The last time I was on a pair of rollerblades had to be in middle school. For awhile, birthday parties at Saints North were all the rage. We'd snap on our blades and spend hours circling the rink, taking breaks only to eat horrible pizza and buy some pogs (remember pogs???). The day wasn't about skating or pizza or even pogs, however. It was all about which member of the opposite sex you were going to partner up with during the "Snowball," when they turned down the lights, pumped the Boyz II Men, and encouraged 12-year-olds to express their interest in each other in the most awkward way possible: by holding hands while hobbling around on rollerblades.
So that was the memory of rollerblading that flooded back to me when I found these babies in my parents' garage today.
In a brief surge of inspiration, I decided to transform a symbol of insecurity and self-consciousness into one of empowerment (because people on rollerblades look nothing if not empowered, right?). I imagined myself breezing down the bike path, all confident like, making it to the park in half the time it took me to walk. Those delusions of grandeur were quickly put in check as I laced them up and clumsily attempted to make it to the end of the driveway without falling. I slammed into the side of my car to avoid rolling into the street, and realized I was going to need some help. I foraged up some piping thingamagigs from the garage to use as poles, and waited for there to be no cars in sight before crossing the street onto the path. It was a shaky start for sure, but soon I was crusin'. And it was a good workout! Definitely employed a set of muscles that haven't seen much play lately, and I felt slightly spent when I returned back to the yard and collapsed in the grass. I can only imagine what a sight I was clanking along on my old blades with a couple pieces of pipe in hand.
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