So, I'm guessing that I got my last pair of ice skates when my feet had grown as much as they were going to grow, most likely, when I was twelve. That would have been 1962. And here are the skates that I use today:
Yes. They are the same skates. Not only that, those are the same wool skating socks. Do the math: these items are over fifty years old! Yes, the black pompoms with jingle bells are that old, too.
Several years ago, I treated myself to a new pair of skates from L.L. Bean. But I just couldn't get used to them. I kept going back to the old skates. It was nice to have an extra pair of skates on hand for my kids' friends who had never found a pair of skates under their Christmas trees. (And I still have those L.L. Bean skates, if you want to visit me in wintertime.)
This morning, I woke up in Saratoga Springs to a temperature of minus five degrees. By the time my hosts and I had finished eating breakfast, it was a balmy seven degrees. Time to ice skate! The pond just beyond their back yard had been cleared by Ruth, chef and baker extraordinaire (along with her many other talents). A casual walk on a snowy path dropped us off on the frozen pond. I laced up my antique skates and took to the ice.
I've always known that the first ten minutes of skating are the worst. My ankles want to collapse. But I also know that if I hang in there, the pain will subside, and I will skate better and better each time around the pond. Despite the cold, that is exactly what happened. We skated until my toes began screaming Frostbite! Frostbite! and we retreated to the house. I was happy with the exercise, in love with my very old but reliable ice skates.
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