Image via Wikipedia
I did something I was afraid I would no longer be able to do today. The last time I went, it caused so much pain that it’s been two-and-a-half years since I tried it.
Ice skating.
As a child, my parents would have to pull me off the rink to get me to stop. I could skate forwards and backwards, execute skate-over-skate turns and loved being the end of the whip. I loved the schink-schink of freshly sharpened skates on smooth ice, having to skate fast enough to keep warm on outdoor rinks and getting hot cocoa afterward. I loved going to Play It Again Sports each year to pick out new skates. I loved everything about ice skating.
Last time I went (before today), I was hoping to recapture those same feelings, to feel like a kid again, if only for a few moments.
But it was not to be.
It was excruciatingly painful, and after just a few minutes, I was done with skating, though I fought through it as best I could for awhile, trying to allow those who were with me to enjoy themselves.
Today, skating still hurt, but instead of being frustrated that I couldn’t skate for hours on end as I could when I was six or eight, I tried accepting my limitations, resting when my feet hurt and skating when they didn’t. And while I’m nowhere near as graceful or steady on skates as I once was, I can still glide across the ice. I can still enjoy skating.
So, that’s one thing I got to take back from this psoriatic arthritis. And it felt pretty awesome.
