This morning, I saw an aerial shot of Columbus Circle, which reminded me of our first time living in Manhattan in the 1990s. In traffic, I used to roller skate from our West Side apartment in Hell’s Kitchen, weaving between cars and running red lights, all the way to Central Park, skate the entire big loop inside the park, and skate back home again. Cabbies would shout at me, bus passengers would try to distract me, and it didn’t matter. I changed lanes and shifted my position, and I felt a tremendous surge of delight every time I did this, even when it started to rain. Oh, and I often wore earbuds and listened to music.
Reflecting on these days, I wonder where I found that courage.
Well, for one thing, I was a lot younger, and my skates were old-school, heavier, and therefore slower. Before this, I had never broken one bone in my life. I grew up in Minnesota, and if you skip learning, for example, Winter sports like skating, sledding, skiing, and water skiing in the summertime, you will have fewer chances to grow muscles and courage. And yes, you could find me at one or more indoor roller gardens in the Twin Cities or suburbs. When I skated I always wore a helmet and knee pads, fingerless gloves in New York.
Nothing has changed: I have never broken a bone. (Knock on wood).
When we moved to Houston for graduate school, I brought my in-line skates, and I kept exercising, but when we found jobs and moved back to New York, one thing changed: the skates.
When I retired my old skates when I couldn’t find anyone who could repair them, we headed to a store in Manhattan, and the difference was noticeable. Skating around the store, with the salesperson asking, “How does that feel?” I told him I was nervous. He tried to show me how to brake, slow down or come to a full stop, but still, it didn’t seem like enough.
When we returned home, my husband was on the phone and, in less than half an hour, had found a dancer who was a skating tutor to meet us at the park skating area on the weekend.
On Saturday, Robert sat on a concrete security barrier, holding my sports shoes in case I preferred to walk home. The skating tutor was patient, and I kept traveling in circles, slowing down and speeding up, but mostly worrying about making an emergency stop if I had to.
We were surrounded by younger and more skilled skaters traveling at unimaginable speeds.
The story’s moral is that I quit skating shortly after that and sold my skates.
I think fondly back to the days when–early in the mornings, even before I went to school, or before work–I would pull on my skates and dash off without thinking about the consequences. But my new skates are twice as fast, and I can’t do this anymore. It felt right to quit.
I do a lot of other stuff now, and it takes courage, just a different kind of courage.
Here is a photo of my husband, Robert Vellani, and I when we made a stop in Ohio, on our way from New York to Houston, Texas, and graduate school at the University of Houston. I had finished my coursework at Hunter College in New York City, and would officially graduate with a BA in English that summer.
Enjoy this video:
Mary Louise Penaz 
Leave a comment