Just Skatin'

I tried to get out of skating today since it is day #4 of my new exercise routine and I am darned tired.  The skies looked really threatening since it had rained hard all night (thank heaven!) So I said to Dave, “I don’t think I should skate today since the streets are still a little wet”. He said “ That shouldn’t stop you.” Oh.

So I went.

It was cool, very damp and pretty quiet since it is Saturday. Like a school girl of six I elected to cross the big street and skate along the pond to a different area of the neighborhood. I get bored looking at the same scenery everyday. The pond offers lots of stimulation since I get to practice the new Olympic sport, the Goose Poop Slalom. Due to the recent rains the course was in very good condition and I didn’t pick up any unwanted debris.

 

I meet the occasional jogger, and smile and nod, then meet them again on the way back as I usually go around the block to extend my skate on the flatter pavements. I zoom by the jogger and let the wind carry my sweat droplets in their direction. After all they are younger and much fitter than I, so I take advantage and enjoy this bit of revenge acknowledgement of their youth. I am glad to be gliding and not have my breasts endure the Robin in Spring bobbing. No sports bra on earth can contain them at the pace of a jogger, I don’t care what  you say.

 

Speaking of sports bras, this is a good time to bring up the subject of how I reduce my self-esteem. I wear said bra and having the sun at my back, I watch my shadow as I skate. The flab around my middle shifts from left to right as I glide and never seems to disappear. Grrr. Then I glance at my reflection in the car windows as I pass, and that is also not a pretty sight. I am determined to skate upright, ribcage at 180º to the pavement and an imaginary wire pulling my head upright. This is simple if the street is flat, but on hills I look like Mrs. Neanderthal on her way to work.

 

Today I was hailed by a lady driving a Poop Patrol truck. (is a theme developing here?). She has clients in the neighborhood and has seen me skate several times. It seems she has a question to ask me, so I undo my mp3 earplugs and put Frank Sinatra on hold and roll around her until I stop and catch my balance.

 

“I’ve seen you skating and I wanted to ask…(here it comes, the inevitable question) How do you stop?” I take a breath, ready to be the Rollerblade Authority, the Pontificator on Ball Bearings, the Know It All Hot Shot that I have become in my later years and…I’ve got nuthin’. I gotta admit I still haven’t learned how to stop. I tell her weakly that I turn right at corners hugging the curb and then if I want to go left, I skate around until I am heading in the right direction. I admit my age and bravely boast that this is my second year and I still haven’t fallen, but every time I say that I tempt fate.

 

She tells me that she skates too, or did, and even bought a cable that works like a bicycle break. $100 and she tried it once.

We are in the same boat. Fear of using the skate brake that is on the back of the skate. Sure I’ve seen 8 year olds do it, those reckless kids with no knee pads or helmets. Still I can’t bring myself to rely on that wedge to stop me without  toppling me overboard.  

Maybe tomorrow I’ll work on stopping. Wait. That has a familiar ring to it.

O yeah. I usually say that in reference to cocktails at 5.