Well, in an attempt to save this day from complete and total uselessness (for some reason I have been incredibly uninspired to do anything today), I’m going to write about my latest winter sport attempt — ice skating. I figure since my last post was about skiing this is only fitting. I find it curious, though, that nobody pointed out my explanation of the origin of skiing was completely ficticious. Funny too, but I digress. Hit that comment button, kiddies.
Anyway, skiing is something I think I realized I could handle. Sure, I’d have problems, but I think deep down inside I knew I’d eventually tame the physics of it and be, at least, a sub-average beginner at it.
With ice skating I had no such flights of fancy. Having never rollerbladed or roller skated even (well, I think I did once in Junior High)… I knew I was in for trouble.
And I was. Walking in the skates just to get onto the ring was difficult. “Ha,” I thought at the skates, “it can’t get tougher than this!”
The feeling when you first put the ice skate to the ice the first time you go skating is, to me, a sensation that will never be forgotten. It was like being lubed up with butter — being lactose intolerant this is a double whammy — and shoved down a teflon chute. Having no control, no acceleration, no deceleration, no anything — that was quite a dilema. I stuck to the boards and worked on figuring out exactly how to work my feet.
It never quite happened, unfortunately. By the end of the night I hadn’t been away from the boards. I was glad I hadn’t fallen, though. Yeah, things were at least tolerable until Masha decided to drag me out into the middle of the ice. “Waaaa” I believe I said, or something to that effect. There is a picture of me looking very intimidated but for the sake of my own humility it is staying hidden.
Eventually I was unharnessed and returned back safely to the boards, still, I should mention, without falling once! Deciding I was not only King of Dorks but also King of Not Falling While Trying Dangerously Stupid Winter Activities (despite setbacks while skiing, but those are understandable) I could see that I was going to get through the night unscathed.
Then Masha decided to just push me down. Gravity and her agreed and I couldn’t say much about it. Plop. She claims she wasn’t trying to push me down but it’s hard to otherwise explain why she’d push me at knee-level; it’s not exactly a perfect balance point at which one can safely be accelerated.
Now that I have documented this malfeasance I can rest, knowing that no matter the next attempt on my life it has been documented.