Rental skates and poor decisions

Walking past the campus rink after my anatomy study session, Sarah grabbed my arm and pointed at the sign. ‘Two-dollar Thursday! Come on, when’s the last time you did something completely ridiculous?’ The old me would’ve rattled off fifteen reasons why ice skating was a terrible idea. No proper gear, haven’t skated since I was twelve, midterm tomorrow. But something about the way she bounced on her toes made me hear myself saying yes.

The prep talk before disaster

Turns out ice skating is like riding a bike, except the bike is trying to kill you and there’s nothing to hold onto. Sarah, who apparently grew up on frozen ponds in Minnesota, glided around like some sort of winter fairy while I clung to the wall like my life depended on it. Which it did.

Rental skates and poor decisions

Twenty minutes and three spectacular falls later, we called it quits. My jeans are soaked, my pride is bruised, and I’m pretty sure I pulled something in my left ankle. But walking back to the dorms, Sarah linked her arm through mine and said, ‘That was exactly what I needed.’ Funny thing is, she was right. Sometimes the best decisions are the ones that make absolutely no sense.