Death on the Ice

Ice skating took a turn for the worse last night. I started two new classes with new classmates and a new teacher. In the first class, Stroking and Edges, I was so out of my depth. The teacher asked us to do 3-turns and I had never done one. I tried and ended up falling on my ass. (It was made worse by the fact that A had come to watch me.) My edges were sloppy, my form was bad. I ended up asking the teacher if it was the right class for me because I'm at such a lower level than everyone else. She assured me she'd work with me.
Ah, my teacher. Mary Lucas. She's very direct, very no-nonsense. At first glance you'd think she'd be a strict task-master, and she is, but in the best way possible. She let's you know what you're doing wrong and tells you how to do it right and does it simply and efficiently. But she still has time to crack a joke or make a wry off-hand comment.
I was flailing in my first class and then moved on to my second, where my teacher was... Mary Lucas again. I flailed even more, but she made it seem all right. Yes, things are difficult. Yes, I realize my form is a mess and I need to get better at everything. Yes, I'm nervous and scared. But I'm excited to learn more and get better. Hopefully I don't fall on my ass too much more.