that I was going to take up ice skating again. I briefly did lessons for a short period when I was about 12, which gave me some confidence on the ice to not slip and slide and fall straight on my face but it had been 15 years of ice skating maybe once every 3 years. I had my mum’s old ice skates that are from about 1990 and have little to no ankle support and incredibly rusty blades but I was very proud of not having to hire ice skates from the rink and felt special that I had my own skates. I decided in January 2022 that I would dedicate one year to this project, one year of ice skating lessons, every single week except for term breaks. Now it is 2023 and I have signed up for another term of ice skating lessons, I think I will keep going all year.

Ice skating allows me to use my brain in a way that I don’t normally get to use my brain. Or at least, it allows me to use my brain where the consequences of fucking up aren’t life or death or failed grades or relationships but in simple, repetitive acts of humility, of stumbling and falling and stumbling and falling and falling again. Ice skating allows me to be imperfect and that imperfection has no bearing on the rest of my life, it stays on the rink in the shavings of cold ice I’ve dug into with my blade when it’s rotated too far and I’ve lost my balance.

Ice skating is also good for my ego. I started off in the advanced beginners class and have slowly made my way up the groups to the most advanced class. The most advanced class is still not very advanced, we’re not out there doing triple axels or sit spins (though our coach did once make us try sit spins and I was very grateful for my padded shorts because all that happened when I tried a sit spin was the sitting, not any spinning). But with every move up a class I felt profound joy and pride, as if I had completed a full row of stars in a star chart and had won a hard earned prize, or as if I was “Student of the Week.” (did you have Student of the Week at your primary school? We did at mine and you got to sit in a special chair next to the mobile whiteboard while the rest of the students sat on the carpet, it was a very ego-filling experience. Plus it came with a certificate adorned with stickers and I do love stickers and certificates. Ice skating as an adult does not come with certificates, which is disappointing, but you win some you lose some, you know).

After about 3 months of ice skating it became glaringly apparent that I needed new ice skates, or to start hiring skates. My mum’s old worn out skates with rusted blades and no ankle support weren’t cutting it. Even after having them sharpened the rusted bits would catch on the ice and send me stumbling onto my knees. I went to an ice skating shop (there is only one in Auckland, so I went to THE ice skating shop) and had my feet measured lengthwise and widthwise and told very firmly that if I bought the cheapest skates they offered I would never be able to do jumps. I could not do jumps at the time so this didn’t seem particularly important to me but the woman measuring my feet assured me it was of the utmost importance. So I spent nearly double what I had planned to spend on ice skates in the hope that one day, I would be able to be do jumps, and that when I could, my skates would support me. I bought the ice skates of my wildest dreams: pure white with pink fluffy rust guards and I even had one of them bedazzled, a little star of jewels on the outside of the left one. I had an identity crisis while buying ice skates. I have always wanted dazzling white ice skates but in ice skating girls wear white skates and boys wear black skates. I didn’t know which ones to choose because I don’t know if I am a boy or a girl. Most of the time I feel more like a boy than a girl so I felt that in the name of gender fuckery it was my duty to my trans and nonbinary peers to buy the black skates and say fuck it to the gender norms. But I really wanted white ice skates. I like pretty things and stark white ice skates are so very pretty. So I went with my gut and my 12 year old dreams of beautiful white skates became a reality. I displayed them on a shelf in my room and made Arlene admire them whenever she walked in.

Photo by Zoë Warmerdam on Unsplash

About 3 months later I landed my first jump. In classic me-trying-to-follow-instructions-I-don’t-quite-understand fashion (which is most of my ice skating experience), I landed a different jump to the one we’d been instructed on. I landed a toe-loop jump, not a waltz jump, and for months afterward I still couldn’t land a waltz jump. A waltz jump is a simpler jump than a toe loop. It involves only a half rotation, not a full rotation, but it also requires you to go into the jump facing forward, whereas a toe loop requires you to launch yourself into the jump while skating backwards. There is something about leaping into oblivion where I can’t see where I’m headed that feels vastly less confronting than leaping into oblivion when I can see where I’m heading - a metaphor for life perhaps. I don’t know why, it just makes more sense to me and my fear responses. I am pleased to report that after much encouragement and many failed attempts I can now land both a waltz jump and a toe loop jump. I am so glad I bought the fancy skates that would ensure I could do jumps, because jumping makes me feel a little superhuman, if only for a fraction of a second between take off and landing.

Ice skating also makes me talk to people I wouldn’t normally talk to. As a neurodivergent person I am not very good at talking to people I wouldn’t normally talk with: I find small talk a bamboozling concept and spend most of my time when meeting strangers or acquaintances wracking my brain for what I’m supposed to say next and confused about why I’m supposed to say it. At ice skating we talk about ice skating, we cheer each other on when we land a new jump and watch and encourage each other when doing things we find hard. It also gives me confidence to try things that I find hard - and I find a lot of things hard with ice skating.

Here is a list of things I cannot do but try to do anyway while ice skating:

• Left foot backward 3 turns

• Right foot forwards 3 turns

• Single leg slaloms

• Single leg backward slaloms

• Backwards spins

• One foot spins

• Lutz jumps

• Any footwork involving more than one step

Here is a list of things I cannot do but try to do anyway while going about my normal daily life:

• Wake up before 9am when I have no obligation to

• Very little else

Overall my ice skating lessons are a practice in imperfection, in socialising, in failure and following instructions I don’t quite understand but following them anyway. They are a way for me to be just one fraction of myself: an ice skater, but also my whole self: a very imperfect human trying their best to find joy in small things. Ice skating is a small thing, and it brings me joy. I encourage you to go out and find a small thing that brings you joy, and also to try new things. Take up dance lessons, circus lessons, bouldering, join an aqua aerobics class, marvel at your body and your ability to do new things, even when they are hard and you are very confused.