When I first signed up for the Cochrane Curling Club's development league at the SLS Centre, I envisioned a cozy evening sport where I'd gracefully glide across the ice like some kind of majestic penguin. Spoiler alert: it was more like Bambi on roller skates.
The first night, I stepped onto the ice with confidence. “How hard can it be?” I thought, moments before my feet decided to take a scenic route to the ceiling. The ice greeted me with a cold, hard slap to my dignity.
Learning to curl was a masterclass in humiliation. My balance? Nonexistent. My delivery? Wobbly at best. My sweeping? A flurry of panicked arm movements that probably scared the rock more than sped it up. Every time I fell, it felt like the ice whispered, “Are you sure this is your sport?”
After a few weeks of bruises, both physical and emotional, something miraculous happened: I stopped falling every five seconds. Sure, I still had the finesse of a moose on skates, but I was starting to get it.
The club members were wonderfully patient, though I suspect they were laughing behind their brooms. They’d say things like, “You’re improving!” which I’m pretty sure is curling code for, “At least you’re not a hazard anymore.”
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One pivotal moment was learning how to throw the rock without looking like I was trying to launch myself into another dimension. The key, it turns out, is not to overthink it. (And to avoid flinging yourself forward like a catapult.)
And then came the breakthrough. Last night, in a moment of divine curling intervention, my rock actually hit the button. Not near the button. Not in the vicinity of the button. The button.
For a second, I thought I might cry. But then I remembered I was in Cochrane, where tears freeze before they can fall.
Curling is one of those sneaky sports that grows on you. At first, it’s a baffling combination of physics and balance that feels impossible. But then you start to see the strategy, feel the rhythm, and appreciate the camaraderie.
If you’ve ever considered trying curling, do it. You’ll hate it at first. You’ll fall a lot. You’ll question your life choices. But one day, you’ll hit the button, and it will all make sense.
So, thank you, Cochrane Curling Club, for teaching me how to curl, how to laugh at myself, and how to find joy in the simple act of sliding a rock down the ice. I’m still not a pro, but hey—at least I’m not a hazard anymore.
See you on the ice!
To sign up for the 2025 development league click here.
Candice Johnson - Afternoon Drive Host