As people who know me, or rather anyone I have encountered are probably aware, I am tall and clumsy. Therefore, an icy floor and my long legs don’t tend to get on very well.
The ice skating enclosure in South Kensington is a beautiful, seasonal event and is surrounded by historic buildings. Unfortunately, it was disrupted on a crisp Tuesday afternoon by my loud swearing and flailing limbs.
Little kids whizzed past doing sodding pirouettes while I gripped onto the sides of the enclosure.
Couples, wearing colour co-ordinated knitwear, posed in glamorous selfies as I stacked it in the background.
Families, holding gloved hands, figure lined whilst my scarf tangled around my ice blades.
Stubbornly refusing to use a penguin I thought fuck it. I threw myself forward and suddenly started zooming across the ice, (admittedly this was most likely caused by Newton’s Law of Speed rather than any skill) and then I stacked it hard.
Marc said that term two is about failing, again and again. So I guess we’ll all be falling on our arses alot. But I know I’ll be helped up by everyone at SCA. My arse has never been so bruised, but I’ve never laughed so much.
Perhaps my next profession won’t be figure ice skating but I had definitely improved by the time I waddled out, rubbing my bruised derrière. And I think that’s what this impending term is going to be all about. Regardless of how many mentors shove us and our ideas over or thumbs down’s make us slip. Despite plenty of tears and bruises, I’m going to laugh and persevere by getting back up to get better and better.
So I’ll probably continue to resemble a giraffe on ice this term and undoubtedly make a donut of myself in more ways than ice skating but, I can’t wait.