Breaking the ice as an adult

On trying new things – and not letting age get in the way

It’s been over a year since I stopped teaching barre. It was one of those things I really wanted to like but ultimately realized I just liked the sound of. After I quit, taking class at the studio wasn’t the same. My clients would ask me why I wasn’t teaching and when I would get back into it. I know they were just being nice and I should have been flattered, but instead I felt awkward. I didn’t know how to say “I just didn’t really like it” without sounding like Goldilocks in grip socks.

Eventually, I stopped going. On top of the awkwardness, teaching had made working out my job, so naturally, it started to feel like exactly that: work. Working out at home, however, was even harder. There wasn’t any money in it, but there wasn’t any joy either. I’d always liked going to a studio to first, get me out of the house, and second, get me around people – two imperative things for a freelancer who works from home. Without either one, there wasn’t much to look forward to. One of the things we talked about all the time as instructors is how moving your body should feel good, both mentally and physically. I liked that ethos, it’s what attracted me to that studio in the first place.

When I thought about other forms of movement that felt good, I found myself thinking about things I loved doing as a kid, things that never even felt like working out because they were activities more than anything else. I’d been in love with gymnastics since forever (but didn’t get to do it until my late teens) and seriously considered adult classes. I also considered dance after watching many a TikTok video and wishing I could move like that. After much deliberation, however, I landed on ice skating.

I almost sort of fell into it. I had sent off a mere exploratory email to the rink with a question about the class schedule and they’d responded saying they could sign me up and prorate the week of class I’d missed. Since the opportunity was presenting itself, I decided to go for it. Rental skates were included in the price, which was a perk. There was just one thing I had to supply myself: a helmet. It was required. The orientation email had not only bolded, but also underlined, the fact that you would not be let on the ice without one. I begrudgingly pulled my ski helmet out of my boot bag and put it in my car the night before class so I wouldn’t forget it.

Call me vain, but the idea of wearing a helmet was initially humiliating. So much so that it almost prevented me from following through and signing up at all. However, I reminded myself that the class was specifically for adults and we’d all have to wear them. Plus, the mid-morning class time would mean the rink would be much less crowded and therefore less full of people who would laugh at the sight.

On the first day, I got there half an hour earlier than I needed to. My stomach was churning with anxiety like it does every time I do something new and out of my comfort zone. I hate not knowing where to go. I don’t mind having to ask for help, but I hate the awkward moments of aimlessness I tend to put myself through before I actually do. It makes me feel unmoored, vulnerable. The facility was much larger than I had anticipated and it took me a bit to find parking, which I did in a totally calm, cool, and definitely-not-sweating manner. By the time I got to the building, I asked for help almost the moment I walked through the doors and was glad I did because there were not one, not two, but three different rinks inside.

I found the rental skate counter and proceeded to shapeshift into a Goldilocks-Cinderella hybrid as I tried on more skates than there were rinks until I found a fit that was just right. That, however, was not until I had shuffled to and fro in my socks from the bench I’d chosen, which also happened to be the furthest from the counter. I actively had to remind myself that the staff was not keeping count (as far as I knew) and then made a mental note to tattoo the size onto my arm so I never had to repeat the process.

Once laced up, I sat for the remainder of the buffer I’d given myself and waited. I watched as others started populating the benches and readying themselves. To my surprise, there were adults of all ages. I was actually, by the looks of it, one of the younger ones. I’m not sure exactly what I was expecting. I suppose I thought I’d be surrounded by twenty-year-old Tonya Hardings. I slipped my badge with my rank (a humble Level 1) around my neck and waited until the last possible second to put on my helmet before entering the rink.

The opening of the door brought a gust of cold air and the familiar scent of ice. Growing up, my next door neighbor and I would beg our parents to take us ice skating, no matter the time of year. Occasionally, they would give in. We loved the juxtaposition of skating during the summer months. It felt like a game of dress up to put on our leggings and gloves when it was eighty degrees outside. I remember the smell of the ice – a sort of vague mix of cold and chemicals – was always more noticeable in the summer.

We had a few minutes to warm up before we broke out into level groups. It’d been years since I last skated, but it came back rather quickly. I grew up skiing and roller blading, which together seemed to form a solid skating foundation. It felt good to be back on the ice. I’ve always been drawn to ice skating, almost in the same way I’ve been drawn to gymnastics. I loved watching it during the winter Olympics, I loved the art, the grace, of it. I even took ice skating as an elective in college freshman year, and the basic skills, luckily, seemed to have stuck with me.

Speaking of college, my hunch of being surrounded by twenty-year-olds turned out to be halfway right. Two of the four coaches were college students from the local university skating team. It was almost comical how easy they made it all look. My fellow Level Ones and I would watch, thinking, Hmm, that’s not so bad, and then try it for ourselves. The results were always clumsy at best.

It was, however, all in good fun. Because it is, in fact, all part of the process. Learning something new doesn’t mean you’re immediately good at it. Though obvious, it can be tough to reckon with, especially as an adult. Maybe I’m just speaking for myself, but I’d venture to say that as adults, we generally don’t like to feel new. Being an adult somehow seems to imply that we know everything there possibly is to know. But what I’ve learned so far from being an adult is that no adult really knows what they’re doing. They’re just making it up until they learn how it works.

I’ve been skating for a few months now, and even though the classes are short (only thirty minutes), the time passes by a hell of a lot faster than it would if I were doing crunches at home. I’ve also gotten to know a few of the people in my class, which is starting to bring a community aspect to life – something I loved so much about my barre studio. I look forward to class every week, and even on the days where I’m learning a new skill that frustrates me, I still feel the joy in it. When I tell people in my life that I’ve started ice skating, they commend me for being so “brave” and “willing to try new things.” They said the same thing when I told them I was going to be a barre instructor. These responses confound me. At what age does being brave and trying new things stop being the norm? From where I’m sitting, if we all have no idea what we’re doing anyway, then what’s there to lose? If you look at it that way, the ice is already broken.

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Please enjoy this highly flattering image of me in my ski/skate helmet.

Author’s Note: Is there something you loved as a child that you’d love to try again as an adult (even if it might feel silly or scary at first)? Is there something brand new you’d like to try? Let’s talk about it!

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