My Longstanding Battle with Skating Continues

Me: "Hey Joey, what would you like to do today?"

He: "Let's go iceskating."


She: "Dad doesn't do iceskating."

Me: "I can do it if I have to."

* * *

Ah famous last words.

I've been working alot lately.  Let me rephrase:  I've been working roughly 9:30->8pm M-T-R-F.  I haven't been working late Wednesdays because of Church, and not Fridays because something usually comes-up.  I haven't been able to spend much time with my son, and we're both missing it.

But...skating?   I hate ice-skating.  I actually went into our marriage with two agreements:   Whitney doesn't have to go on any ski-lifts or high places and I don't have to skate.

Then somehow it became a matter of pride and I said we were going.  Besides, we had a coupon for 1 free skate with another paid admission.  So, we went.

Joey was having lots of fun, and I made it it around the rink 2 times in an hour without falling.  So far so good.  My feet hurt and my lower-leg muscles were fatigued. (Yes, we're talking two slow circuits of the rink here, pathetic as it sounds).  I sat down and decided I was done, then like a punk with something to prove, I got up for a 3rd time.

The third trip didn't go so well.   In an attempt to help my throbbing feet, I loosened my laces too much.  I somehow missed my wife's texted admonition to "keep the ones a the top tight."   I made it maybe 15 yards onto the rink, then I fell pretty hard, backwards.  I tried to twist on my side like they tell you, but managed only to bang my shoulder, wrist, and right forehead.   I lay on the ice feeling like a class 'A' idiot, and everyone was looking at me.  My head was bleeding.  Not bad, but it didn't look good.  I didn't get a concussion or anything, but I was a real asshole to the entire staff and concerned onlookers.  

"Er, did someone cut in front of you or something?" a well-meaning 60-ish skating coach asked me as I sat down awaiting an ice pack.

"No...I just CAN'T SKATE, okay?"  Then I threw my skates off like a 5 year old disenchanted with the toy whose batteries had run out.  

Then the manager came over, "Sir, I'm Mr. Dewflotchy and I'm the you need anything?"

"Yes, you can LEAVE ME ALONE."

I wasn't mad at them.  I was mad at me.  I felt humiliated for yet another FAIL at the ice rink.  I knew I was fatigued and that I'd reached my limits.  

Worse, this is another in a string of 16 years of incidents at this very same place.

So we left.  I felt woozy, then got home and Whitney suggested I visit the ER.   Three X-Rays and a Band-Aide later they sent me home with a clean bill of, "That's gonna hurt in the morning."

* * *

At this point, I've no idea if I'll ever get on a rink again.  I'm pretty fed-up and I've got nothing to prove to anyone.  God bless you folks who like to glide across frozen water; it seems I'm not fated to become one of you.   I've spent maybe 3 hours total on a rink in my life, and hated nearly every second of it.

All this makes me really sad, like I'm a quitter.  Mostly, I regret how I've acted after the incident.  I was a real dick to the people at the ice center who were just trying to help.

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