Yes, I can be talked into just about anything – including trying ice skating for the very first time at 33. Especially when there's a cute boy doing the talking. I tried the usual arguments: I'm a klutz, I trip over air, I've even ended up in Urgent Care trying to open a box… but Hockey and his friend were able to convince me that I wouldn't kill myself. They were right, but so was I.
Actually, the learning to ice skate was much fun after the initial fear. I wiped out a few times, but all in all, managed to stay up on my feet. Especially after I changed out of the figure skates into the hockey skates. (These guys are determined to make a hockey player out of me, despite the fact that I'm quite content to be the official Fairfax Lightning cheerleader, sans the uniform.) At one point, I was even actually skating while holding onto the friend's hands – he only told me after that I was doing all the skating. (Probably a good idea, considering that telling me during isn't a good thing – ask my dad about him teaching me to ride a bike. I still can't.) However, as I was exiting off the ice, I fell – my right knee went one way with two pops and the rest of me went the other. Ouch. I knew that I'd need to find my knee brace and crutches, however, seeing the rest of the Caps game (go Caps!) and getting beer seemed more important.
Found the brace last night, but no crutches, so I had to call my dad to see if he still had his crutches from his accident and luckily he did… but I had forgotten exactly how much I hated crutches – especially for going up stairs. And I have two flights to go up and down to my apartment. *sigh* At least I have some stellar people working for me who are going to let me get some rest and stay off of my knee after today.