I recently had two not-so-earth-shattering epiphanies.

First, my mother, who is in her 80s, has a more active social life than I do. Second, I’m not as young as I imagine myself to be. My mother belongs to a variety of senior groups and partakes in their outings regularly. For that, I am grateful because it keeps her connected. She always returns from these trips with humorous stories, particularly the overnighters that appear to be a cross between teenage girls’ slumber parties and the angst of first-time college roommates.

Realization number two was far more off-putting: I am now old enough to qualify for these groups. This shouldn’t be a shock. I am semi-retired. I have an AARP card, because who doesn’t like discounts? But a senior? Not me, or my friends for that matter.

The culmination of these two thoughts led me to attend Silver Skaters, sponsored by Adirondack Health, last week. As the mom of three hockey kids, hours of my adult life were spent in the Saranac Lake Civic Center. Tying skates, working the snack bar, chaperoning dances, these were weekly activities … of course, that was in the old rink with its Gendron Lumber door leading to the timer’s booth, the unique wooden stands, and the endless lists of instructions helping the next volunteer. As a family, we were practically residents. One Christmas our photo card was of the Civic Center signed with the inscription “Happy Holidays from Our Home to Yours.” With no youth players left, our clan no longer spends hours there.

When I announced my skating intentions, my family smirked. My teenage daughter, who can’t conceive of doing anything without a friend, was horrified that I was going alone.

“Mom, that’s weird.”

“Hey, it’s skating. You can do that by yourself,” I replied.

“Aren’t you afraid?”

“Of Tonya Harding kneecapping me?” I smiled.

“Huh?”

Alas, more evidence of my elderly state — my cultural references are dated. To my kids, that shocking event in the figure skating world is just an obscure historical reference.

Bill quietly reassured me. And so, I went. I’m not sure whose skates I wore. I think they may have been my son’s or even my husband’s — mine had disappeared a few years ago. Walking through the door of the shiny new arena was a bit intimidating. I felt like a homeowner on a renovation show; wide-eyed as I studied the much-needed improvements, but a bit nostalgic about the former familiar rink.

At first, the skaters were all women. Some strangers, some not. The first lap was ugly — shaky and uncertain — think of the opening scene of Bambi. Looking around, I was in good company. But with each wobbly stride, there was an undeniable spirit of adventure, a refusal to let age be a barrier to the sheer joy of revisiting an old past time, or in a few cases trying something new. Of course, some nimble skaters glided about, having never ceased enjoying the winter sport. The refrain in the early moments was, “I just don’t want to fall and break something.” But woven in with nervousness were childlike grins, even from those inching along the boards or pushing metal skate trainers. With varying degrees of grace, we were sliding into a new chapter of frosty frolics.

Soon concentration gave way to conversation, peppered with comments along the lines of “My husband will come next time.” Seemingly, more than one wife had been sent on a recognizance mission, because women are, after all, braver than men. Efficiently, these spies assessed the threat level and determined it was safe. No skating on thin ice here. There was nothing cloak and dagger about this surveillance. The operatives spoke freely about their husbands’ future intentions, along with vacation plans, book reviews, and family updates.

As the session went on, a few courageous men appeared, some stiff, some graceful. At least one put all of us to shame with his agility.

In the end, as our skates were removed, we all came together. Like farmers comparing pickup trucks, the men compared skate models — ancient leather to carbon fiber. Other skaters massaged their arches before sliding their feet back into their shoes. Looking around the locker room it was apparent all skate types belonged: new, old, figure skates, hockey skates, and rentals. It was comfortable. Like home.

I left, looking forward to the next one. At supper, my family wanted an update.

Hearing a positive report Bill announced, “Hey, I think I’ll join you.”

That caught me off guard.

Apparently, I wasn’t much different than the rest of the wives. Except, I was so deep undercover, that I didn’t even know I was a secret agent.