AUDIO: Ice skating fears

Molly read her piece on Vermont Public Radio earlier this year. For other examples of pieces aired on Vermont Public Radio, click here.

Trust
By Molly Ziegler
Hartford High School, Grade 11

Winter was never my favorite season. All of the inconveniences that come with the season make it hard for me to truly enjoy it, like icy roads and frostbite. Don't get me wrong, I never thought that snow was ugly. I just don't like the consequences of its beauty.

And as much as I don't like winter, there's one thing that I despise even more: Gym class. And when the two are combined, you get a whole new kind of torture: Ice skating.

When I was little, I always thought that it would be great to learn to glide on ice. Initially, when I held my mom's hand, it was. But when I had to learn to skate on my own, well, the fear of the unforgiving ice set in. If I didn't trust ice driving in a car, why in the world would I trust it wearing two flimsy skates?

But I tried anyway, in gym class, and it was hell. Then one day, as I sit on the bench and lace up my skates, preparing myself to tackle again the rink's icy fortress, I feel my confidence rising.

"Maybe this time," I think, "I'll acquire the coordination and grace I need." On the ice, though, this sudden burst of hope flies far away.

I grip the railing, my knuckles sore from the strain. Once again, I'm going to spend my gym class in fear of the unpredictable nature of ice. All I can think is, "Why is no one else clinging to the side like me?"

Suddenly, I feel someone's hands grab my waist and adrenaline rushes through me. Turning around to see who it is, I feel the surge again: It's my friend, a person I've liked for longer than I can remember, and, too, the last person I expected to see. He drags me from the safety of the railing and I feel myself soaring across the ice, almost as if there is no ice at all, only a cloud. My heart races.

Just as quickly, I awake from this reverie. We're headed straight towards the railing; too fast; much too fast to stop safely. I try to stop, but my attempt is useless. We're sure to hit. Then, suddenly, my "driver" halts and gently pulls at me, to keep me from crashing into the wall.

In that brief moment when I feel the tug on my fleece jacket, I'm overwhelmed with a sense of gratitude. It's only a tiny gesture, but to me, it's the tiniest of gestures that count the most, that can affect people on such a large scale. It reminds me how great it is to have friends I can trust, even in gym class, even on ice.

I used to think that winter was dangerous, and it would be hazardous to try to enjoy it. But now I realize that living in fear is not living at all. So I've learned to trust the season, and myself, because as long as I have friends, there will always be someone to tug on my jacket.