It’s been a humbling week. Not due to politics. I’m trying to avoid writing about that. That fire does not need my oxygen right now. No, my humbling came in the most Canadian of ways. Ice skating.
I used to be a very competent skater. We had a pond on our farm. It was on the left-hand side of the driveway as you drove in. It’s still there but over the decades the long cattails, shorter bullrushes, and other marsh loving weeds have found firm footing in it, so skating is out. When Dad was alive, and we were much younger, he’d take his front-end loader and clean all the weeds out of the pond before the ground froze up, so we’d have a place to skate come winter. We all had skates. No doubt most were second hand, and once we outgrew them, they became hand-me-downs for our younger siblings. We didn’t care, we just loved to skate on the pond. I remember though, that the girls all had figure skates, girls skates we called them, and the boys all had what we called boys skates. Hockey skates.
Dad hooked up a spotlight over the pond so we could skate in the evenings. After supper, and after chores, we could go out in the dark and skate. Sometimes a neighbour or two would join in. Depending on the mix of kids, we might have a little hockey game, or we might act out the Winter Olympic Figure Skating championships. My brother David and I had a winning routine, set to the music of our own singing. We’d skate toward each other with what seemed like great speed, grab hands and swing around and around. For extra points sometimes we wouldn’t grab both hands, but rather hook elbows for a really smooth spin. We could skate backwards and forwards, even with a few crossovers around the curves. No medals needed to be awarded. We simply loved to be out there.
A lot of time has passed since then, but in my mind, I could still skate gracefully and speedily across almost any ice surface. After all, Jim and I had taken our kids skating when they were little. I’d been just fine then. In the years after the Winter Olympics were held in Calgary, we frequented the Olympic Oval, and I could skate around it with no problem. When I was teaching, we took the Junior High kids skating every year, on the day before Christmas holidays, and I had no problem keeping up.
However, it has rudely come to my attention, that with the passing of years, and the absence of practice, I am now only a skating legend in my own mind. This came into clear focus this past week.
We booked a weekend away in Invermere with our whole family to celebrate the Family Day long weekend. With busy work and family schedules, it isn’t easy to find time where everyone can be together, and I was very grateful this weekend worked. I was excited to explore Invermere and the surrounding area. Downhill and cross-country skiing are both popular there as is skating. The area is famous for it’s skating track, the Lake Windermere Whiteway which is the longest skating trail in the world. With over 30km of trail, it connects the towns of Invermere and Windermere. I’d often read about it and dreamed of skating on it. ‘Bring your skates’, I said. ‘It will be fun’, I said. And I really believed it.
Luckily, I decided to try on my skates a couple of weeks before going. These were new skates, perhaps only five years old, and definitely less than five times used. I purchased them because my older skates no longer fit. My foot had widened, and I needed new skates. So, I had splurged on a really nice pair of figure skates. Unfortunately, my optimism and my feet were unaligned. Now with arthritis, bursitis and bunions, there was absolutely no way to squeeze my foot into those beautiful skates. That then, is how on the day before leaving for Invermere, I found myself in Canadian Tire, in the hockey skate aisle looking bewildered. Luckily for me, a very kind young high school student helped me find a pair of what I used to call boys skates. And those skates, just in case the arthritis and bursitis and foot widening weren’t humbling enough, were what brought me to my humbling moment of truth in Invermere.
It turns out, I am an old dog, and my old trick doesn’t work. I needed to learn a new trick. I needed to learn to skate on hockey skates.
You’d think this wouldn’t be terribly difficult, given my pond Olympic experience. But I’ve discovered that my weight is distributed differently in hockey skates than it was in figure skates. The first time I tried them, on that beautiful Whiteway, I could hardly stand up, let alone get going. I did eventually get my feet under me, but oh, it was not pretty. There was no gliding, no skating backward, no elbow locking turns. I was thrilled to stay upright and to manage a few hundred metres.
The next day, determined to try again, we went back. Ben and Andy, who had loved being pulled along on a sled by Uncle Greg and Auntie Cara on the first day, were hopeful I might pull them on day two. It’s tough to have your hopes dashed when you’re young; luckily their Dad, Matt, did a great job in the pulling department. On my second try, I got started a bit better and Kaitlyn kindly offered to skate alongside me. Jim had not yet made it to the ice, but that’s a story for another day. I don’t think we can classify what I did as gliding, but I felt a bit better. Matt commented on how beautiful it was, and I asked him to take a picture so I could enjoy it when we were done. I was too busy watching my feet to appreciate either the beauty of the scenery or the bald eagles overhead!
Back at home this week, our cold-snap finally broke and, having the boys for a few extra days, we took them over to our lake for some toboganning. I put Ben’s and my skates in the car just in case. The upper rink looked so beautiful, Ben and I decided to try it. Again, no Olympic medal, but I did manage a few metres of backward skating, and I felt like I looked less tense. I may even have glided once or twice. And then this morning, I asked Jim if he’d like to give it another try and join me over at the lake for a little skate. We got there just as it opened, knowing we need a clear path. No pairs medals were awarded but we came home having circled the entire lake.
I am still in a bit of shock that what once felt so good and natural to me, now feels completely foreign. When I put on those hockey skates for the first time in Invermere, I wanted to quit. I was completely out of my comfort zone. The truth is, I could have cried. However, I also knew this was something I wanted to continue (or perhaps start again?). I want to be able to join my family in this kind of activity. I want to be able to take the boys skating. I don’t want to shrink my world any more than I have to. This old dog still wants to learn new tricks.
In Canada right now, our familiar way of being is feeling unstable. It’s like the skates we’ve been so comfortable in, no longer fit, and our new ones don’t feel good yet. However, deep down inside each of us, we do know how to skate. We do know how navigate the ice surfaces of Canadian lakes and rivers. We do know how to feel pride. We do know how to stand up for ourselves. And we are figuring out how to do it together. Our Canadian boys set a great example the other night in Boston. I doubt they’ll be inviting me to join them on the ice in the Olympics next year when they, once again, proudly represent Canada in Milano and Cortina d'Ampezzo in Italy. But I plan to be ready. I’ve got my skates sharpened, a helmet on order, and I’ll proudly skate for Canada.
My inquiry for you this week is, ‘What new trick am I learning?’
Elizabeth is a proud Canadian, a certified professional Leadership Coach, and the owner of Critchley Coaching. She is the founder and president of the Canadian charity, RDL Building Hope Society. She works with corporations, non-profits and the public sector, providing leadership coaching. She creates and facilitates custom workshops for all sizes of groups and has expertise in facilitating Strategic Plans for organizations. Contact Elizabeth to learn how to be brave enough to try a new trick.
I used to be a very competent skater. We had a pond on our farm. It was on the left-hand side of the driveway as you drove in. It’s still there but over the decades the long cattails, shorter bullrushes, and other marsh loving weeds have found firm footing in it, so skating is out. When Dad was alive, and we were much younger, he’d take his front-end loader and clean all the weeds out of the pond before the ground froze up, so we’d have a place to skate come winter. We all had skates. No doubt most were second hand, and once we outgrew them, they became hand-me-downs for our younger siblings. We didn’t care, we just loved to skate on the pond. I remember though, that the girls all had figure skates, girls skates we called them, and the boys all had what we called boys skates. Hockey skates.
Dad hooked up a spotlight over the pond so we could skate in the evenings. After supper, and after chores, we could go out in the dark and skate. Sometimes a neighbour or two would join in. Depending on the mix of kids, we might have a little hockey game, or we might act out the Winter Olympic Figure Skating championships. My brother David and I had a winning routine, set to the music of our own singing. We’d skate toward each other with what seemed like great speed, grab hands and swing around and around. For extra points sometimes we wouldn’t grab both hands, but rather hook elbows for a really smooth spin. We could skate backwards and forwards, even with a few crossovers around the curves. No medals needed to be awarded. We simply loved to be out there.
A lot of time has passed since then, but in my mind, I could still skate gracefully and speedily across almost any ice surface. After all, Jim and I had taken our kids skating when they were little. I’d been just fine then. In the years after the Winter Olympics were held in Calgary, we frequented the Olympic Oval, and I could skate around it with no problem. When I was teaching, we took the Junior High kids skating every year, on the day before Christmas holidays, and I had no problem keeping up.
However, it has rudely come to my attention, that with the passing of years, and the absence of practice, I am now only a skating legend in my own mind. This came into clear focus this past week.
We booked a weekend away in Invermere with our whole family to celebrate the Family Day long weekend. With busy work and family schedules, it isn’t easy to find time where everyone can be together, and I was very grateful this weekend worked. I was excited to explore Invermere and the surrounding area. Downhill and cross-country skiing are both popular there as is skating. The area is famous for it’s skating track, the Lake Windermere Whiteway which is the longest skating trail in the world. With over 30km of trail, it connects the towns of Invermere and Windermere. I’d often read about it and dreamed of skating on it. ‘Bring your skates’, I said. ‘It will be fun’, I said. And I really believed it.
Luckily, I decided to try on my skates a couple of weeks before going. These were new skates, perhaps only five years old, and definitely less than five times used. I purchased them because my older skates no longer fit. My foot had widened, and I needed new skates. So, I had splurged on a really nice pair of figure skates. Unfortunately, my optimism and my feet were unaligned. Now with arthritis, bursitis and bunions, there was absolutely no way to squeeze my foot into those beautiful skates. That then, is how on the day before leaving for Invermere, I found myself in Canadian Tire, in the hockey skate aisle looking bewildered. Luckily for me, a very kind young high school student helped me find a pair of what I used to call boys skates. And those skates, just in case the arthritis and bursitis and foot widening weren’t humbling enough, were what brought me to my humbling moment of truth in Invermere.
It turns out, I am an old dog, and my old trick doesn’t work. I needed to learn a new trick. I needed to learn to skate on hockey skates.
You’d think this wouldn’t be terribly difficult, given my pond Olympic experience. But I’ve discovered that my weight is distributed differently in hockey skates than it was in figure skates. The first time I tried them, on that beautiful Whiteway, I could hardly stand up, let alone get going. I did eventually get my feet under me, but oh, it was not pretty. There was no gliding, no skating backward, no elbow locking turns. I was thrilled to stay upright and to manage a few hundred metres.
The next day, determined to try again, we went back. Ben and Andy, who had loved being pulled along on a sled by Uncle Greg and Auntie Cara on the first day, were hopeful I might pull them on day two. It’s tough to have your hopes dashed when you’re young; luckily their Dad, Matt, did a great job in the pulling department. On my second try, I got started a bit better and Kaitlyn kindly offered to skate alongside me. Jim had not yet made it to the ice, but that’s a story for another day. I don’t think we can classify what I did as gliding, but I felt a bit better. Matt commented on how beautiful it was, and I asked him to take a picture so I could enjoy it when we were done. I was too busy watching my feet to appreciate either the beauty of the scenery or the bald eagles overhead!
Back at home this week, our cold-snap finally broke and, having the boys for a few extra days, we took them over to our lake for some toboganning. I put Ben’s and my skates in the car just in case. The upper rink looked so beautiful, Ben and I decided to try it. Again, no Olympic medal, but I did manage a few metres of backward skating, and I felt like I looked less tense. I may even have glided once or twice. And then this morning, I asked Jim if he’d like to give it another try and join me over at the lake for a little skate. We got there just as it opened, knowing we need a clear path. No pairs medals were awarded but we came home having circled the entire lake.
I am still in a bit of shock that what once felt so good and natural to me, now feels completely foreign. When I put on those hockey skates for the first time in Invermere, I wanted to quit. I was completely out of my comfort zone. The truth is, I could have cried. However, I also knew this was something I wanted to continue (or perhaps start again?). I want to be able to join my family in this kind of activity. I want to be able to take the boys skating. I don’t want to shrink my world any more than I have to. This old dog still wants to learn new tricks.
In Canada right now, our familiar way of being is feeling unstable. It’s like the skates we’ve been so comfortable in, no longer fit, and our new ones don’t feel good yet. However, deep down inside each of us, we do know how to skate. We do know how navigate the ice surfaces of Canadian lakes and rivers. We do know how to feel pride. We do know how to stand up for ourselves. And we are figuring out how to do it together. Our Canadian boys set a great example the other night in Boston. I doubt they’ll be inviting me to join them on the ice in the Olympics next year when they, once again, proudly represent Canada in Milano and Cortina d'Ampezzo in Italy. But I plan to be ready. I’ve got my skates sharpened, a helmet on order, and I’ll proudly skate for Canada.
My inquiry for you this week is, ‘What new trick am I learning?’
Elizabeth is a proud Canadian, a certified professional Leadership Coach, and the owner of Critchley Coaching. She is the founder and president of the Canadian charity, RDL Building Hope Society. She works with corporations, non-profits and the public sector, providing leadership coaching. She creates and facilitates custom workshops for all sizes of groups and has expertise in facilitating Strategic Plans for organizations. Contact Elizabeth to learn how to be brave enough to try a new trick.
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