By Maia Zasler

Many of you may know SkateNation Plus as a birthday party destination in the gentrified Short Pump area. Perhaps, for you, it is the site of Upper School history teacher Nate Jackson’s hockey games… or maybe it is a potential date destination for you and a significant other. For me, it is practically a second home. I have been figure skating since the age of three and have subsequently familiarized myself with almost every aspect of the facility. 

Tucked away behind Tropical Smoothie Cafe and Anant Cuisine of India, SkateNation stands not-so-proudly. I have walked over the uneven concrete leading up to smudged sliding glass doors countless times. When you step inside, there always seems to be some sort of work being done (the latest was the wonky installation of a large TV screen outside the laser tag entrance). On the right, there used to be a wall full of coveted arcade game prizes (the kind that are impossible to rack up enough tickets for). Now there exists a range of hockey attire and paraphernalia on display and for sale. How exciting.

If you choose to head onward, you will pass the check-in desk and array of rental skates—not much to note there. On the left are frequently interchanged arcade games. Since my first time at the rink, I believe I have maybe played a total of ten of the games, the most memorable being a poorly animated zombie-pirate shooting game that my dad forced me to try and that gave me nightmares for a week. Further back on the left is the café: a quaint corner illuminated by fairy lights. I try using this space to get homework done in between practices—the yellow lighting and faint smell of hockey skates are not always conducive to creating a productive work environment.  

SkateNation’s ceiling.

Of course, there is the singular sheet of ice—the rink. Back through the series of three wooden benches where I lace up my skates on an almost daily basis, a separate, cooler room awaits. The ice sheet is much like any other rink’s, except ours sometimes sports yellowed bulges formed from accumulated precipitation from the tattered ceiling. There are spectator bleachers, most of them wobbly. There is the music box that the skaters and coaches have access to. Although the music does not always play… the speakers are finicky. There is an office in the back right corner. I will admit, being a skater has its privileges. I feel emboldened to walk back there during a public ice session and retrieve some insignificant item, just to feel important. We stash props back there, too. To get to the other back side of the ice, you must first finagle your way through a maze of hockey goals and sticks.

On the second level, there are the elusive ballet and Cauldwell rooms. Not just anyone is allowed up there, no. I have gotten to know these rooms well after all my years of off-ice training. The Cauldwell room is carpeted and is now used not only for off-ice classes, but also for hockey team strategizing. There was a white board recently added that quickly acquired abandoned Expo marker lines that hockey players must have given up on trying to erase. The floor is hard and the carpet unforgiving to both hands and wrists during never-ending plank and push ups sets. In the ballet room, there is a large mirror where skaters can observe their movements and cringe under the criticism they receive from their coaches. 

The bathroom upstairs has a particular air of mystery. It is sometimes used as a dressing room to try on annual Holiday Show costumes, and other times it takes on the role of a hiding spot to avoid a fourth set of star jump, jump-pass exercises. 

Close-up of a bathroom stall door.

I would be remiss not to include a description of the downstairs bathroom. Across from the perpetual pungent odor of the hockey locker room, the bathroom exists between two of the wooden benches used by skaters. I don’t know how, but somehow practically the entire surface of almost every toilet is scratched from skate blades. The doors are also indelibly marked… as are the sink counter tops. The largest stall is never open or functional. The locks don’t work especially well, or are missing altogether. My hands always feel dirtier after I’ve washed them. The door swings quite violently, and on crowded public session times or during Learn to Skate hours, there are continuous collisions of enterers and exiters. 

It is not the numerous quirks of SkateNation or its functionality as a skating rink close to my house that makes me want to keep coming back for 5 a.m. practices and late-night training sessions—it is the people. The rink community, the close friendships I’ve made over these last 15 years are intrinsic to SkateNation. We make the facility work; whether it means arming ourselves with a can of Febreze when we know the locker room doors will be open, or wearing long sleeves to protect our elbows during ab workouts in the Cauldwell room.

All photos by Maia Zasler.