A bold statement, I know. But hear me out.
When I was eight or nine, I took some ice skating lessons at a local rink. Another one of the neighborhood girls was taking them, and there were lots of things I did to be like her. But the difference was noticeable. Where she gracefully slid across the ice like a gazelle on skates, I clumsily teetered like a newborn colt. It was a failed experiment, one of the few futile attempts made to find a physical activity I was good at or enjoyed. However, the simple truth is that–at the end of the day–I would much rather sit in my beanbag chair and read a book. As a result, I’ve never broken a bone, had a sprain, or needed stitches. I’m simply not that kind of girl.
This is just for the record.
So last night at the studio’s holiday party I was having a great time. I drank, ate, and was merry. A portion of the backlot was all dressed up sort of winter-wonderlandish. White carpet in the streets, snow machines, flocked trees, you name it. There were themed areas–a ski lodge (with ice skating rink), carnival (with skeeball, arcade games, and a ferris wheel), and uh…India? (that’s where the dance floor, the belly dancers, and the guy with the zither were). We danced until our poor achin’ feet couldn’t take any more, and then packed it in.
On the way out we passed by the ice skating rink and my office-mate Chris (who is a very sporty, rough-and-tumble gal) said, “Oh, let’s do it!” and roped me into getting out there. Actually, I wanted to. It looked fun! And I figured all the drunk people ice skating had to be worse than I’d be if I tried (even though I hadn’t been since before I had boobs). I ate it like once per lap. I kept losing my balance and leaning backwards, then ending up on the ice. Chris encouraged me and gave me pointers (she is also a softball coach so her coachy nature came out), “Put your weight forward, on your knees!” I told her my ass was too heavy and kept pulling me back. But she was infinitely patient and waited for me, helped me along and pushed me to do just, “One more lap!” Finally, I was exhausted, and like, Chris I’m REALLY done. She says, ONE more. I say ok. And coming around the cursed bend where I ate it twice before I ate it again. Only this time instead of falling on my backside (which is nice and cushy), I somehow turned my left leg sideways and tangled it up with my right leg, then fell ON my left knee. Just imagine a tangle of skates. There was a hideous popping sound accompanied by the worst pain I’ve ever felt (which in the larger scheme of things is probably nothing, considering my non-sporty nature). I got up and hobbled over to the rail and Chris stood next to me until I was ok enough to get around to the exit.
It hurt quite a bit last night, but when I woke up this morning it was really awful. I drove myself to urgent care and limped inside, where they gave me an x-ray, a brace, and a prescription for vicodin. Ding!
So anyway, there’s the story of my first sprain and the story of the last time I ever go ice skating.
Now I’m going to take some pills and watch Singing in the Rain.