andamu

When I was a teenager the town we lived in had no ice rink. The big city, about 90 minutes away did, and it became a favorite destination for organized youth outings (through school or church or whatever).

This meant that I got to skate about three times a year, after one holiday that we spent with my cousins in the same big city where we went for one session every day for a week. Which meant that I was basically capable of staying more or less upright on the skates away from the wall, and was able to move forward in clumsy baby pushes.

Now picture this: a group of adolescents with all the bravado and mixed-up hormones that this would entail, on a group outing, all swarming over the ice rink. Which meant first that I kept going faster than speeds at which I was able to control my balance (the bravado part) and second that I kept trying to fall forward rather than backwards, because a sopping wet butt was a lot more uncomfortable and embarrassing with all the teenage boys around than damp knees.

It occurs to me that had I been less concerned with dignity and boys at that time, and had I worn knee pads at that stage, I would have needed them a lot less frequently now when I have to potter around the house or garden.