Skate Skate Glide

I was about four years old when I strapped on my first pair of roller skates. They were the type that you clipped on right over your shoes. It wasn’t long before I had a pair of white boot skates with metal wheels. Next came the sneaker skates. They were blue with yellow stripes. Very awesome. My friend Denise was the first in our six year old posse to have sneaker skates. She accused me of being a copycat when I got mine just a day or two after (in hindsight our mothers probably went shopping and bought them together). In second grade, when Denise and I got the skates many of us know and love today, boot shaped with plastic wheels, my friend Jenna encouraged me to call Denise a copycat. I didn’t. I was a much better person at age seven than I am today.

I originally skated around my neighborhood but it wasn’t long before I started to frequent Skatetown near the Newland Street projects, behind the old Stuarts shopping center. Skatetown went through a few name changes. They eventually settled on Rollerworld and you will hear many of us, former regulars, call it as such. Between grades three through six I spent a lot of time at Rollerworld. I was there almost every weekend for years skating around that rink, chomping on my Hubba Bubba, getting in the zone.  I loved skating, we all did. It was the eighties for goodness sake! How many times did you watch Olivia Newton-John in Xanadu or Scott Baio & our beloved Marsha Brady (Maureen McCormick) in Skatetown? Actually, don’t answer that!

I know what you’re thinking. Skating since age four, that’s impressive. I mean we all know that practice makes perfect and to be practicing my skating moves since age four- Hot Damn! I must be amazing. Of course for the ordinary person this would be so. But we all know if there’s one thing I am not, it’s ordinary.

As an adult I have been on rollerskates a handful of times. There was the time I took my Girl Scout troop to the rink in Amherst. I was a senior in college and my friends Renate and Sue came along. We were all a little concerned since we hadn’t been on skates since we were kids. Sue and Renate strapped on their skates and took off like a pair of Olivia Newton-Johns. It took me five good minutes (and three bad ones) to stand up. My legs were shaking so hard  that my knees were literally knocking together.  I sat back down, scooted on my butt to the rink area and hugged that wall like there was no tomorrow. I tried letting go, took out a pair of girl scouts, flew into another wall, took off my skates and consoled myself with six-hour old French fries from the refreshments stand.

Mike and I bought rollerblades in our early twenties. This was an attempt to harness the roller skating prowess from the 80s and get some serious exercise outdoors. I cannot even look at a photo of a pair of rollerblades without my tailbone throbbing. Operation Rollerbade was only successful in helping Mike manage his bladder control, as he nearly peed his pants from laughing anytime he looked at me on my blades.

So what happened, you ask. How did I go from a semi-pro skater to this? Have you ever played back scenes in your head and seen them in a new light? The truth is I never really got better with my skating. I was awful at age four, and continued to practice a below par posture, cadence, routine etc. I skated the same way for years and eventually perfected a terrible, terrible skating methodology. Now, some people say children are mean. I am here to say that isn’t so. No one ever made fun of me (to my face anyway), my friends still invited me out to skate each weekend, and I had fun. When I was out there I would imagine myself a graceful Maureen McCormick. In reality I looked like Goofy a la Disney on Ice.

Last year Madison and Max wanted to learn how to skate. Though, I had retired my skates and the old moves, I figured why not. We went out to Sk8town in Port Orchard and I spent the afternoon hugging the wall. It wasn’t so bad really. The worst part of the skating rink is the physical design. There’s a whole lot of wall to cuddle, but there are two huge gaps where people can come in and out onto the rink. This meant letting go of the wall twice and just free falling. Literally. After about 90 minutes and 27 laps I began to trust myself. I grabbed a piece of gum from my purse (trident, my hubba bubba days are over) and got away from the wall. I was doing my thing, getting into my rhythm (skate, skate, glide, skate, skate, glide) blowing bubbles with my gum, mouthing the words to Rob Base’s It takes Two. It was fantastic. Of course you know what’s coming. I wiped out in a beautiful, dramatic, ground shaking way. I believe I somehow threw myself up into the air about ten feet before landing with a thud that rocked the house. Guess what? I got up and kept skating.

A year passed skate-free, but we have recently found ourselves back at the rink twice in the past month. Madison and Max are still learning. I can let them blog about their own experiences. It’s not my place to speak for them. I go out there holding the wall for a few songs; come off the wall, but not too far away, for the next few. I pop in my gum and get into my zone-skate, skate, glide, skate, skate, glide. It takes me three times as long to get around the rink as it does anyone else. Last Sunday, there was a grandmother who strapped on her skates and pushed her grandbaby around the rink in a jogging stroller. This is not a fabrication. It really happened! I’m not going to lie, I was outraged. Passed by a granny pushing a stroller on the skating rink floor. Really? How is this even a thing?

I still find the gaps in the wall frightening. I am not even holding on to the wall, but it still scares me. I think it is because people are getting on and off. I have no idea their level of experience as they enter and they trust that I can stop myself or get out of the way if need be. It’s just not so. I’ve had a couple of really close calls and have almost taken out my share of five year olds. I often find myself sweating out on the rink. I don’t think it’s cardio; I think it’s fear of killing a small child or an experienced granny.

I’ve been skating on and off for 36 years. I don’t know why I can’t manage to get any better.  I feel like it’s almost time to find a new rink. It’s endearing to see a forty year old who looks like she just put on skates for the first time. The folks at Sk8town think, “Good for her!” Soon though, they will recognize me, perhaps call me by name. They will notice that I’m not improving, that I continue to skate at my slower-than-granny pace. They will see that I can’t start my routine without hugging the wall for three songs before I take off. They will stand with their arms crossed and they will say “Skate, skate, glide” under their breath as they watch my rhythm. After the rink closes they will debrief about their day over stale nachos and a Rockstar. “What’s up with that forty year old?” one will ask. “Why does she do it?” Another will wonder aloud. They probably won't be able to answer, I've wondered this myself. Why do I do it?

Because it's fun.

Another Running Essay-Why I did the Dirty Girl Dirty Dude Diehard Challenge

Back in ancient times (read 1991), when I was a dorm dweller at UMASS, I was always the last to bed. I would stay up regularly until 3:00 or 4:00 in the morning. I couldn’t go to sleep until the last book was shut, the last Beastie Boys CD was quieted, the last bottle of Mad Dog 20/20 was polished off, and the last boy was kicked out of the ladies restroom.  Back in those days, my condition was undiagnosed. Now we know it by its scientific name-FOMO.

FOMO as defined by the American Academy of SocialMediocracy is the fear of missing out. This, a condition I could have written the book on (and might still), is the reason I joined this challenge. My life has changed a lot since last spring. I got a new job, I turned forty, I had a friendship break-up, I gained ten pounds, I unknowingly grew a handlebar mustache, I was called ma’am and middle aged more times than I will ever admit to, I quickly made friends and just as quickly had to ask them to take a back burner to my overstuffed life. I had to start cutting back on my commitments; I could no longer attend my beloved Monday night speedwork classes. Saturday mornings became hit or miss, too. Hoka nights came and went, and my friends started swinging from ceilings and climbing up poles. The Dirties, (as I have cleverly nicknamed this beloved brood) were having fun and living their lives-without me! The audacity!!  Then along came the challenge, I wasn’t going to let another Dirty Girl and Dude event go on without this lass. So I shaved my mustache, texted my mother-I mean Susan Olive, grabbed a points’ sheet from Alexa and got started.

I really don’t believe in extrinsic rewards and incentives for motivation. I don’t use them in my teaching or my parenting. Having said that, I did track my points and I turned them in three out of four months. I got points for falling, crying, and bleeding. I got points for eating well, for drinking water, for crafting presents and for running hills. I got two random prizes along the way- a beautiful medal hanger to display my many heavy duty, much deserved, sparkling medals(not that I care about them, you know I’m not into extrinsic rewards!) and I got a lunch bag that says “Pow!”, which I use every day.

 All of these things have helped me bridge my busy life with the lives of my friends. “So, Marcy, get any blood points lately?” “Hey, Dawn, want an apple from my cool POW lunch bag?” “Gee Lori B, I cried three times this week.”  Sometimes I might even do a little bragging or teasing, “By the way David, did you see that horse crap I just stepped in?” “Sorry, Lori, brown sugar is not a whole food.” Without this challenge, I may have missed out on being able to share these seemingly mundane snippets. Before the challenge I’d run through a puddle and think “I wish I could tell someone I just ran through a puddle, but no one would appreciate that.” But now, I can post it on facebook and have 16 likes within the hour. And pathetic or not, there are days when I just really need those sixteen likes.

As someone living with the condition of FOMO, there have been times when I have wanted to drop off the Facebook grid. This is the dark side of FOMO. I have noticed that sometimes instead of feeling happy and excited when I see posts of my friends having fun together, I have felt envious and sad. Why wasn’t I invited, have they forgotten about me, do they still think I am fun? Participating in the challenge is my way of saying “pssst I am still here, I am still pretty dang fun and oh btw, I have the FB selfies to prove it.”

This year has been busy and full of challenges. If every mistake is a lesson, I am learning a ton. I continue to struggle with balancing my life and with saying no to projects. This challenge was yet another commitment that I took on at a time when I didn’t think I should possibly do another thing. However, I don’t think it added to my feelings of being overwhelmed and overscheduled. It gave me motivation to go for a run and to stick with my routine, even when it was windy or rainy or dark.

 A lot of people have really good, honorable motives for taking on the challenge. Maybe doing it because of FOMO isn’t the most admirable reason, but it’s my reason. I know that in life we have to make choices. Sometimes there are so many things we want, but we have to choose wisely. I think participating in this challenge was a wise one. I am grateful I did it. And on that note, I am heading to bed as I have a serious case of Fear Of Missing Out (on a good night’s sleep).

Love Letter

I miss you readers! I am working on my time management and plan to give you attention soon. In the meantime, here's a quick little piece you might enjoy.
This is in response to a challenge given to our running group. We were supposed to write a love letter to a body part that we simply don't love. I had a few parts in mind, but settled on this one.

I apologize for the things I said today in the dressing room. I realize now, it’s not you, it’s me. Let’s face it, you have been trying to communicate and I have been ignoring you. You let me know your needs with an array of sounds, growls, gurgles, groans even. You tell me when you need something and when you have had your share. Still, I ignore you. I do what I want to do, when I want to do it and then have the audacity to blame you when my jeans don’t fit, or when a dress... looks too snug. You puff out if I’ve had too much salt and you jiggle if I have had too much sugar. And still every morning, you try your best to flatten out and to show me that with a little willpower and exercise what we might look like together, you and me.

You, you carried my two beautiful children. Nestled them snuggly and protected them. You stretched for them, making more room and leaving bright pink streaks, signs of your new residents. I remember the joy of putting my hand on you and feeling little feet and powerful kicks. Strangers and friends alike were once so drawn to you as you proudly sported the new lives forming within. Is there anything more beautiful than a belly full of baby?

But here we are, years later and I have forgotten to appreciate you. You are one of the first to show me when I am not taking care of myself. Stress likes to settle with you. Carbs like it there, too. You have tried to communicate with me, sometimes subtly and sometimes loudly howling in the middle of a morning meeting. I have only resented you, berated you, tried to hide you, smothered you with spanx and cursed you when bathing suit season rolled around.

I’d like to say let’s start again. Clean slate. I’m going to just look at you with admiration. I don’t want to make promises I can’t keep. Relationships can be tricky. I’m going to try to listen better and appreciate you more. I’m going to try.

While I have been away

Forgive me. It's been over two months since my last blog....
I'll be back soon though.
If you really miss me, or if you love running, or both, check out my latest project. An 11 post blog dedicated to one race. I feared it, I conquered it. I loved it.

http://aimeerunshermouth.blogspot.com/