There was a skating rink here in my hometown when I was growing up, and I spent many an afternoon skating my heart out to Survivor, Pat Benetar, and AC/DC. Sadly, the skating rink has since been turned into a church. I sometimes wonder if the concrete floor with the bumpy, flakey, blue paint is still there, underneath the pews and probably some carpet. I now refer to the skating rink as the holy roller rink, even though it is no more.
My devotion brought me not to a church, but a parking lot. It must be devotion, because nothing else would have brought me out in the damp, windy, 40-degree weather. I'm still in Washington due to a family emergency and have to make do with practicing on my own. The parking lot is actually serving me quite well. I use the parking spaces to practice weaving. I have an imaginary track made up of random paint markings on the ground. I practiced going around and around as quickly as I could without falling over. I also found a straightaway bike path where I could work on speed as well as dodging debris left by the winds.
The frustration I had the other day is dissipating. I am pushing on. I had a better practice today. Even though I don't feel like I am mastering any specific skills, I do feel like I'm all-around more comfortable on skates. I'll get this eventually.
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