Page 30 of Must Love Christmas

50 Days UntilChristmas

Simon’s fingers and toes were tingling with anticipation as he stood in the Shawlands Rink “warm room”—a big lounge adjoining the ice, basically—listening to a bushy-haired old man give a detailed safety briefing.

“The ice is three things,” Craig said, counting on his fingers. “Cold, hard, and slippery. So never run, even if you’re trying to sweep a fast stone. It’s not worth a fall and a trip to A&E. Also, the stones weigh over forty pounds—nineteen kilos for you metric-using kids—so don’t pick them up. Ever heard the term ‘flat-footed’? That came from someone who dropped a curling stone on his toes.”

Nervous laughter rippled through the crowd of new curlers, as well as a few eye-rolls among those wearing official Shawlands name badges—veteran club members like Garen, Simon supposed, who’d probably heard Craig’s jokes many times.

As Craig explained how points were scored, Simon peered through the wide window at the rink. The ice was divided by thick lines into six long adjoining “sheets,” each of which featured a large, bullseye-shaped “house” at either end. It looked like the paint forming the lines had been laid down several inches beneath the ice. Simon marveled at the precise effort that must have gone into creating such a space.

“Excited?” came a whisper to his left.

Simon looked down at Garen. “I hope I do all right.”

“All that matters is you have fun,” Garen said. “And that you avoid the sausage when breakfast is served. David tends to burn them, and yet somehow they’re always undercooked in the middle.”

Simon noticed something was subtly different in Garen’s stance. “You seem taller all of a sudden.”

Garen pointed to his curling shoes, which looked like thick-soled black trainers. “Insulation keeps our feet warm but also gives us a wee lift.” He offered a gleeful grin that made Simon’s toes tingle even harder.

A few minutes later, they filed out of the warm room and into the cavernous, brightly lit rink. Simon tugged his knit cap down over his ears to ward off the biting chill. Voices bounced between the ice and the high ceiling with a quality he’d never heard before, adding to the sense of adventure.

Simon took a cautious step out onto the ice, expecting to slip. But he had slung rubber “grippers” over the soles of his trabs, and the ice surface had been pebbled with frozen water droplets. The pebble was meant to help the stones glide, but it also made the ice easier to walk upon.

The class split up into small groups, each led by a volunteer instructor. Garen divided Simon’s group in half and had them stand on opposite sides of the fourteen-foot-wide ice sheet. Then he led them through a drill of short “throws” back and forth to each other across the sheet.

Simon was fascinated by the physics involved, how the stone could get from Point A to Point B by traveling not in a straight line, but in an arc, the angle of which was largely determined by the force of the throw.

“So that’s why they call it curling,” said the lady beside him wearing a cozy-looking fuzzy green hat.

Simon returned her smile. “It’s starting to make sense now.”

“Okay!” Garen clapped his hands to get their attention. “Now for the fun and scary part—sliding out of the hack.” He walked to the near end of the sheet and stood beside a contraption resembling a starting block.

Garen demonstrated how to get into throwing position, with one foot perched in the hack and the other atop a flat, foot-shaped slider. Then he crouched down, grasping the squarish plastic stabilizer with his left hand and the yellow-capped stone with his right. Simon tried not to stare at Garen’s hips as they rose, then rocked back slightly.

But his breath left him as Garen shot out of the hack in one smooth motion. He sailed forward in a bent-knee posture, perfectly balanced on his left foot, his right leg extended straight behind him like the tail of a bird.

After coming to a stop, Garen stood and turned to them. “Any questions?”

Will you do that again?Simon thought. He’d watched Garen curl in the documentary, but it was pure magic to see it in person, to witness his body folding so naturally into a position that was so…well,unnatural.

“Who’ll be going first?” Garen asked as he pushed the rock back toward the hack with his foot. “Simon?”

“Oh. Erm, sure.” Simon took the slider and stabilizer from Garen, then went to the hack and placed his right foot on its sloped surface. “Let me see if I can remember without you reminding me.”

“Ooh, showoff. Gie laldy, then.”

Simon crouched down, took hold of the rock’s handle, then raised his hips.This is so awkward with long legs.He drew back, moving his left foot parallel to the hack.Shit, that slider thing is slippery.

There was nowhere to go but forward. In his mind’s eye, he replayed Garen’s slide, trusting his body to imitate that image.

Simon launched himself out of the hack. For a moment, it felt like flying. Then the slider shimmied under his left foot. Without panicking, he corrected his balance, and his slide continued until he slowed to a stop near the blue line.

I did it!Simon stood, removing the slider from under his foot.

“That was brilliant!” Garen said. “You sure you’ve never curled before?”

Simon nodded as a warm glow spread from his innards up to his face and shoulders. He stepped back up onto the carpeted catwalk, wishing that warmth would spread to his feet. The freezing air seemed to be jabbing his soles and heels with tiny needles.

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