Category: ice skating

I despise children. To think I ever was one sends a cold shiver up my spine and creates wayward twitch in the corner of my mouth, creasing the lines of my face in recognisable distaste. I find most everything about children displeasing. From the harsh sounds that explode out of their mouths to the grubby marks they leave on the surface of all they touch, they are a stain on the face of the earth. However, if they must be a necessarily stain, at least they are a temporary one. They are the embodiment of a phase that’s physical traits last at most fifteen years (while the psychological traits may last a lifetime).

Having expressed to you my intense hatred of these filthy little creatures, you will then understand my horror when I venture into the world and find these monsters in my surroundings. At places such as parks and near schools, the presence of children is only natural, and thus I have adequate time to brace for it. However, when unexpected, the effect of being subjected to their vicinity is magnified tenfold. When planning a quiet day in Melbourne, ice skating seemed the perfect fun yet relaxing activity to consumer myself with. I was extremely excited and had been on the ice not ten minutes when the arena exploded with sound. Shrill shrieks of demonic delight reverberated off the walls, shuddering through me, splitting my head right down the middle. Wildly, I skated up to one of the friendly staff members to inquire why the arena had suddenly been infested with children. Through a good-natured confusion, the girl replied that the ice skating rink doubled as one of the many kids birthday party venues in Melbourne. After pressing her further, I discovered the children would be there for at least another two hours. Naturally, that was when I decided to make my departure.

My question now is this: are there no children-free zones left to us?

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.