I love hockey but I’ve only ever played street hockey, without rollerblades.
None of my family can skate well, if at all. So there were only a handful of times that I’d go to the rink. It was close, too. It is right down the street next to the Joyce middle school here in The Woo. None of my friends were skaters. Which isn’t surprising, I wasn’t exactly what you’d call a jock. I’ve never played organized sports. My introversion teetered on the border of shyness for all of my childhood (and a goodly portion of my adulthood) and so the thought of being around a bunch of people a bunch of the time, held no appeal. But being a huge hockey fan, ice skating did.
I remember the first time I tried. If only then in grainy herky-jerky 8 mm film quality.
I knew something was wrong the moment my first skate hit the ice. There was no traction. I mean duh, I knew there wouldn’t be. But experiencing something is worlds different than knowing something. Before I even had both feet on the ice, I became a Klingon. I clung to the dasher as if my life depended upon it. Because to my mind it did. I’m not what you call daring, nor even brave. It took a great while before I was able to do anything other than the Klingon Shuffle along the boards.
At this point, the film fades to black. And now, decades later,I remember more general feelings than specific events. I know I must have fallen on my generously padded behind a number of times but I don’t remember doing so. I don’t remember it ever getting easier. I don’t remember how long I was out there.
But I do remember not going back very often. This was years before I got my first set of bionic ears, which is a good and bad thing. ‘Twas good because a fall would only break bones, not bones and bionic ears. ‘Twas bad because my brain was working overtime to hear unaided and hadn’t any room to spare for balance.
The study Hearing Loss Contributes to Balance Difficulties in both Younger and Older Adults measured how many steps it took someone to regain their balance. It found a correlation, if not causation, between hearing loss and bad balance. Hence the name of the study, right? My memories of futile attempts at ice skating adds some anecdotal evidence to this study’s empirical evidence. If hard of hearing people take more steps to regain their balance, then it stands to reason that hard of hearing Brad would take more steps to regain his balance on ice. If he ever did.
As Julie found out in her research, our ears miss cues that support balance and our hearing loss can even impact our gait. I’d known that the inner ear contains not just the cochlear but also the vestibular system, which regulates balance, but I’d not realized that the auditory system itself can play a role. I’ve gone a few arounds with vertigo but I’ve also almost fallen down doing the oh-so-daring feat of simply standing in one spot. And sometimes when I’m sitting, legs akimbo, on my zafu in meditation the world feels slanted. I know I’m sitting straight-backed and straight up but with my eyes closed I don’t have the visual clues to tell me if I’m listing to port or not.
If simply sitting or standing prove herculean feats of balance, what chance do I have of ice skating?
I can’t blame my hearing entirely, though. I’m 6’2” which means pinwheeling my arms at too high an angle can set my entire body waving like one of those inflatable crazy-arm guys you see outside of used car dealerships. When I was a wee Brad, I wasn’t all that wee. In 8th grade I crossed the 200 lb line and I’ve never looked back. The spare tire around my midsection helped the falling but hindered the skating. The height and the weight both made it harder for me to regain my balance as a weebled and wobbled. And unlike that 70s toy I do fall down. But perhaps it has more to do with my hearing than I know.
My experience backs up the study I mentioned above. With or without aids, it’s always been hard for me to regain my balance. I always chalked it up to being a klutz, a proud Doiron family trait. (Thanks, Mom!). But perhaps it’s more due to the McKenna family trait of hearing loss. (Thanks, Dad!) Or perhaps, like so much in life, it’s more complicated than one thing.
Be it pond or rink,
Ice hockey isn’t for me.
World’s denied my shot.
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