The Rink

I step into the rink
A chill hits me
as cold as the arctic tundra.
The bleachers are empty
The only soul in the building
My coach.
Paul Askham,
A British Olympic Athlete.

I sit
Open my skate bag
Revealing my Figure Skates.
With them in hand,
I take the blade covers off
Put my blade guards on.
I slip my skate
On my tights-clad foot.
Using my skate lace pull I synch my skate laces
Starting at the toes of the boot
Methodically moving up
Leaving it a little looser
At the ankle,
I synch the top tight.
I move on to the other skate
Repeating the same process
Having done it so many times
I can’t remember.

I stand up
Bend my knees deep,
Testing the tightness of my skate.
Satisfied
I walk to the boards.
Taking off my blade guards
Setting them on the boards
I step onto the ice
Gliding across,
Stroking,
Skating Crossovers
Around the corners.
The sound of my blades
Cutting into the ice
Fills the rink.
It captivates me.

I start to skate Backwards Crossovers
I step into the circle
And start to spin.
My leg crosses over
My arms tuck in tight,
My Scratch Spin is a work of art.
I step out of the spin gracefully,
Coach Paul claps.
“That was very good,” he says
In his British Accent.
I skate over to him,
And smile.
That was the very first time
I’ve ever executed A perfect Scratch Spin.