I did the Bay Breeze on a Saturday. Right
after the race, I drove from San Leandro to Santa Cruz for a birthday party. I
went from Santa Cruz to Palo Alto to rest. On the way home, my MLP tagged me in
a post on ‘tha book of faces about our plan to go skating on Sunday. Sunday as
in the day after the race. The plan to go skating that we never actually
confirmed, until, well…she made the post.
So I found the place, created the event
and went to sleep knowing that after I wrote 65 appreciation notes at work the
next day, I was going roller skating – and my Uncle was coming with me. My Uncle who found out on
the book of faces also – because he was invited. #YouThoughtIWasPaying #ThatsCute #IPlannedTheEvent
 |
| SJ Adult Skate has terrible skates. #UncleTakingMeSkateShoppin! |
When MLP and I reconfirmed what she
already confirmed that afternoon, an amazing feeling came over me. I was ten
years old again. I was going to bed, the night before Uncle was coming to pick
us up at the house to take us to Milpitas. To CalSkate. And there we would
spend all his money (at least we thought we would) on drinks, and pizza, and
chips, and candy. We would go round and round the rink at light speed, which
was probably about a half a mile and hour, maybe. We would smile each time we
passed him, not even considering the alternative – that he was passing us. And
then we would have to sit. Because it’s backwards skate time, and we are not as
coordinated as we believed. And we fall down…and we are making everyone else
fall down #GettingBackUpAgain&Again. And we always
left too soon. Because the last song was always one song too soon. And we were
back on 237, hoping to never reach 101. Praying for it to loop back to the
parking lot and not the damn driveway.
I slept like a ten-year-old baby. Then I
woke up and went to Church. Then from Church to Work. Then Work to Adult Skate.
I went flying around that rink like a
superhero. My cardigan transformed to a short grey cape. Floating in the wind
created by my awesome powers of being amazing on 8 wheels. Captain UCLA is what they called
me. You didn’t see those 4 letters on my chest? That’s because I’m so damn
fast. Catch me son. Oh, you can’t…
And Uncle and I rolled around the rink
talking about the crappy floor and the horrible skates. He said we could go
skate shopping so I could have my own – because those were whack. We smiled. We
laughed. We reminisced on all the fun we ever had. And I thought to myself, how
did I let 20 some even years get in the way of this feeling? Wait. What is this
feeling? Can I get this on the streets?!
We learn all kinds of
lessons from our parents. There are so many truths we pretend to not hear at 16
that become everything that ever saved us at 26. And we have to admit to them
that they were right. Then there are the other lessons, that aren’t really
lessons at all. They are life. Life experiences that people who are not so
stressed out about, well…childbirth and the ensuing 18-year dependency #WishIHadADependentThisTaxSeason, give us. The Aunts, Uncles and Godparents, for
example. At ten years old, my Uncle wanted me to know what it felt like to
live. And he spent a small fortune making it happen – for every one of his
nieces.
And I let life keep me from doing just
that. Living.
I would have been right next to MLP going
round and round to the last song if those horrible skates hadn’t start to hurt
my big toe…big toe. I have never had more energy post
race-I-didn’t-properly-train-for #thiswillbemycustom
in
my life than I did that Sunday night. You would have never known that the day
before I was Bay Breezin and partying with a new walker.
And okay, so I maybe couldn’t
decided not to wear heels to work the next day. And maybe it took me 15 minutes
to get up 2 flights of stairs. And after I sat down in my office chair, I had
to fall to the floor in order to get out of it because, well…gravity. Point is,
I lived for three and a half hours.
And I did it skating backwards.
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