Blades of the Glorious Past

Though I think California may have picked it up back in the 80s, rollerblading screams 90s to me. I have this distinct memory: summertime, I was about eleven, blading around the cul-de-sac of my suburban neighborhood with the girl next door, peforming (for who, I don't know) some kind of choreographed dance to Hootie and the Blowfish's "Hold My Hand" and "Only Wanna be with You." Dance might be an overstatement; I'm pretty sure we were just blading at various tempos and with assorted arm gestures around and around the circle. 

I relived that simple pleasure today. 

This afternoon, in a vacant church parking lot a couple of blocks from my apartment, I re-taught myself the art of blading. Armed with the pair of second hand skates I bought yesterday at Play it Again Sports (an underrated resource if you ask me) and some wrist guards, I laced up and shoved off. A little wobbly for the first few minutes, I quickly reclaimed this talent of my pre-teen years. Though my motives for this pastime have shifted somewhat--from a means of combating the summer doldrums through interpretive dance on wheels, to a low impact form of exercise, and quite possibly cheap means of transportation--I was pleased to find it just as enjoyable now as it was back then. And aren't I lucky, blading doesn't seem to carry the same stigma in Chicago that it does in other metropolitan areas. It's alive and well on the lake path, and that's where I'm rolling tomorrow.