I started to cry before I even got to the rink where my group of hockey playing friends would soon be gathering for my post stroke maiden voyage on skates. These noble friends arrived in small groups, and with each arrival my tear ducts betrayed me with another gush of bodily fluid release. I know the routine by now…my slightly altered brain cells, the ones responsible for moderating my emotions have taken leave, particularly with crying and laughing, and once I start either, it goes on and on with little control. So I cried, and cried and tried to stop long enough to have my skates tied. Then the brain cells decided to really play with me as I started to laugh, and laugh, and laugh.
Then reality hit —I was about to skate again. But first I had to climb a flight of stairs walking on two thin blades of steel. And so I did, with people in front, in back and beside. And there I was, rink side. People were skating everywhere. This is the Petit Ice Skating Center, Olympic Training Center to be precise. And I was rink side getting ready to step out not in training for the Olympics but for getting some part of me back.
I stepped out. I glided. I might be able to do this! Then I started spinning to the left. And laughing, giggling out of control. Stop, focus, giggle, spin, again and again… oh my. But I made it around the oval once and only had to stop a few times because I, my friends and blog followers, I am a badass plain and simple. With some intrinsic flaws.