Ice Skating

I grew up...well hit my teen age years I guess you'd call it...in Bay City, Michigan.  I moved there just before 7th grade in late summer and my neighbor's first question was "do you ice skate". Naw. ... oh how sad.  I had no idea what was what but that winter on a dim black and white TV with rabbit ears we watched a big deal amateur speed skating event and Terry McDermott, a and my barber who lived not far from me, was skating. He went on to fame at the 1964 Olympics.  At that point I figured that skating was a big deal.

Going to the Fairgrounds at 7p every night and skating for 2 hours was then the thing to do. If you were lucky, you got to do a twirl around the huge oval with Carol Schwartz or Barb Hahn, the class beauties or just endlessly do that 1/4 mile, blades crisply cutting into the stone cold ice, an occasional scrape with the toe of your speed skates not lifted high enough, and the always to be feared "tumble" on rough ice. 

50 years and I can still feel the welcomed warmth of the room where you, and half the town, changed into skates for yet another pass at the golden ring.