Ice Skating

Yesterday I went ice skating.  Like a boss.

It had been awhile since I had been skating, so I decided to take it slow.  And by "slow," I meant that I went from 0-20~ mp/h in about three seconds.  Everything was fine until I realized that it was not, in fact, a straight-shot rink, that I actually had to make a left turn.  Time kind of slowed down and I came up to the understanding that 1. The skates were not as sharp as I thought they were, 2. I was losing control, and 3. That I was about to look like something akin to a human NASCAR wreck.

As I started falling, I thought to myself "Ok, I just need to get all of my limbs out of the way.  Then I can land and I'll be fine."  Unfortunately, I did not have enough time between the thought and the actual falling to fully move everything, and I landed on my leg, my knee stretching something in the process.

The adrenaline and excitement of ice-skating lasted me thoughout most of the time, including the time that I decided to race Chris, and won, but in the process whamming straight into the opposite wall because I didn't have enough time to stop and flying backwards.  My glasses dislodged and soared through the air whilst I... bounced, is the only word that probably can give it justice... up like something out of a Looney Toons cartoon.  I landed on my ass, and just laughed.

I, quite literally, Rofled.

Now I write this to you, a day later, and a day more sore.  I can barely bend my knee, and I feel like an old man, hobbling around like I need a cane.

But yet, I still want to go back to that rink.  Is that masochistic of me?

Nah, probably just stupid.