I’ve lived in Ottawa since I was a teenager. In all of the time I’ve lived here, there has been a tourist attraction: The Rideau Canal Skateway. Every winter, the National Capital Commission prepares and maintains one of the longest skating rinks in the world at just over 7 kilometres in length.

Despite the availability and proximity to this attraction, I can’t remember ever taking the time to skate on the canal. I played ice hockey as a teenager and switched to roller hockey as an adult. Winter is cold and it didn’t really appeal to me to spend any time in an outdoor rink—especially one with questionable ice conditions.

This year, my son wanted to take his girlfriend and her kids to learn how to skate on the canal, buying them all skates. He invited me along but I’ve long since lost my own ice skates so I just went on foot, walking along while the kids skated, helping them learn.

Wouldn’t you know it, I really enjoyed it. There was something magical about it, something quintessentially Canadian about it. Maybe it was all the Canadian hockey jerseys people were wearing, showing off their national pride during the Olympics. Maybe it was seeing this communal event with skaters at all levels enjoying themselves.

I stood there, feeling small underneath the Mackenzie King bridge, the walls of the canal stretching over my head, seeing Parliament Hill off in the distance. I found myself in a postcard moment.

The following weekend, I bought myself a new pair of skates and, having barely ice skated since I was a teenager, did okay. My feet were sore for the first ten minutes or so but then things shifted into place and I was able to get some good strides in. We ended up being out for at least a couple hours.

I still don’t love the cold but I could see it becoming a tradition of getting out to the canal every year at least once.