Feeling my age

I'm a little sore this morning. Last week as we were cleaning out our closets, I stumbled across my old rollerblades. It's been at least ten years since I strapped them on and I only used them a few times at that. Last night was one of those perfect summer nights, the kind when it's still 80 degrees at nine at night and the air is sweet and thick. Under the cover of darkness I went down to our lake, Lake Harriet, and strapped on my blades. I was sure I would remember how to use them, and would be catching air in no time.

I did in fact catch air, just not how I intended to. I had hoped the lake would be deserted, yet it seemed that everyone had the same idea. I landed flat on my gluteous maximus in front of a carload of teenagers. It was a great fall. Feet flying out in front. Hands clutching for the air. I don't know how the teens responded because I was in pain. Yet I kept at it for the better part of an hour, trying to keep a little of my dignity.

Lake Harriet is gorgeous; I love that I can see the city in the background, and one of my favorite fountains is on the east side. My plan is to be able to rollerblade completly around the lake, then make my way through the park to the adjoining Lake Calhoun. After I soak in hot tub for a few hours. And I think I'll wear those wrist guards, too. Rollerblading is fun, but I already broke my wrist once trying to take a ramp my first time snowboarding. I hope I've learned my lesson. Probably not.