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So guess what? I went ice skating on Wednesday night! For the first time ever! Exclamation!

In fact, it was the first time in a very, very long time that I’d been forced to balance on any thin bladed-or-wheeled type shoelike device. The last time I roller skated, I distinctly remember my classmate Kevin Callison having a difficult time tying the laces on his skates. Not because there was anything wrong with his skates, but because he hadn’t really learned to tie shoes very well yet (his sneakers had Velcro). So yeah. It was a while ago. I’d say a good 16 or so years ago.

So there I was. Cold. Nervous. Nothing separating me from the ice but a thin pair of blades that looked as though they’d be more willing to slice me than support me. Nothing keeping me upright but my iron grip on the guardrail and Amanda’s reassurances that very few people died in skating rinks annually. Of course, she’s from Minnesota (i.e., given skates on her first birthday), so she’s probably safe without any statistics to back her up whatsoever. Megan’s husband Scotty skated up and promised me it wasn’t all that hard once I got moving. Of course, he’s from Maine (i.e., born wearing skates), so he saying skating is easy is a bit akin to Bill Gates arguing that computer startup companies are a cinch. Megan made her way over and said she wasn’t that great either, so I was in good (if small) company. At that, I released one hand from the guardrail and started to work out how that whole ‘moving’ thing worked.

And you know what? I didn’t fall down once! The entire evening! I lasted over an hour on the ice, generally several feet away from the guardrail, without my arse once hitting the ice. :) And that’s how I’m classifying a fall, too: ass on ice action. Because I ~did~ have a couple of near-misses. Once I lost my balance, slipped backwards, and came within a couple of inches of the ground before my right arm caught the guardrail. But it don’t count, because my bum was unblemished.

Now, I’m not saying I’m a superstar or anything. My speed improved over the night, but I never made it much past 4mph or so. My arms spent far too much time pinwheeling dangerously too close to the poof-ball hats of six year olds. And I was breathing a lot harder than anyone else when we were done from the added strain of using my calves to re-balance myself every few milliseconds. But I did better than I expected, and that’s good enough for me.

So, in other news, picture above is a two-for-one shot for y’all. It’s showing off both my new haircut and a bit of my new living room paint job. And it’ll have to do for now, because it’s Friday night and I should be doing something else. I don’t know what that is yet, but something. Else.