Here’s something many Canadians wouldn’t admit:
I can’t ice skate.
Hello, my name is Julie and I am not a skater.
If you remember that scene in Bambi, where he’s trying to get across the frozen pond – poetry in motion compared to me on ice skates.
When I was a kid, my parents, in vain, sent me to figure skating lessons. At the end of term recital, the coaches made me one of the snails. I knew the snails were the worst of the class, (like the other kids would let you get away without knowing it) so I got mad and tried to quit. My parents were big on, “finish what you start” and insisted I go through with the show. But being the willful little jerk that I was, I would be having none of that, thank you very much! So I ate my antennas.
As difficult as it was to digest styrafoam balls and pipe cleaners, I doubt the antennas were what prevented me from learning. I just never got the hang of it. What little I did glom onto would be gone by the next winter anyway so I threw in the towel by college. I’ve been skating exactly three times since then, all of which were for one of my best friend’s birthday parties (I REALLY have to love somebody to endure ice time). Karen is an excellent skater* and she’s very patient while I’m shuffling along**, trying to keep up with her but it really is pitiful to watch.
That’s Karen on the left and me on the right. You may observe a slight variation in our styles… In fact, had the shutter been clicked a single second after that picture of me was taken, it would have looked a lot like the last frame of today’s comic. Nothin’ but feet in the air!
Now they make me wear the helmet.
*Actually she’s great at everything. I’d be jealous if I wasn’t trying to be like her, most of the time.
**Dignity-free zone, here!