Today is not a lesson in math, more so one on what not to do at a ten year old roller skating party when your son is one of two boys present and the other happens to look like he trained with those interesting looking roller derby gals. Kids don't really skate much these days, at least not in our part of the world. When I was young, skating parties were a big deal, and we went skating a lot on the weekends and for youth group stuff. It was a part of our life. But now, I guess travel sports and video games have taken over the simplicity of the roller skate. Very sad.
Anywho ~ David had only skated on one occasion before last night. And his little girlfriend, Miss T, was having her birthday party at the skating rink. When we arrived, I noticed he was the only boy there from his class. That didn't seem to bother him; in fact, he sort of acted like he enjoyed being the only guy and therefore absorbing all the attention from the girls. There was one other boy present that lives in Miss T's neighborhood, and he was skating so well that (dare I admit this) it got under my skin a little. Most of the girls were struggling still and this Roller King was whizzing by everyone on the wooden floor. My poor David couldn't make it three feet without falling, and so I asked him if he wanted me to put on skates and come out there with him. He said yes, and I made the first mistake of the evening... lacing up the brown skates.
I got out there, wobbly, but able to make it a few times around the rink without falling. I had skated a year before at the same place and had done fine. I was slow and unsteady at first, but I built my sureness on my feet up and held my own. But last night, the gears weren't clicking for me. My shins were on fire after the first lap, and things just felt out of sort, and on my fourth pass around the rink, I lost it. I felt myself teetering and tried to straighten up my torso to prevent the fall. But as I pulled vertical through my abdomen, my right skate slid forward and I landed straight down on my tailbone (formally known as the coccyx). The impact took my breath away, and I instantly felt like I was going to lose the contents of my stomach right there on the shiny parquet. But I managed to crawl over to the side (luckily I wasn't very far from the carpet) and pull myself back to standing, all the while looking around to see if anyone had seen the fall. If anyone did, I don't guess it looked as bad as it felt because no one asked about me or came to my rescue.
I just kept saying to myself in my head, "I broke it... my butt bone is broke! I just broke my stinking tailbone." There might have been some not-so-nice vocabulary mixed in there as well, but I was in so much pain that I am positive the Good Lord understood. I sat down, took off the skates, and rested for a moment. The fear was so deep within that I would break in half at the hip when I tried to stand again. That's how certain I was that it was broken.
Luckily, I was able to walk out of there and drive home. But it still hurts to sit, stand, and lay down. I woke up several times last night as I repositioned and my body reminded me that I have zero business putting on a pair of shoes with rolling wheels attached to the bottom.
I doubt it's really broken. To my surprise, there's no visible bruising this morning. But, man alive, it's unpleasant. And I am surely not going in for a $200 x-ray of my booty, for more than one reason, if you know what I mean. I can't even go there in my mind... just can't go.
Can I say with certainty that won't skate again ever? I don't know... if Madalyn ever wants to do a skate party, I would surely have to try again. I mean, I've never been one to let one fall stop me from doing what I want to do. I even tried canoeing twice before I swore it off forever. Time will tell...