So Monday I did not take any painkillers before skating, and honestly, it was a rough day skating. As I told my friend Kari, it’s not every day that your coach tells you that you are even doing flats wrong.
But I decided to just go back to popping a couple of Ibuprofen before practice, and lo and behold, I am back to my cheery self. I found myself enjoying everything. Even my flats felt better.
In the typical ways of March in Minnesota, it is snowing and gray outside, killing all the tender shoots that thought it was safe to come up beyond the ground. But all thoughts of cold weather and the rest of the cruel world outside the rink seemed to vanish for a while.
I tell you, it was just my own personal mutual admiration society out there today.
Perimeter stroking? Man, those are awesome circles.
Swing rolls? No problem.
Mohawks? Why don’t I just turn out a little more and see if those get even easier?
Ooh, three turns. I like three turns! Especially left three turns. I think I will do another one, just for fun.
Hmmm. Being all smiles was a strange feeling, like someone turned on “I Feel Pretty” in the background of my skating mood. Except that I wasn’t hearing West Side Story (but we all know that that story ended badly anyway). I found myself cruising around the rink humming a Justin Bieber song, and thinking “Man, that is one catchy tune.”
My momma don’t like you and she likes everyone.
The glow lasted far beyond skating. I got in the car and found myself singing happily to what must be one of the saddest songs ever written. If you really listen to the words of The Script’s “Breakeven,” you may well need something stronger than Ibuprofen. But there I was, grinning my way merrily through a rendition of
What am I supposed to do when the best part of me was always you?
And what am I supposed to say when I’m all choked up and you’re OK?I’m falling to pieces, yeah!
No worries that I will become an addict. My bruise is healing; it’s even starting to feel itchy, which is a good sign (though potentially embarrassing, given where it’s located).
In the meantime, I’m thinking of ways to bottle up some of this skating euphoria for when grumpy Jo returns.
jo skates 
March 24, 2016 at 7:12 am
Those are the best days on the ice – when you feel like you are Olympic-worthy and nothing can stop you. Enjoy the moment, and I hope that euphoria carries over into many more days in the future!
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March 24, 2016 at 7:20 am
Here’s wishing you some ice-induced euphoria too, Eva!
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March 24, 2016 at 6:53 pm
While tipping back his second glass of Merlot from the side of road as he watched the twisted wreckage of the borrowed Ferrari smolder, upside down in the ditch, George thought to himself “it was a good day but not a great day”. Hope that bruise heals soon!
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March 24, 2016 at 7:28 pm
Aaaahhh! What happened, George? Hope the Merlot was not related to the Ferrari…
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March 24, 2016 at 8:18 pm
Just a bit of fictional entertainment Jo:
It was a dull day in the office. My secretary, in the outer office, was typing a reply to a cease and desist letter I’d received earlier. The click-clack of her fingers on the typewriter beat out a distant and monotonous rhythm. I stared blankly at the peeling paint on the walls and in the stuffy warmth of the room started drifting off into an undeserved mid-afternoon nap. I remember vaguely wondering if that dull old green paint contained heavy metals when suddenly the phone rang. I shook off the cobwebs, washed my mouth out with an unfinished drink from the night before and answered the phone. It was a broad. The broad was hysterical. Broads are always hysterical. I rubbed my aching head. As I listened I lit up an unfinished Chesterfield from the crusty Night Club ash tray on my cluttered desk and inhaled deeply. Just the start of another typical day in the life of George A. (please, no last names), Private-I.
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March 24, 2016 at 8:33 pm
No Merlot was spilled in the creation of mental imagery in that sentence.
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March 24, 2016 at 8:21 pm
Phew! You had me going there for a moment! Fictional or not, it’s much more exciting than going round and round endless patterns of perimeter stroking.
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