Curling
So, I can now check curling off the list of life experiences I can claim to have had. Despite curling not being a contact sport, there was plenty to worry about beforehand. What would I wear? (I found a pair of nylon sweatpants that did the trick.) Would I be able to remain upright on the ice? (Surprisingly easier than it looks.) Would I pull muscles I didn't even know I had? (Also surprisingly, no.)
It got off to a disconcerting start when I started to walk to the ice rink (it's just 5 minutes downhill from our place) and discovered that that afternoon's snow had melted and re-frozen, glazing the sidewalks and streets in our neighborhood with a thin layer of slick ice. Who knew I would be at greater risk getting to the rink than actually being there?
There was another group curling when we got there, so we drank hot Glühwein and pretended to learn the rules. At last it was our turn, so we split into two groups and each went to one end to learn how to "throw the rock". It looks easy enough on TV, and the actual sliding of the rock really isn't that hard--it's the sliding that's difficult. It turns out that if you're wearing tennis shoes, the ice isn't as slippery as it looks. To slide, you're supposed to slip something over one of your shoes that immediately makes the ice more slippery than a freshly waxed dance floor on rented tuxedo shoes. You're supposed to put your slippery foot in front, push off with your back foot, and glide effortlessly forward with your broom keeping you balanced (in our case, we didn't use our brooms but instead a little upright thing with a handle for beginners). In my case, not only did my slippery foot go spastically askew, but I also put the wrong knee down and basically ended up in a tidy heap on the ice. The lesson I drew from this is that I didn't want anything slippery on my foot, so the rest of the night I basically just threw it as hard as I could without doing the cool sliding thing--I still have my pride, after all.
When it was time to play some friendly competition against each other, I would say I was OK at throwing the stone (other than not sliding), terrible at sweeping (at one point, I was still unsure of my footing and moving slowly, so I found myself actually sweeping behind the stone, which is about the most pointless thing you can do--unless, of course, it was leaving little curling stone droppings), and excellent at yelling (as indicated in #5 of this article, curling evidently involves lots of screaming...our Canadian friend, who was wearing full curling regalia including (I'm not kidding) curling gloves, kept yelling "hurry! hard! hurry! hard!" to the sweepers in a voice that sounded like a pirate. I'm telling you, this is a quirky game.)
In the end, it was fun but I don't think I'm going to be hitting the curling circuit anytime soon. By the same token, it was fun to do one of those things that I never really imagined myself doing. And best of all, when it was finished we all retired to the restaurant for a good cheese fondue...
It got off to a disconcerting start when I started to walk to the ice rink (it's just 5 minutes downhill from our place) and discovered that that afternoon's snow had melted and re-frozen, glazing the sidewalks and streets in our neighborhood with a thin layer of slick ice. Who knew I would be at greater risk getting to the rink than actually being there?
There was another group curling when we got there, so we drank hot Glühwein and pretended to learn the rules. At last it was our turn, so we split into two groups and each went to one end to learn how to "throw the rock". It looks easy enough on TV, and the actual sliding of the rock really isn't that hard--it's the sliding that's difficult. It turns out that if you're wearing tennis shoes, the ice isn't as slippery as it looks. To slide, you're supposed to slip something over one of your shoes that immediately makes the ice more slippery than a freshly waxed dance floor on rented tuxedo shoes. You're supposed to put your slippery foot in front, push off with your back foot, and glide effortlessly forward with your broom keeping you balanced (in our case, we didn't use our brooms but instead a little upright thing with a handle for beginners). In my case, not only did my slippery foot go spastically askew, but I also put the wrong knee down and basically ended up in a tidy heap on the ice. The lesson I drew from this is that I didn't want anything slippery on my foot, so the rest of the night I basically just threw it as hard as I could without doing the cool sliding thing--I still have my pride, after all.
When it was time to play some friendly competition against each other, I would say I was OK at throwing the stone (other than not sliding), terrible at sweeping (at one point, I was still unsure of my footing and moving slowly, so I found myself actually sweeping behind the stone, which is about the most pointless thing you can do--unless, of course, it was leaving little curling stone droppings), and excellent at yelling (as indicated in #5 of this article, curling evidently involves lots of screaming...our Canadian friend, who was wearing full curling regalia including (I'm not kidding) curling gloves, kept yelling "hurry! hard! hurry! hard!" to the sweepers in a voice that sounded like a pirate. I'm telling you, this is a quirky game.)
In the end, it was fun but I don't think I'm going to be hitting the curling circuit anytime soon. By the same token, it was fun to do one of those things that I never really imagined myself doing. And best of all, when it was finished we all retired to the restaurant for a good cheese fondue...
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