Growing up in North Dakota, we lived on the ice from late fall through early spring. Being that far now, winters started much earlier and last much later. It was life as we knew it; and I LOVED IT!
All three of us kids had our own ice skates, as did our parents. And most days after school we walked the one block to the indoor skating rink in our tiny town that was always full of kids utilizing the ice for open skates or hockey leagues. My little brother was the skating professional among us and represented the family proud on his hockey team. For me, it was a fun sport and a time to hang out with friends. Sure there will spills and falls, but there was also hot chocolate that made it all feel better.
When our family left North Dakota for the wide-open lands (and windy!) of Wyoming, that ended our days of ice skating. That was 1993.
Fast forward to 2013 – yeah, 20 years later! – and I finally got back on skates. And we weren’t in North Dakota this time, instead we hit the ice in my brothers new stompin’ grounds in Pittsburgh. My ankles were a bit wobbly and my body entirely unsteady, but I made it a few laps around the rink.
We even got my 3-year-old niece out on the ice with us. She was a big scared, uncertain of the blades on her feet and freezing, which you could hear from her teeth chattering against the cold. But she battled on and made it two laps with us before I caught my skate on the ice and feel flat on my face! Needless to say, that was the end of her skating too. At least for that trip.
Even with a bruised knee after the trip, I had a blast getting back out on the ice. Next trip though, maybe I need to find one of those kiddy walkers and stick with my niece.