Well, they did. I put myself on the disabled list, since my wrists and arms just aren't up for flinging around ten-pound plastic balls. I hung out and drank beer and socialized, until a coworker and I decided to sneak out and go ice skating.
I can't honestly remember the last time I was on skates. I'm almost certain it was when I still lived in Portland, and pretty certain it was while I was still married. My best guess is that it was christmas day sometime between 1988 and 1991. At that distance the details sort of become irrelevant-- it's been a bloody long time.
Some things never change-- crappy rental skates, coin-operated lockers, bad music on a bad sound system, ice that's been chewed up by way too many blades. I wasn't the least bit surprised to learn that I could still walk across the cushy rubber floor in skates. Making my way onto the ice was scary, though-- after all these years, I've gone back to being one of those people who hugs the wall. That's pretty embarrassing for someone who used to be able to confidently skate backwards, spin, and even land the occasional jump. After a lap or two I felt it starting to come back, and I could move away from the wall without killing myself. I only landed on my butt once, which is far better than I expected. The rink was lousy with kids, since today was apparently a school holiday. I dodged them adequately, and didn't even run over the ones who kept cutting in front of me. They deserved it, though, the careless little shits.
I'm pretty sure I'm gong to be sore tomorrow, though. And I'll be spending the whole weekend in a rope bondage class. Good timing on my part.