there are 25 teenage boys in my basement watching the super bowl. That's right, I said twenty-five. My stepson Aaron invited his entire youth group over to watch the game and Perry and I are playing the role of pizza server, soda pourer, and "chaperone." So far, so good, although we and the cat are already deafened by the yelling and cheering going on one floor below.
The testosterone is pretty thick in here.
Earlier today I went to the rink for the first time in 2 weeks. For the first time since my diagnosis, I noticed how my abilities had deteriorated. It was no longer just a question of skating through pain but still able to do most of what I could do before. I was unable to put my full weight on one side of my body and support it on one leg for any length of time. I was shaky and wobbly and couldn't bend my knees. I could not hold an edge. The pain was no longer something I could just ignore; it controlled what I could and could not do.
After the first lap around the rink I was ready to stop, but I forced myself to stay out there and "work through it." By the second hour I was seeing slight improvement, but that's really not saying much. I couldn't even do the preliminary dances. I "got through" a few dances during the second session but they were not on edges and had no speed. They were walked, well, stumbled. They were not danced. I couldn't get my body to do what I wanted it to, try as I might.
I know I shouldn't have an ego about this, but I skate in a mall rink and there's an audience there. I was on a high level dance session where everyone is a good skater, and then there was me ... stumbling around the ice as if I had never skated before. It was humbling. I felt out of place. I am sure the shoppers weren't pointing and saying, "what is that old lady doing out there with all those good skaters" ... but it sure felt like it.
Am I that much of a narcissist? I guess I can relax about it. I'm sure nobody was looking at me, they were watching the dancers who could skate.