I don’t understand it. I like to be active. At least I like to keep my mouth active because I talk a lot. I have opinions. And I like sports. But sports don’t like me.
Ollie and I went for a long walk to the lake Monday with my Shape-Ups that I’ve had forever. And they totally work if you go for long distances. By the time we got home an hour later, my calves were burning. And I’m like, alright! Look at me be active. Yay.
So today, it’s nice out, and I’m like, I’m gonna go for a run. Granted a run for me is a jog/walk with skipping in between. But then I saw a rollerblader and was like, YES! Let me get out my rollerblades and skate around. I haven’t done that for ages! (In retrospect, there might be a reason why). So I walk Ollie, leave him in the house and put on my roller blades (and even my protective wrist guards). “It’s like riding a bike” I tell myself. And it was…until I got to the lakefront bike trail.
You can only guess what happened next.
I’m nearing the Montrose LSD exit, which is slightly ramped, and I’m like, I got this. I can stop. Heel down. I can totally stop. Heel REALLY down. Oh shit. So I try a T-stop, because, you know, that’s what all the cool bladers do. Turns out, I’m neither cool nor a blader, so I fall. And not just any fall. A fall that you see from a long distance and cringe, and say, boy I’m glad that wasn’t me….into the rocky path I go, flailing arms and all. I’m embarrassed. I’m sweating (and we all know how much I love sweating), and I’m like, nice. This sucks. A nice girl on a bike asked if I was alright, and said it happens to everyone, so don’t sweat it, which I thought was nice, but still. Now I’m hurting and sweating and just want to go home. Too bad I don’t have shoes. So I have to blade home. Long story short, it takes me about 15 minutes to walk-blade my sore ass home (I live about 5 from the trail).
So I come home defeated, but I say, hey, I’m already sweaty, why don’t I just go for a run/jog/walk? So I take off the blades and tie up the shoes and I’m not half way down the block when I trip over the sidewalk and fall into the grass onto a pile of dog poop.
And I’m done.
Now, as I sit here with a makeshift ice pack on my ankle that is now swollen, I start to wonder…why is it that every time I attempt to be active, activity kicks me (literally) in the ass?!
So tomorrow, I’m sitting on my ass and being a bum.
