When The Time Is Right

It doesn’t bother me that I don’t know how to ski or snowboard. I’m much happier drinking hot chocolate and reading a book by a fire, but the fact that I had never strapped on a pair of ice skates was a disappointment. So when I saw an advertisement for ice skating lessons, in my effort to add more fun into my life, I signed up. I knew it wouldn’t be easy as I pictured the muscle aches of a good workout and an embarrassingly ungraceful first few sessions of sliding around the ice, but I was excited.
What I didn’t picture, and didn’t allow myself to think about, was the possibility that even though my mind wanted to, my body wasn’t up for it. As soon as I hit the ice my body tensed up and started jerking around. I attempted to relax, to bend my knees and get a sense of balance but I could barely remain standing. I tried talking my body into confidence by reminding it that I used to dance for years and have an innate sense of movement and balance. My body didn’t listen to my pep talk and refused to unlock. I pushed forward, determined not to give up. Yet I was unable to let go of the side or of the instructor without falling, and when I came off the ice my vision blurred with the start of a migraine that kept me awake for the rest of the night.
I was furious the next morning. My body had failed me when all I was trying to do was have a little fun, and as is the case whenever a migraine hits, I was nauseous for the rest of the week. Every time I got queasy I became more frustrated and more intent on conquering my body and learning to ice skate.
On the day of the next class, though, I felt good. I was, while not exactly confident, more prepared for the class ahead. Unfortunately, I never made it. One silly misstep at work, a stumble that throws you off balance but not onto the floor, and I pulled my ankle. I felt more embarrassment than pain as I did that move where you look back at the rug accusatorily, as if it had somehow jumped up and tripped me. I thought nothing of my ankle; the quick shot of pain disappeared as I walked back to my desk. After an hour of sitting, the next time I stood I could barely limp to the water cooler. The pain grew worse the longer I walked and by the time I made it home that night I could barely stand, leastwise skate.
Even now, nearly a week later, I’m still limping a bit – which is actually a good thing. It’s only as I limped around cursing my bad luck that I realized that maybe it wasn’t bad luck at all, but a warning. I would be in a cast now if I had pulled the graceful move I had at work on the ice. As my doctor tried to tell me, someone who hasn’t had adequate nutrition for the last decade shouldn’t be putting her weakened bones at risk of a serious fall. At the time she was referring to extreme sports – which, now that you know I can’t even ice skate, I’m sure you realize doesn’t exactly apply. But, in this case, I’m sure ice skating counts.
It’s not an easy thing to accept. After a year of all the restrictions that having Celiac Disease entails, the last thing I want is to be even more restrained. It beats the confinement of a cast though, and as I drink my calcium enriched hot chocolate and read Emma Donoghue’s excellent Room instead of strapping on skates, I’m reminded that everything is a process and I’ll break out eventually. Maybe I’ll even glide out, when the time is right.