Winter Olympics in Sochi. Russian
skaters. Hard work. I don't want to fall.
These were the thoughts that skated
through my mind as I stepped onto the ice for my first two lessons. There were
two other women on the ice ready for our lesson. I was relieved.
Moments before, I'd laced up my skates and appeared to be the only
adult taking lessons. I felt the familiar unease of a new experience
and kept breathing.
A woman approached me, and asked if I
was enrolled in a class. She introduced herself as the teacher, and
invited me to follow her onto the ice. The first lesson was a skills
assessment. I know how to skate, but I don't know the technical
names for anything. The teacher spent time with each person meeting
them where their skills were on the ice. I was pleased that each
time she came by she confirmed that I had the hang of what I'd been
practicing and I was ready for the next thing.
That first night I marveled at what the
other women were working on. They were figure skating. Free style.
They were doing fancy things. I got excited and terrified at once.
“Don't watch them. It will freak you out. Just stay right where
you are and trust that when it's time to be introduced to those
moves, you'll be ready for them.” Can you hear how reasonable my
self-talk has become? How “in the moment” is becoming my
default?
Just like the trapeze artists, they make skating
look so easy. Cutting Edge. These were my thoughts as lesson two started.
Lesson two reinforced the role of
muscle memory and the importance of repetition. My moves felt
awkward, and I couldn't seem to muster the power I needed to propel
myself forward and the next moment I was doing it. I learned how to
half swizzle on both feet. First in a straight line and then I
graduated to half swizzling in a circle.
I'm a right-handed skater, which does
not necessarily corresponded with being right-handed off the ice.
With this determined, my teacher taught me my first “fancy move.”
The pivot turn. I dug my left toe into the ice and using the half
swizzle I practice all class, I pushed my right foot out, twirled,
and drew my right foot back with my left and then shifted my weight
to my right foot and glided on one foot—arms outstretched.
It's impressive the way I'm being
taught how to figure skate. Just as I suspected last week when I had
my little “stay where you are” chat with myself, each move I am
taught is a building block to the next move and by the time I get
there, I feel confident that I can master it.
More than anything what my time on the
ice is reinforcing is how good it is to be active in my body. I
marvel at all of the physical challenges I put on my 4040 list and
how I am meeting each challenge and exceeding my expectations. I'm
also reflecting on the FUN I've had. I spent entirely too much of my
first forty years not having fun.
Adulthood is HARD. Physical activity—in
all the forms I've tested this year—has helped counterbalance the
hard parts of life. I can't get over how different I feel being present in my body versus being stuck in my bookworm's head and heart. I move differently. I feel confident. I feel happy. As I skated back and forth in my half swizzle
repetitions I told myself, “I've got to keep taking lessons. This
is fun.”
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