The adventure began by not being able to find the place! I wanted to go ice skating with my sweetie on Valentine's Day, so I'd been on the rink's website checking their hours, rates, etc. I did a Google Maps search and got directions from my house. We got close, then.... went way past where it was supposed to be. Turned around--on the street it was supposed to be on!--and still didn't see it. Kept on going wayyyy down that street... and it was on the opposite side of town from what Google told me! Had they MOVED? What was going on? I was mad at Google. Sheesh.
Anyway, we got there at last. There was a line out the door onto the sidewalk; now we know not to come on a Saturday night. We were the oldest ones there but for about five other people, and some moms dropping their 10-year-old girls off. Teenyboppers galore! (I had a professor once that called the overly-made-up, skintight-clothes-wearing tweens "prostitots," and we saw a few last night.)
We both started off shaky. I've only been ice skating twice, ever, and Matt hadn't gone since he was really young. We scooted along the edge for a while, then held hands, but after Matt complained of "dragging around a dead weight" I shoved him away and did fine. We stopped once to relace our skates a little tighter since both our ankles were feeling wobbly, and we didn't want to twist or sprain anything. About half an hour in, Matt said he needed to either take a break or be done, but I was still having fun, so I did a few more rounds.
Then I'm not sure what happened. The ice was pretty "torn up" or whatever you'd call it, crossed with deep lines, chunks taken out here and there by an errant toe pick. And I think I was going a little too fast for my skill level (or lack thereof). All of a sudden I did a nosedive, slid a couple of feet, and lay still. I hit my knees so hard that when I looked at them five minutes later, bruises were already forming. My hat nearly flew off from the impact. And of course I'd dressed all cutesy in a pink sweater and a long skirt (and my purple flannel bloomers!). I rolled over, fixed my skirt, and sat up.
By that time, a nice young man in a "uniform" (a blue hoodie with the rink's logo on it) skated over and asked if I was all right. He helped me up (which is good, because there's no way I would've made it up on my own!) and asked if I needed help to the exit. I stood there a second and decided I would be fine. Knees throbbing (but the rest of me okay except for being covered in melting ice shavings), I wobbled over to the exit. Matt was sitting in the little bleachers and came to meet me. HE MISSED THE WHOLE THING! It was really an EPIC wipeout, and he missed it! So we sat down and I told him what happened, and laughed, and got a drink of water. Then we decided we'd had enough.
I was doing so well, too! The first time I ever went skating, I fell twice. The second time, I fell once. Hence, I should've fallen ZERO times last night, right? Nope. EPIC WIPEOUT. And nobody (i.e. Matt) even saw it!
I would like to go again, though, once my knees feel better. And maybe on, like, a Thursday morning or something, when the place isn't overrun with punk kids. Anyone in town up for a trip sometime?