It Wasn't Planned.
I'll keep this fairly short.
I hadn't expected to be a skater. I grew up in a cold enough part of the world that everyone was more-or-less expected to know enough to stay up on skates, and I got my last pair while I was in college. With a couple of friends I used to work off some frustration at public sessions.
Once in the real world the skates went in the closet for twenty years.
My son was invited to go out skating with a group of kids a few years ago, and I thought that I might as well tag along as I had skates. He took to skating as though he'd been born with blades on his feet; I found that I could barely stand up. I didn't like the mismatch between my interior image of myself as someone who could skate and the reality that I was sliding all over the ice trying not to fall down, and my son wanted to go again (and again, and again...). It seemed like the best solution was to sign up for some group classes.
Well, that turned out to be like eating peanuts. Group classes became private lessons; private lessons became test preparations, test preparations became competitions (more for him that for me.) He's now a serious competitor.
Since there are now only two of us left at home, it seems like we spend more time at the rink than at our actual home...