Every week for the past month I’ve written a story that makes me think of two things.

Either it’s “Why didn’t I ever try that?” or “I’m glad I’ve made the decision to most likely never have to do that again.”

In this case, it falls under the latter.

Right next to this column is the story about the annual Copper Cup, a figure skating competition that sees hundreds of figure skaters showcase their skills on the ice.

The competitors came in all shapes and sizes, and the skills required for each competition vary upon the level of expertise of the figure skater themselves.

Once the competition commenced, a few of the competitors stayed behind or came back to practice later.

I for one have an affection for figure skating. It’s difficult enough to get started on the ice, let alone to have to perform some of the basic moves that are required even in the highest forms of competition.

It’s a lot like hockey in the sense that it takes a lot of skill (according to yours truly) just to strap on the thin blades and be able to skate at ungodly speeds while trying to perform a necessary goal.

Figure skating, though, is one tough sport. People have to perform under pressure in front of a crowd and be judged by a panel of “experts.” And should they fall, well, that’s pretty much the end of that competition.

Really that’s all it takes. One mistake and you’re pretty much done.

That’s why the story made me think of being glad I made the decision to avoid ice skating as much as humanly possible.

And forget about ice skating specifically, but anything on wheels (like roller skates) that I have to put on my feet is pretty much out of the question entirely.

The last time I remember strapping on some ice skates I think I was still in high school. My dad thought of doing something different and we went just to hang out together.

And while he looked like he had done it a thousand times before (and probably has for all I know), I looked like a bumbling idiot as soon as one skate touched the ice.

Gliding along while slowly gaining and regaining my balance, I clung onto the walls as if my life depended on it.

And like a little kid just learning how to skate for the very first time, I still managed to fall at least three or four times while clinging to the only support I had.

Meanwhile, my dad was circling me time and time again. His words of encouragement finally gave way and I managed to release my death grip and glide along maybe 10-20 feet before crashing to the ice in a bumbling heap.

Since then, I haven’t come close to touching ice skates again.

I certainly appreciate the two sports of figure skating and hockey, but it’ll probably take my son wanting to go ice skating to even get me close to wanting to go again.

sgillet@davisclipper.com