A Saturday Wait-and-Skate-fest

"We live in the best city in the world," said Elli as we walked toward to El heading home.

I smiled and nodded. We had just spent the last few hours at Millennium Park downtown enjoying the public ice rink. And we weren't the only ones. The line for rental skates wrapped around nearly the entire rink, which was probably the same size as an NHL rink. But the hour and a half wait was worth the blast we had when we actually stepped on the ice.

While we waited in line, we occupied ourselves by criticizing the technique of the skaters on the ice. And some of the outfit choices of the women, cringing at the ones who weren't wearing any gloves, and laughing at the woman who thought it was appropriate to wear a mid-drift top and an open jacket for an afternoon of ice skating. Our favorite skater to watch was Brian Boitano, or a man who thought he was the legendary pro. He was a middle aged man, with ragged hair covered by a baseball cap and he was clad in jeans and a tight shirt. He weaved through the crowd, switching between backward and forward glides, tossing in the occasional spin. But when Mr. Wanna Be Boitano came across and empty area, he slipped in a little leap or a standing sit spin move, complete with elegant arms. We decided he must have been a competitive figure skater at some point in his life. Sadly, he was nowhere to be found when we got our turn to show off our moves.

While we didn't skate for nearly as long as we waited in line (I don't think we could have taken anymore of the cold!), gliding around the rink laughing at ourselves stumbling (okay, maybe that was just me doing the stumbling) around a giant oval over and over again was such a fun time. I haven't been ice skating in seven years, since I visited the rink in Boston during college (Boston's rink is a LOT smaller than this one is and in Chicago no one yells at you if you touch or hold on to the railings or take a break on the edge of the rink). I thought I would fall on my face, or have a bruised rear end by the time we were done with the adventure, but I only lightly tumbled to the ice twice (both times in the same place) and it took a good 15 minutes for the first spill to take place! We hit the ice after the Zamboni freshly cleaned the ice, causing me to be doubled over from the get-go and nearly falling on my face from the slippery surface, but I recovered quickly once I got my footing and as soon as the ice got chewed up from all the dozens of other skaters lapping me.

Our toes and noses were so frozen by 4 p.m. that we decided to return our skates and continue the festivities with a cup of hot chocolate back at the apartment in order to defrost. But as we walked to the El, we both agreed that Chicago is truly an amazing city. And that ice skating is still really fun, no matter how old--or bad--we are (or just me, Elli's pretty good!).