Several years ago (before the broken ankle), I was stalked on ice by some guy in hockey skates.
I occasionally skated at a rink with my friend the Big Guy. He's 13 years younger than I am, and I have been identified by waitresses as his mother. (I tell them he's my gigolo.) Anyway, it's pretty obvious we're not a couple.
So the Big Guy is in lesson, and I'm working on my back edges. Every time I set up a pattern, there's this guy in a funny hat standing in my line of pattern and staring goofily at me. So, I move to another part of the rink. It happens again.
This has got to stop.
I switched to forward edges and set up a pattern. When he got in my way, I glared at him and snapped out my copyrighted "In a pattern here!" in my best, do.not.mess.with.me voice.
It was like feeding honey to bees. I skated around the ice, and he followed me at a distance.
I didn't feel threatened. For one thing, the Big Guy is 6'3"and he would laugh the guy off the ice. For another, I spent 30 years in the military. Even on skates I could handle a guy. (As an aside, back when I was young and good looking, I once put a guy on the floor of a bar when he copped a feel.)
But he's messing up my practice.
Finally, the Big Guy finishes his lesson and I tell him about my stalker. He and his coach stare at the guy.
"You could take him." The Big Guy says.
If this were to happen today, and I told Dance Coach about it, the first thing he would ask would be, "How were his edges? You need a partner."