After the Red Skates Incident, I decided that I would no longer leave the colour of my skates to chance. Following Sunday's lesson, I gingerly headed over to the rink's skate shop. I hovered outside the window for a few minutes, perusing their price list and trying not to lust after the Edinburgh Capitals jersey they had on display.
What was I doing? This was madness - I'd only spent three hours on the ice - it was too soon to invest in skates. It wasn't part of the Plan. The Plan clearly stated that I would sign up for the six weeks of "real" lessons and then buy my own pair. My Feet, however, were in disagreement, and were determined to challenge the Plan at all costs. As if on cue, another beginner, also with sore feet, entered the shop and began asking about skates. My Feet made sure that the rest of me followed, leaving the Plan behind.
I explained my dilemma "Feet! Ouch!". Or at least that was the gist of it. "A common complaint, you'll be wanting hockey skates - more comfortable, and cheaper for men... no demand for men's figure skates..." I was told by the shopkeeper, one of two elderly gentlemen in the shop who together reminded me of a certain Scottish sitcom. I glanced at the prices. My wallet informed me that the hockey skates were clearly superior.
I looked over the shop while I waited to be fitted. Lined up in a rack, tugging at that same nerve that sword-like objects trigger, was a selection of hockey sticks. I wiped drool from my chin and looked at them more closely. Not just hockey sticks. They were expensive hockey sticks. Luckily, before I could do anything stupid such as touching one, or deciding to want one, it was time to get my feet measured.
I've not had my feet measured for near fifteen years, but even so, I was not surprised by what followed. 'Victor' measured my left foot. "Ok..." And then he measured my right foot. "Ah. Um..." I gave him an understanding look "Yeah... they're different sizes." Completely different sizes - a full half-size between them. Fortunately, this distraction kept me from thinking about how small my feet were in skate sizes (two sizes smaller than shoes... poor ego).
'Jack' found a pair ("Since your feet have stopped growing, I think we'll get away with it,") laced me in and then told me to walk about. I stood up. There was none of the instability I'd experienced with skates previously - they were solid, firm. I took a few strides - this was good, this was excellent, this was exactly like wearing trainers. I was tempted to try running.
I parted with money and took them home on the bus. I spent most of the journey peeking at them in their box, smiling every time like a kid with a new toy. Naturally, I spent the rest of the day wearing them (blade guards in place of course), strutting around the flat and striking ridiculous hockey poses. Needless to say, I live alone.
No comments:
Post a Comment