I was the only beginner skater at the make-up lesson after heavy, late summer rain kept us off the track. After off-skate warm ups, Hells Belski got me kitted out and Crab Attack helped me lace up my skates for the first time. The advanced skaters whizzed off, and I shakily joined everyone in the middle, jamming my toestops into the concrete floor, paranoid. Lolly Popya was explaining the skills testing about to go down for everyone (besides me). We did intros before we got down to business.
I learned how to kick off from the inside of my wheels on both sides, and I got my first falling lesson about halfway across the wide outer track, beyond the ref lines. You gotta pick a cheek, Belski explained. Falling straight down will damage your tailbone, a miserable injury.
I chose left—repeatedly, but not as much as I thought I would.
Every few minutes Lolly would call us back to the center track for water and instructions. Then the advanced skaters would whisk around the track and I’d practice—slowly. I learned snowman sticky eights, keeping all my wheels on the floor. I tried a crossover (Belski said in two weeks it’ll be proper—better than I’d hoped!). I weaved between cones and avoided the T-stop—I’ll have to face that fear later. And then it was time to skate backwards.
The advanced girls were hopping backward and I was playing along, trying to lift my heels some too. Then we switched to forward, and mid-hop I fell. I glanced my left cheek, and my helmet snapped back hard against the concrete.
I immediately felt hot tears gather in my eyes, much to my mortification. Belski told me to breathe and take off my skates. I walked back to a chair and Belski took my helmet, now destined for retirement. She quizzed me, testing for confusion that might hint at a concussion: What’s 32+17? What’s your mother’s birthday? Where are we? What’s my name? I passed with flying colors, and joined in for cool down, walking and stretching.
I drove home in the dark under the stars, windows down, listening to bad songs on the radio and feeling tired. A couple things occurred to me as I approached the bright lights of the “big city” (okay, it was Plover): It didn’t matter if I listened to crappy music on my way home, too tired and shaken to cruise the stations—I had done something. Something fun and aerobic and painful. I smiled and felt alive, like a tiny shard of the world.
***
The next morning, I woke up feeling pleasantly sore, but not whipped and immobile as I had expected. My head and back were fine, and when I slid into the driver’s seat my left cheek sizzled with satisfying soreness. When I got to work, I discovered a message from one of my new teammates.
Congratulations on your first day… signed Crab Attack, #31.
It had been a long time since I had felt part of a team. But now I’m aiming to be one of the Mid-State Sisters of Skate.
I can’t wait to go back.
-Red Pen Meanie