Skate at Your Own Risk

As I was kissing the kids goodbye this morning, Chad stopped me and said, "Have fun. I'll have my phone on me in case you need a ride to the hospital." I rolled my eyes and walked out the door on my way to do something I haven't done in years.

That's right, kids. I, Mandy of Mandyland, laced up two shoes with eight wheels between them and joined some of the local Derby girls in a workout that left me sweaty, breathless, sore and...without broken bones.

The last bit wasn't a guarantee.

When Sarah left me a message earlier this week asking if I'd like to go skating, my first thought was, "Hell yeah!" You see, I have a weakness for unusual activities. That's why I can make balloon animals, paint faces, do a belly dance shimmy and polka.

Yes. Polka.

I pulled out my roller skates, still bright white in spite of their one trip around a hockey rink when Joseph was six months old and I thought it'd be good exercise to roller skate while pushing him in his stroller.  For the record, if your total experience rollerskating is a dozen or so trips to Skate World when you were a teenager and a single rollerblading excursion which left two mail boxes knocked over, it is not a good idea to try to push a stroller while on wheels yourself.

I set them in the hallway.

"This is going to be so much fun!"

"Do you need a helmet? It might be a good idea to wear a helmet."

"I think we're just going to be skating in a circle."

"How about pads? You'll wear them, right?"

"Only if Sarah does. I don't want to look like a nerd."

"Babe. I think Sarah knows how to skate."

"So do I!" I'm very optimistic.

"Hm."

So off I drove to the skating rink where I met Sarah who, despite her claims to the contrary, can skate.

Side note: In my world, if you can move forward and backward and make turns, you can skate.

I put on my shoes and nearly fell on my butt in the first two seconds. I clomped ungracefully out to the rink where I clung to the wall like a barnacle, working up the courage to let go while trying to maintain a facade of coolness.

After Prince started singing about purple rain, I started clomping my way around the rink, garnering advice and support (and a lot of pity) from my fellow skaters. As I was inching my way around the first curve, I realized that the big difference between learning to skate at 12 and re-learning at 35 is fear. Fear of falling. Fear of getting hurt.

I hate fear.

So, just like learning to rock climb to get over my fear of heights and holding a boa constrictor to reduce my fear of snakes, I decided to accept that I might get hurt, loosen up and let go. I bent my knees, I relaxed into the songs and I started singing quietly along.

An hour and a half later, my legs jello, my ankles aching, my feet vibrating, I rolled off the rink and sat down to take off my skates, a wide smile on my face. I didn't fall once. Though it was close about three dozen times. I did run into the wall four times and there was the one close call when I was just standing and listening to directions. That's talent. And yes, I did windmill. A lot. And I almost ran into some of the other skaters.

But, honestly, I wasn't too shabby. (See? Optimistic.)

And I can't wait to do it again.