A Pilgrim's Journal

The world of ice skating.

Danny was not quite sure what to make of the hard leather skates as they were laced tightly around his small ankles. The skates were hard and cold, and they pressed against his ankle bone with the threat of agony that never quite came. When he stood, he felt as if his feet were both inflexible blobs and wobbly brooms ready to bring him down like a house of cards at the first wrong step.

But such worries paled in comparison to the instability thrust upon him when his blade first touched the smooth surface of the ice. If his father had not been right behind him, Danny would likely have slipped backward and knocked himself unconscious on the rink boards. Arms akimbo, with his father's hands under his armpits, his feet began to understand the strange new surface.

His father patiently held onto him, explaining the method of thrusting side to side with the skate blades. With each lap of the specially marked beginner's area, Danny began to build new confidence in his abilities. Slowly, his father's hands lightened their hold, and more of Danny's weight was supported on the thin blades beneath him.

Danny was given a large orange street pylon. Holding the top with both hands, he was able to support himself without falling down. Thrusting his skates faithfully, he was soon gliding haphazardly within the beginner's area like a motorized tripod.

This was the world of blissful momentum. Glancing forward with furtive peeks at the rest of the rink, he could see the adults and older kids skating round and round in circles with amazing speed. His heart filled with hope that he would someday be able to do the same, but his head was soon focused again, religiously, on the top of the orange pylon. He held on for dear life.

After about 30 minutes of practice, Danny found that he could build up a fair amount of speed. It was thrilling. The artificially refrigerated air filled his nostrils as he gave the pylon a burst of speed, and then coasted to a stop. Back and forth he would go in the learning area, his fear fading into pure fun.

The crunching sounds of steel blade against ice was inspiring. The grown-ups seemed to make their skates do all sorts of maneuvers. Danny was inspired to try to go as fast as he could.

He started carefully at one end, his backside pressed against the cold boards to the left of the rink. Gripping his pylon with new ferver, he looked ahead, and saw it: a clear path between the mass of other kids and parents practicing in the same section. This was it. It was his time to soar!

He launched himself from the boards with a grunt, a wild smile spreading across his face that grew ever wider the harder he paddled his legs. The sudden start nearly made him fall, but he regained his balance with the help of his pylon, and began to race one of the adults he saw out of the corner of his eye.

It was working! He was flying along the surface just as fast as the adult beside him, the rink air chilling his face as he increased speed. With just a bit more effort, he might even beat his racing opponent to the other side!

It was only then that he realized the new world of frightful pain that was also part of the ice and cold, for there were no brakes on his skates, and even though he had stopped skating, the pylon and the steel blades were faithfully carrying him to the right side of the rink. He closed his eyes and braced himself. A bloody mash of nose and board soon followed.

The next thing Danny remembered he was staring up from the ice, his father looking down at him with a concerned look on his face. He was asking Danny if he wanted to stop.

But it was too late. Danny was hooked. The wild grin had not left his face. His blood was on the ice, but now the ice, and skating too, was in his blood.