There’s a flat pathway that separates the dorms in the International House. Aside from the manholes and sidewalk cracks, it’s perfect for honing your skating skills. I do it at night when the traffic is light, and I love it because I can stop and chat with whoever I please.
I’ve skated on ice before, but the concrete is foreign to me. Fall on the ice rink and I’ll slide until I hit the foam wall. Fall on concrete and I’ll have a red butt to remember it by. (Fall in front of a cutie in either arena and I can bask in sympathy).
The heel brake on the right boot provides reassurance. Knowing it’s there makes me feel confident to take on more risks and speed, even if the brake itself doesn’t actually work that well. Take it as a learning opportunity — the lack of a proper brake means you’ll have to discover better ways of slowing down.
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A full week has gone by, and I could only go in a straight line. That is, until Armando shouts from the third-floor window: “Put your hip into it!”
So I did.
And wow, what a world of difference that makes. Instantly, too.
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Do anything out in public and you are bound to get feedback. Which should you listen to, and which should you ignore? What role should familiarity play in such a decision?
Armando and I were strangers when he first popped his head through the window at 1 AM. And yet, without his advice, there’s a good chance I’d still be struggling to turn left and right.
