When I was in university, the preferred form of locomotion was rollerblading. You couldn’t walk anywhere without people blowing past you, a blur of wheeled boots.
After I graduated with my Honours degree, I went back to the golf course I had worked the summer before, with no real plans beyond the end of the season. Late in August, my dad casually inquired what I planned to do after. In a panic, I drove the next day to Hamilton, the city of my alma mater McMaster University and asked if I could come back and do my Master’s. If nothing else, it would buy me an extra year.
For many (most?) people, graduate studies are stress and endless work. But I would be lying if I claimed the same. In fact, it was probably the easiest time of my life. We hardly had class time, I wrote essays the night before they were due and I loved being a teaching assistant.
And I had ample time for hobbies! So I decided I should learn to rollerblade. I was incredibly envious of the students I saw flying around the city. They made it look completely effortless. There was a sale at a sporting goods store up the street from me. I bought a pair and asked a friend if she would come over and teach me how to use them.
Immediately, I knew I had terribly miscalculated.
The store where I tested my proficiency with the rollerblades had been carpeted. With that resistance, they didn’t feel too scary. But once out on the pavement - I was petrified. I had no clue how to stop, and even with a helmet and knee and elbow pads, I was convinced I was going to break every bone in my body.
What had I been thinking?! I was an oaf. I smash my elbows into walls weekly. I drop things multiple times a day. I fall off curbs. I was not built for this.
My clumsiness has always been tied into my insecurities. I was heavier then, and I was sure that to the people I could see watching me as I tried to make it just a few feet from my house, I looked like the dancing hippo from Fantasia, but with far less grace.
I was reminded of when I was 16 and visited a friend who had moved to BC. We went to Whistler, just me, her and another girl. We’d been there the year before, and I’d gone cross country skiing alone. I decided that a mountain was the best place to try downhill for the first time.
I signed up for a Coca Cola Learn to Ski program. I was the only Canadian there, me and eight others from warm countries who had never seen snow before. And were all apparently natural athletes. Seemingly within minutes, they understood the mechanics of skiing and starting zipping down the hill.
Soon, it was only me left. I was terrified of gaining any speed. I would snowplow and then make myself fall if even that felt too fast. Eventually my instructor ran out of patience. He wrapped his arms around my waist and guided me down the hill.
Once at the bottom, he rather gruffly suggested that maybe downhill skiing wasn’t for me. I burned with shame and humiliation, but also secretly thrilled at having a hot ski instructor pressing his body against mine for the length of a mountain.
On the sidewalk outside my student house though, there was no hard bodied ski instructor. Only my friend gently telling me that if I was trying to walk in rollerblades, there wasn’t much point in using them.
But I just couldn’t get past my fear. I was furious with myself. All my body insecurities raged to the surface.
Somehow, I had believed that if I could just master rollerblading, I could become a different version of me. One that was lithe, moved balletically. Not this pear-shaped dumpling who took up too much space and was convinced hadn’t earned care and love until she became a better type of girl. If I could just emerge from this chrysalis of klutziness, I would emerge a dainty butterfly.
The rollerbladers I saw speeding around Hamilton had become a symbol of the woman I desperately wanted to be. The kind for who everything seemed effortless. Being tall, having long legs, graceful, attractive without trying - deserving. The kind of woman I knew I would never be without changing everything about me.
I wish I could say that I kept at it until I got over my fear. But I didn’t. Instead I threw the equipment into my closet and never tried again. Eventually I gave it all away, hoping at least it would be used by someone who was already a butterfly.
I wish I could say also that if I didn’t conquer rollerblading, I did my insecurities. But that too wouldn’t be true. What I have done - is accept them. They are a constant companion, but most of the time now, I can reduce them to background noise. For me, that’s enough.
And I have come to appreciate my strength. I’m grateful that I can hop off my couch and go for long walks. That I can lift heavy things. That I’m always full of energy.
And I hope that the way I see myself isn’t how others see me. I’m trying to get better at talking to myself like I would a friend.
Sometimes though, I still entertain the idea of trying downhill skiing again. At least I know I’ll definitely make it down the mountain, and if I need help? It’s probably going to be a fun ride.
Your journey is amazing and a joy to read. Congrats on your masters. Roller blades are over-rated, I'm reasonably athletic, but never became comfortable on them either. I did roller-skate at rinks well though. Can't wait to read your next "Musing". Thanks!
Great story, what is your degree/masters in?