Sofia Hashi | Fulcrum Staff
I HATE SKATING. No, really, I do. There’s something about stuffing my foot into an unnaturally skinny shoe with a long blade and spikes attached to it that just puts me off. The sensation of my knees wobbling in protest and my heart hammering as hard as a kick-drum waiting for that inevitable fall induces panic and horror every time I step on the ice.
As we bid adieu to fall and make way for another long and cold Ottawa winter, I know skating is all I’ll hear about for the next four months.
“Is the Rideau Canal open yet?”
“Oh no! They closed down the canal.”
“Global warming is really affecting skating on the canal.”
Okay, so maybe the last one isn’t something you’ll often hear while wandering through the streets of Ottawa, but come on, have you felt our last few winters? Twenty-degree weather in March? Global warming is a thing, people!
To the average person, winter weather is something to be observed from a toasty living room while feasting on leftover Christmas candy. But in Ottawa, all we seem to do is talk about skating, get our skates ready, and skate.
There seems to be a stigma attached to everyone who chooses not to skate—they’re not Canadian.
Every time I tell people, “I dislike skating,” or whenever the topic of Ottawa’s canal is brought up and I say, “I don’t do that,” they always respond in one of two ways: they either gasp and say, “But you’re Canadian, how can you not like skating?” Or they give me a weird, long, and uncomfortable stare and ask incredulously if I even like hockey—which, now that we’re on the topic, isn’t my first choice when it comes to watching sports.
While I’m internally banging my head against the wall throughout these exchanges, I wonder why some people think a sport or activity can define a country’s citizens. For some people, skating is a nice thing to do on a sunny winter afternoon, but the important words here are “some people.” The fact that I, or any other Canadian, should happen to detest ice sports doesn’t make us any less, well, Canadian.
If you cut me open, I’ll bleed maple syrup. I didn’t know how much I said “eh” until my British cousins pointed it out. I apologize profusely for mundane things like grazing someone’s shoulder on the bus. I’ve lived in Ottawa for practically my entire life. If you flip open my passport, you’ll see “Canadian” stamped on it. Point is, I am Canadian, just as much as the other skating-loving hockey freaks in the country.
My intense dislike for skating shouldn’t seem like an oxymoron because of my citizenship. And the next time you hear someone who happens to not like skating, for the love of all things Canadian, don’t say that’s impossible—because it’s not. Trust me, eh?
