I’m so sick of being on the stands. I’ve spent practically my whole life here, sitting in the freezing cold, rugged up in layer upon layer and a warm parka to boot. Folding my sister’s parkas over me as a kind of makeshift blanket because, even with all these layers, it’s still cold enough to make me nose turn red. Thank goodness the staff here are nice. At least they treat me as a person, not a pack mule.
For as long I can remember, this has been my life. Driving to the best ice skating lessons Melbourne has to offer and then trudging up to the stands to wait until it’s over. You see, my sisters are world class ice skaters. They’re beautiful on the ice, perfect, in fact, while I’ve never been allowed to even try my hand at skating. I’m a haemophiliac. Basically, what that means is that I have an extremely delicate constitution. It’s a genetic problem, so there’s nothing I can do about it, but it does mean I have to figuratively and sometimes even literally wrap myself up in cotton wool for my own protection. Thing is, fun usually entails not being wrapped in cotton wool. Being free. So even though ice skating looks like a whole world of fun, it’s not a world I can take part in, for my own safety.
In theory this sounds entirely reasonable, in practice it makes me miserable. Even when the twins used the rink as one of the most amazing kids party venues in Melbourne, I wasn’t allowed off the stands. My parents had to bring the food to me. Whatever you might think, eating cake on your own is a truly depressing experience.
So I’m sick of it. I’m sick of it all. I’ve had it. I’m going to put on these skates no matter what anyone says. I won’t live my life wrapped in cotton wool any longer. I want to live.