Moments on the Ice....

One of my favourite things to do lately between classes is go down to Hawrelak Park and skate, sometimes for hours on end. I love the solitude of it when I'm there by myself; it's the one time of day to be completely alone with myself and my thoughts. I get a lot done out there on the ice - outlining papers, reorganizing my schedule, even writing some really, really bad poetry with which I will not burden you. And usually, I pay little to no attention to the other skaters, with the possible some-time exception of the speedskaters.

I love to watch them, especially when I'm out on the ice with them. It's one thing to see them flying by when you're on the bench, or watching them in the Olympics on the television. It's an entirely different experience to be there, pushing as hard as you can, knowing you as a skater can't possibly go any faster than you already are - and then see one of them blow by you as though you weren't moving, taking long, lazy strides and, to all appearances, doing nothing more strenuous than taking a leisurely stroll around the park. It's a very humbling experience. But not as much as what I saw yesterday.

I was out on the ice, and, as is usual on days that end in y, a speedskater flew past me. I usually keep track of them while I'm out, so that I can gauge my progress as I become more comfortable on my own skates. But this particular skater only did three laps, in about the time it took me to complete one - I was disappointed, because there weren't any others out there, and also a little derisive; I, after all, had already done 9 laps and had no intention of quitting. But about ten minutes later, he came back out onto the ice, towing a four or five year old child. It was one of the most touhing scenes I'd ever witnessed; he held his child's hand, still moving with those long easy strides (albeit not at quite the same speed), and the boy, on miniature hockey skates (I don't think they even make speed skates in that size) was mimicking his dad's strides, step for step, his balance aided by the steady hand that gripped his own.