Sucking Hard on Eight Wheels

I didn't want to go to the Fresh Meat Intake meeting at the local skate rink. Every inch of me wanted to stay home and stare daggers at my skates. Emblems of my inadequacy.

But I found myself packing a shoulder bag with all my newly bought skating accoutrement. As if my body had made a decision to go and didn't give a shit about the screaming voice yelling "NO NO NO". I seriously watched my arms and legs move without me. It felt like being demoted to backseat while watching the car drive along with invisible hands on the wheel.

Even riding my bicycle to the rink felt strange.

On my arrival I met some women, tatt's and dyed hair, their Roller Derby names emblazoned across team t-shirts. I filled out forms; ticked boxes; read rules and regulations. I became Fresh Meat , at least on paper. But unfortunately for me, my eagerness was outdone by the Master Cleanse I was in the middle of. My body was so determined that it forgot to pay attention to any of the advice on my brain. Don't try and do a skating workout after cleansing for 7 days.
What the hell was I doing!?
Orders were being barked out "ONE KNEE SLIDE, PLOUGH STOP, 180 SLIDE.
I wanted to scream back... " Hold on a fucking second... I CAN'T SKATE"
Then big black spots drifted into my vision. I remember this feeling. It's a precursor to fainting.
Last time it happened I was 18 and practising with the metal band I use to sing for, Judas Priest covers in a hot band room = fainting.

One of the other Fresh Meat girls asked me if I was OK. I guess  the feeling of all the blood rushing from my face was obvious. Turned out she was a nurse, I told her I was cleansing and that I am a bloody idiot for trying. She told me to go sit down, and I did. Feeling pathetic and stupid all at the same time.
I spent the rest of the session watching the girls do their thing. Some of the seasoned girls sneered a little. It looked as if I had given up to them. I felt miserable.
Leaving that rink wasn't the high I had thought it would be. I cursed my stupidity of even trying to skate. My ride home was slow and full of internal bickering and even a little self loathing.
But by the time I went to bed , I had a clear picture of what I must do to achieve my goal.
Skate, skate , skate.

The next day I wore my skates in the house. I mopped the floor in them. I cleaned the fridge, washed windows. I even navigated stairs, slowly and ever so carefully balanced on the toe stops. These wheels were not going to beat me.

Last weekend was a long weekend. I dragged my gear to Mums' house. It is close to the school by brother use to go to. I had already asked him what surfaces were like about his old school.
Is there smooth bitumen? Concrete? Is there smooth concrete? Paving? Huh? Can I skate there?
"There are heaps of places" he answered and even drove me into the teachers carpark, defying the "PRIVATE- DO NOT ENTER" sign.
My brother and I walked across the oval,  him with his red kelpie bounding after a bald tennis ball, me with my gear and a wood handled broom.
Out past the rubber floored playground, and the browning grass of a shot put and discus circles stood the rarely used basketball/tennis courts (x2!). Surrounded in chain link I crossed my fingers it was unlocked and smooth. And sure enough it was.
Concrete, painted green to poorly mimic grass. It was ugly, but utterly perfect for my needs.

I walked around, sweeping Paddlepop sticks, seed pods and other dangers from the dual courts.
It may not seem very exciting, but it was. I felt like I had struck skating gold. This big, flat, oddly green space, all mine, and free.
The only danger was being told to leave by the weekend teachers that kept an eye on the boarder population. Apart from that I felt as if the long weekend stretched out before me, brimming with opportunity and glee.

Then as soon as I got the gear on that bloody fear came back. Uncertainty buckled my legs and I became scared of every minute crack in the court. My brother audibly inhaled through clenched teeth as a rogue seed pod locked up a skate wheel, and set me on my arse with painful punctuation. This concrete was harder than my garage floor... Was that possible?

The resolve I felt the other day slipped from me. After my brother left, I concentrated on trying relax, an oxymoron if ever there was one.
Sore, scared and sad I untied my skates, picked up my broom and walked back to Mums.
     When I limped in through the door, Mum asked me how I went, I gather the look on my face said it all. She just smiled at me in the way only a mum can, and said " You have always mastered anything you put your mind to". Mum's are great for things like that. After the heat of the day had passed, Mum drove me back down to my personal arena. She took the broom from my hands
"You get your stuff on, I will sweep, otherwise you will be here all day"
She swept and I pinwheeled my way around the area's she had cleared of debris. Here I was, a woman nearing middle age, circling her mum in new skates, as if I she was 9 years old. It was funny and sweet in it's timelessness.
      After she was through with sweeping, she gave me a smile and wave and left me to my own devices. I was determined to stay on this court till sunset, so I had about 4 hours to get somewhere. I filled up by water bottle from the low drinking spigots, placed all my things in the shady corner of my rink, pulled my iPod out of my bag and pressed play.