Okay, so maybe having that shot of tequila with my classmates earlier in order to celebrate ALL of us being done with exams wasn't the best idea. Especially since I've decided to join Sonja on the South Beach Diet and hadn't eaten anything since scrambled eggs this morning. But then again, how was I to know that events would unfold in the manner they did on the way back from picking up Conrad?
I got back from the pub with time to spare, so I figured I'd strap on the skates to go and get him since the sun decided to re-appear after a rather dismal morning. As I skated up the road to his school, I thought that today would be a good day to possibly post up a blog about the silly things that always seem to transpire when I skate from place to place.
Mainly, people like to stare. For a lot of different reasons. Guys young and old leer at me, but that's a given due to the fact that rollerskating often puts one in a position that's sort of half bent over, and if I happen to make the mistake of wearing a lower-cut top, I suppose the ogling is understandable. I get kindly smiles from soccer moms in their hatchbacks, who I figure are re-living their younger years or something (although I'm not sure how as the neighborhoods here aren't really conducive to skating around with your friends in the summer, nor are there really any roller rinks). Sometimes grandpas smile at me in a way that makes me think they'd really like to wink but aren't sure whether I'd notice as I breeze past, frantically pumping my legs against the asphalt since I'm usually running late for wherever I'm meant to be at. Without fail, all the little kids I go past are perplexed. I've yet to see anyone else on skates (though I have seen a few rollerbladers...lame), so I understand why the children are confused.
And then there are the people that stare at me like they've never seen a person wearing any sort of shoe with wheels attached. Or the people that can't seem to figure out how exactly the whole rollerskating thing works. Or the people that glance up, realize I'm on skates, then return to the London stare (directly at the sidewalk with sporadic glances up to avoid collisions). Inevitably, these three types of people will proceed to barrel down the middle of the narrow sidewalk, leaving me no choice but to slow to an almost-stop in order to let them by. Let's think about this for a moment. You, a normal pedestrian, see a solidly-built girl about 5'8" heading downhill on the sidewalk towards you with a decent amount of speed built up. My first thought would be "Holy crap! I don't know if she can stop on those things!", after which I'd promptly try to hug the nearest wall as closely as possible in order to avoid being run down by this crazy moose woman on skates. But apparently some Londoners are either too arrogant (or stupid) for this thought to cross their minds. So I slow down and give way, but it's always a bitch to get moving again, especially if the sidewalk is rough or if I'm going uphill. Pretentious joggers and power-walkers also seem to expect me to move out of their way. I feel like pointing out to them skating uphill probably burns more calories than running uphill, and that because the sidewalks and roads are rarely nice and smooth, the only time I don't have to work at moving forwards is the downhill bit of Alderbrook Road, where I catch so much downhill speed it sort of scares me. Especially if there are oncoming cars.
Cars. Another fun bit of skating. When going to get Conrad (and indeed, any time I'm on a residential street), I generally stick to skating on the road. Residential streets tend to have sidewalks made of paving stones (which are really just big concrete slabs), that tree roots and life in general have made very uneven. Unlike the pedestrians that seem intent on playing chicken with yours truly, I realize a car will hurt me more than I could hurt it, so I get the hell out of the way. I get the same sorts of stares from drivers as I do from pedestrians, although the soccer moms are more annoying in that they slow down to really draw the nostalgic moment out. Again, I'm usually running late (that's why I'm skating, I can move faster), so idling past me as I've respectfully pulled off to the side to let you pass is making me later still. I always giggle a bit when I get the polite "thanks for letting me pass" wave (as though I were another car or a cyclist), and I'm really surprised nobody has honked at me yet because I'm in the way. Then again, I am pretty vigilant in keeping my eyes and ears out for approaching cars, so it's rare that I haven't skated out of the way long before they get close enough to overtake me.
Overall, I like skating because I get where I need to be just a little bit quicker and it's better exercise than just walking (plus I'm hoping it'll tone my backside up a bit to the point where I might just actually have an ass and can stop worrying about just my hips holding up my jeans). And when the sun is shining I can close my eyes (just for the briefest of moments, safety first), and imagine that I'm back at Doheny, skating to the marina for an ice cream. Plus, Conrad really seems to get a kick out of me picking him up in skates. The parents, teachers, and other nannies look at me funny (a lot of the creepy dads leer), but he always seems to give me a happier hug when I'm in skates.
He also really enjoys grabbing one of my hands and towing me down the road. Which brings me to today's unfortunate turn of events. There are two stretches of the trip where I'm forced to navigate the sidewalks: the very last bit before his school on Brompton Road and the section down Nightingale Lane. While being a residential road, Brompton also sees quite a bit of traffic, including buses and bigger delivery vans. The bit I have to go on the sidewalk for is paved with bricks and pretty flat, so it's not difficult to manage provided some conceited mother isn't gallivanting right smack dab down the center of the sidewalk with her double-wide stroller. Nightingale Lane is also bricked, but is full of little hills and valleys that require extra attention on my part to keep from biffing it and falling. The valleys make for some very tempting puddles after a rain, though I've yet to skate through one. Nightingale is also a main road, and it was scary enough riding Neighbor Clare's bike there the other morning as I was rushing Conrad's forgotten PE equipment to him, let alone trying to share the road with roller skates on.
For whatever reason, Conrad decides today that he's going to tow me down the Nightingale Lane section of our walk home. At a run. For a 10-year-old, he's got a pretty strong grip, and we picked up enough speed to make it slightly unwise for me to forcibly rip my hand from his. And although I was screaming at him to let go of me, he ignored me completely and kept going (not that he has a habit of ignoring me completely). I manage to keep myself together for the hills, valleys, and the one bit with broken glass before he finally lets go of my hand. Right before the sidewalk narrows and one of those big rectangular metal cover thingies takes up most of the available sidewalk (you know, where the water/gas/cable or whatever company hides their big shutoff switches for your block). There's not enough time to stop, so I bend my knees and try to coast over the knobbly metal cover and the raised concrete lip that's around it. I didn't even make it over the lip.
The last time I fell on these skates I was attempting to skate on a dirt path despite being ridiculously tequila hungover and thus very wobbly. I lost my balance and landed hard on my ass. Every time I've almost fallen (but managed to save myself at the last moment due to my catlike poise and reflexes...meow), it's also been something that would've resulted in me winding up on my backside. For me, skating is not coupled with a worry of faceplanting. I'm constantly concerned I may wind up on my ass.
Unless I've just been towed into the sidewalk obstacle from hell. Then apparently my only available option is to literally belly flop onto the pavement. Literally. Belly flop. Like you used to do into the pool when you still thought it was funny to have your stomach sting for half an hour afterwards. Did I mention that Nightingale Lane always has a decent amount of traffic? Especially after 4-ish and rush hour starts to pick up. Both pedestrian and motor traffic. Some guys in a delivery van were especially amused, and while I didn't actually see them, I'm sure they were hanging out their windows as they drove past, hooting and hollering and laughing and cheering at me in all my humiliated glory. Conrad was laughing too, and made no effort to help me up from my inert face-down position. Great.
I suppose the upside is that I didn't get any scrapes or injuries (although I've got a wicked headache right now), and to be fair, I did laugh a bit once my legs got steady enough to start skating again. Will this tragic event persuade me to hang up my skates? Probably not. You might be thinking I brought it on myself, letting a kid drag me down sidewalk, and you're probably right. I think it also was my comeuppance for bragging about my skating abilities at the pub earlier (I was trying to rally people to go to the roller disco with me, and I thought if I pointed out how good I was and thus could teach them how, they might go). Regardless, this is still nowhere near as painful and bad as that time I let my friend TJ push me down that park sidewalk in a shopping cart.
One day I'll learn. Maybe.
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