About two years ago, I somehow convinced myself that I really needed a pair of roller skates.
Not roller blades, mind you, but the old-style quad skates with a wheel in each corner. My fitness routine had gotten stuck, and I wasn’t able to run anymore because of a knee injury, so I somehow convinced myself that getting a pair of roller skates would not only be a fun way to work out, but would also strengthen my quads and knees to the point that this activity might actually make my knee better. Faulty logic, I know, but I can talk myself into almost any purchase if I rationalize hard enough.
Two summers passed. Today I found myself with a little extra free time and a bit of extra cash. I visited rollergirl.ca, ordered a pair of black short-boot skates with orange wheels and orange laces. About an hour after I placed my order, I got a call from a clerk who informed me that since they’re a local company, I could save myself the shipping charges if I swung by to pick up the skates in person. Now that’s the kind of customer service you don’t see too much of these days.
While I was there, the clerk (whose name I’ve forgotten) tried to talk me into joining Terminal City Roller Girls, the local roller derby league. I’m not new to skating but I had a sneaking suspicion that I couldn’t keep up with these women. She said the league needed referees, and the refs don’t need to be able to skate as well. I took down the web address and promised to check out the site, and to try to make it to a few training sessions just to observe.
Tonight after dinner, I decided to try my hand at skating up and down the alley behind my apartment. R. went out with me to provide moral support, but little did we both know that he’d have to provide physical support as well. I was as unsteady as a newborn colt on eight wheels, barely able to skate from the front of the car to the back. He held my hand and half-pulled me up the alley, and each time I tried to correct my position to keep from falling, he drew in a sharp breath in anticipation of me falling flat on my rear end, or worse, falling forward on my knees. Throughout the hesitation and instability, we couldn’t stop laughing.
As we made our way up the alley, we ran into a twenty-something couple. The smile on the girlfriend’s face got wider and more brilliant as I drew nearer. “Those are the most awesome skates!” she exclaimed. She urged me to try doing a moonwalk down the alley. I just laughed at her. “No, you can do it! Give it a try!” she cheered. The boyfriend stood there with a bemused smile on his face. As we went our separate ways, the boyfriend bade me good luck over his shoulder. I heard them chattering about the skates, about roller skating, and how “old school” skates were much cooler than roller blades, and how they needed to make a comeback. I couldn’t agree more.
R. and I promenaded up and down the alley a couple more times before I begged off, claiming exhaustion. I’d forgotten that when you’ve got heavy skates on your feet, your calves start to hurt after a few minutes. By the end of the thirty minute session, I was very nearly gliding along, and even managed to turn around on my own. I stood while R. knelt down and helped me remove one skate. I was sweaty, tired, and more than a little bit self-conscious, but I felt happier and more joyful than I’ve felt in quite a long time.
Never underestimate the power of childlike wonder and immaturity.