Nobody does what I do out here. Out here on this warm, soft, forgiving mall ice in the Pacific Northwest, freestyling on hockey blades while figure skaters half or one third or even a quarter my age bounce and twirl and ricochet like pinballs around the rink.
In the beginning no one understood my motivation. "Why are you doing that in hockey skates?"
"It's a thing," I insist. It is. It's a thing everywhere east of here. It's a thing on the East Coast, it's a thing across the pond, a thing into the Scandinavian Northlands and a thing across the EU. It's a thing in Russia, and it's a thing halfway back into the Pacific in Hawaii. It's just not a thing here. Not yet.
There might be one or two others doing what I do here, but I never see them.
It gets lonely. I try to recruit skaters. Maybe I'll be more effective now that I finally understand wtf to do and can kind of do it. I'm good enough now that people watch me. Do I make it look fun? Maybe. I'd rather they were out here with me. The energy in that kind of camaraderie brings such vitality and joy. I can only dance with myself so much before I run out of steam.
But I can adapt. If I can't find it here, I can travel to where ice freestyle is alive and flourishing. I can go to Montreal and Budapest and participate in the fests and frenzies. Skate with friends from all over the world.
There are worse ways to go into debt.
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