For many, many years I’ve wanted to learn how to skate. Not just stand on a board and roll around a parking lot, but actually show up to a park and be able to ride it. Be able to navigate a bowl I’d never been to before. And somehow, amazingly, I’m doing it. After years of sort-of starting, of kind-of trying, I can go to a skate park with friends, drop in and have fun. It’s ridiculously fun, actually, more fun than I’d anticipated.
When I was starting out it was at High Cascade. I went to the skate park because I was encouraging my camper girls to go. What better way to get them to show up than actually show up and do it myself? Then I started engaging with my friends and agreeing to go skate. I was still terrified (and not good). Dropping in had barely been a thing for me. But I went, and I tried. Each time I got nervous and started to hang back, my friends would tell me to, ‘try it again,’ or, ‘go for another drop’. I’m competitive and didn’t want to look like a sissy, so I did.
And then slowly, this outside influence became the inside drive. I wanted to ride the bowl. Not to prove anything to anyone, nor to impress them, but simply to be able to do it. And the feeling! Getting a carve right in a bowl or navigating a corner successfully boosts confience like nothing else. Now when I go- I know I’m skating. I have a group of friends in Portland who want to keep skating and it’s FUN. It reminds me of rock climbing in the way that you make it as challenging or as easy as you want it to be. It’s an individual sport that turns into a group event. On the flip side, snowboarding (what got me to start skating) is something that I always want to do with a group, but you can’t really go with a big of variety of abilities (it’s hard to keep friends together when one person is learning how to carve and the other two are looking for cliffs to drop).
So I like skateboarding. More than I ever thought I would. In fact, I didn’t quite think I’d ever be able to say that I skate. But I can. And I still have a lot to learn.
I woke up yesterday and, like any other day, walked my sleepy self to the bathroom. Next to our washroom sink there is a window that looks into our backyard. I heard some twittering and opened the windowshade to see what all the fuss was about. When I did so I was greeted by the sight of innumerable grey birds flitting in and out of a giant berry bush we have growing along our fence. The birds were having a feeding frenzy! Hanging upside down, flying in and out of the shrub, plucking off every single berry they could find.
I stood there, watching for a long while, hypnotized by hungry little fliers.
When I woke up this morning my first thoughts were of the birds and wondering whether they’d be back to feast some more. I walked out into our backyard and found only a very berry bare bush. The only remains of fruit on the shrub were either the unripened green berries, or the scat that had been scattered on the bush’s leaves from so many feasting feathered bodies.
It’s my wedding day, but I’m confused. For some reason, I have complete and udder amnesia of the courtship with my husband-to-be. I don’t know his name. I can’t think of what he looks like. I have no recollection of who he is and why we’re getting married (or anything leading up to the wedding, for that matter)
My parents are there, along with my grandparents. I’m trying to get ready, but my dad forgot to pick up my wedding dress on the way here and there’s no time to get it now. I’m doing my hair with pink ribbons and wire because I hadn’t booked a professional to do it.
We’re on a submarine. I still haven’t seen my husband yet and all I’ve found to wear was a pink dress. I’m almost ok with it, but then I start thinking about how this should be the only wedding day of my life. And I’m sad. Forlorn. I don’t know my fiancé’s face and I don’t have a white dress. I’m sitting in the poop deck arena. My grandparents are trying to reassure me. We delay the ceremony an hour.
I’m looking for something around the submarine, maybe make-up? I still can’t believe I have no memories of my husband-to-be bubbling up to the surface of my thoughts. I’m wandering.
I don’t want to delay until tomorrow, but there seems to be no choice. We’re missing something and things aren’t ready yet. I wonder how long my fiancé will wait. I still have yet to see him. It’s our wedding day, after all, and that would be bad luck.
Walking isn’t just for old people. Casual observation has found, in fact, that people of all age have been doing it literally since we became a species. In fact, walking upright is what defined us as being homosapiens in itself.
So why are so many people avoiding it?
I love to walk. I like to bike too, but there’s something more meditative about walking. The pace is even, you usually shouldn’t get out of breath and it’s way easier to multitask on your phone when you aren’t using your other hand to balance some handle bars.
Making exercise an integrated part of a daily routine is important. The more it becomes simply ‘what you do,’ the more you forget that you’re getting exercise. And the less you have to worry about keeping that spare pair (or two) of fat pants.
If you want to have an amazing Sunday that makes you feel fantastic inside and out, then go take an hour to jump back into yoga. Then follow it up with a big bowl of greens, guac and tofu at whole foods (I splurged today, ok?). It will leave you buzzing your whole body over- I keep catching myself smiling for no reason.
I went to Yoyo Yogi in northwest portland- they have an intro deal that let’s you get 12 classes/month for $38. I’ve done my research and that’s one of the best deals for yoga classes in portland. Plus, I found this quote on their website:
“The miracle is not to fly in the air, or to walk on the water, but to walk on the earth.” Chinese proverb
I really love my waterproof mascara, but it sometimes will flake off and get stuck in my eye. That’s why they invented a new one of the same kind that won’t EVER get in your eye.
I was working in a town that was similar to camp but also Salt Lake City. I looked out of the backseat window from the car and saw three guys skating. I thought that I should know them, and sure enough I recognized my friend Mamba. I shouted to him when he was close. He looked at me and I realized he wasn’t my friend Mamba Goo, but an older man of the same name that I didn’t know.
We were sitting on a roof top at night, having escaped the post-wedding venemous snakes by stomping them to death. My friend Liz lit a firework that was in a soda can and pointed it behind her. It shot out and straight into a telephone pole behind us. The firework was spectacular but the telephone pole had now caught in fire and we had to scram so as not to get in trouble.