"Can I take a picture of your shoes?"
By Chris Dunmire
Today my knees ache as do various "stabilizing" muscles in my legs and ankles after putting on a pair of ice skates at a local indoor ice skating rink yesterday. It's been over 15 years since I've dared this sport, and in an hour's time I did about eight complete skate sets around the oval rink.
Perhaps one day I'll be able to do figure-8's like that beautifully toned young ice-scapading woman in the pretty skirt who skated with ease and grace in the middle of the rink like a music box ballerina non-stop the entire time I was there (although it will be perfectly fine if I can make it to 7's.) I loved her calming presence in the background — it contrasted nicely with the two hockey players practicing jarring skids and slides in between the rest of us in the open skate venue.
And did you know they have ice-skating supports (they look like walkers) for newbies to use? Two 2.5-foot children scooted along nimbly with them accompanied by an encouraging parent who helped them up each time they slid and fell on the ice. I asked one, "Do they have those for adults?" One Dad talked into his cell-phone as he supervised his son. Another man with a ski hat hugging his head skated steadily along by himself, circling the ring at a slow work-out pace for a good hour. I spotted him first — ah, I'm not too far out of my league! An older woman, a proud grandma in a knitted sweater weaved curvy lines and smooth backward strokes artfully on her skates. I wondered how long she's been skating. Was she like our ballerina centerpiece in her younger years?
And then there was me. Layered thermal shirts, knit hat, dark gloves reminiscent of the Hamburger Helper guy. I felt a little bit like a puppeteer, but without the gloves one time around I felt more vulnerable.
The first time around the rink I hugged the wall and held on for dear life support. Wobbly and stiff, I knew I had to begin once again, and only through practice would I improve my craft.
The second time around I hugged the wall and let go just a little, still holding on at various points for support. It was a little easier than the first.
By the fourth and fifth time, I touched the wall only at the curves for support, but doing a good job with pacing and momentum, careful with confidence, knowing muscle memory takes time to develop.
By the end of an hour I was ready to go home. Hubby, who came for support, stood up from the bench he'd been observing me from. He and I used to Rollerblade together in our early years, and he kept an eye out for me as I wobbled and hobbled around the rink, hugging the wall and stressing my muscles in order not to fall. In between sets, I joined him on the bench to allow my muscles a rest. There was no denying this was my first time on skates and I had to relearn all over again.
"Do you think this takes courage?" I asked.
He expressed that if he was up on his Rollerblading, he'd be more inclined to put on the skates and join me. "My first step is just being here," he said.
Courage comes in all shapes and sizes, whether inventing new things or reinventing (recreating) things we already have. With this iceskating, I'm doing both. Breaking the ice, so to speak, in shoring up parts of me that have been unused for years. The older I get the more I realize the wisdom in getting outside of my comfort zone...for that is the only way I can experience more deeper, fuller greatness in life, even if it means less-used muscles and ligaments ache afterward. It's worth it. I'm already planning my return to the rink on Monday, first to assure few days of muscle healing; second, to try again.
What do you think about creative courage and going outside of your own comfort zone?
Those Clown Shoes
Now, if you're wondering about those clown shoes above, that's another example of creative courage manifested. Let me cue some carousal music and tell you about it.
<anecdote>
I attended a Shriner's Circus a few years ago and was so enthralled with the multiples of clowns on hand. One was wearing these awesome, well, floppy clown shoes, and I had never been so close to a pair so divine. So I asked the friendly clown, "Can I take a picture of your shoes?" Never mind his clown head or face, right? Just the shoes, please. He complied and told me all about his shoes...how much they cost, how long he's had them, and how he takes care of them. They were obviously a point of pride, as you can see how he modeled them for me.
But yeah, asking a clown if you can photograph ONLY his shoes takes courage. At least I didn't reach over and squeeze his round red nose to see if it squeaked. I was tempted. •
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