My skates rusted a bit over the summer. Well, not literally--I'm pretty conscientious about wiping them down before I put on my absorbant blue skate guards. But I probably only laced them up and took to the ice a couple of times over the last four months. I've been frustrated by my inability to learn new moves, but moreso by the atrophying of skills that I thought I had pretty much mastered, or had at least achieved a certain level of competancy. Now my counter-clockwise forward crossovers are sloppy, my clockwise crossovers a joke. I don't lean into the circle; I pick up and plop down my foot the way I did long ago when I was in Beta. I'm afraid to even try backward crossovers, knowing that my blades will click and I'll come close to falling. Forget about the waltz jump I was learning in the spring. I need to get back to basics.
I'd like to take another class, perhaps the fitness skate, which is less a workout than an opportunity to work again and again on the fundamentals. But with my new job starting (eek) next week, I don't know whether I'll have the time. It's just an excuse, really. I'm a hermit, and it's increasingly difficult to motivate myself to leave the warm, cozy apartment with my insane cat, Teen Mom reruns, laptop, and vaporizer. I need a kick in the fat ass to get moving. I'm setting a goal to once again skate on a weekly basis. I tried to wheedle free skating out of my rink by offering my services as a copy editor for their Web site and newsletter, and the general manager expressed some tentative interest, but I haven't heard back yet.
But it's worth investing in this. I spend money on all sorts of ridiculous things. Mostly food. And books. Skating, when I do it well--or capably--makes me feel like I've accomplished something, makes me feel graceful, makes me feel relaxed. I need more of that in my fat-assed life.
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