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Editorial Note: This article originally appeared in The Weekly Choice on December 16, 2004.
…and so there I was, being whipped around the rink much a kin to Oscar the Grouch during the opening scenes of Christmas Eve on Sesame Street, and for those of you who haven’t seen said holiday special just yet, allow me to summarize by stating that in the end, Oscar ends up in a pile of, well, his own garbage and although the movie didn’t come right out and say it, it’s obvious that that was one Grouch who experienced severe lower-back pain for many weeks to come. If you ask me, Oscar got off easy!
As many of you can surely relate, it’s very easy for us to get suckered into doing things that we might not otherwise normally do during the holiday season, whether it be line dancing or caroling or even skinny-dipping in Otsego Lake in December – there’s just something about this time of year that tricks our minds into making such rash, and typically insane decisions. I personally blame the sub-zero temperatures and the abundance of eggnog found in my refrigerator for such blunders, including the tale depicted here, but just for the record, the presence of quality, Jamaican rum should not be allowed to override the thought process when determining whether or not it would be wise to participate in activities of this nature…
…on the other hand, the fact that it was about two degrees outside should’ve chimed in loud and clear, but that’s a story for another day!
Anyways, back to our little skating menagerie – there’s something to be said about the subtle art of persuasion because although I’m pretty much about as athletically-inclined as your average stick, it was apparently of little difficulty for some friends of mine to convince me that one otherwise stupendous winter’s evening would otherwise go incomplete without including a stint of ice skating on the agenda. Never you mind that I’d only ever been skating twice in my lifetime and both of those attempts maybe totaled five minutes – tops – and possibly even less because I’m not so sure that you can really count the time spent sprawled out in the middle of the ice in defeat! Nope, the group was going skating and that was that. Looking back, I probably should’ve consulted my lawyer and prepared a will ahead of time!
Then again, looking back it also should’ve triggered something in my mind when right off the bat, these guys and girls wanted to start up a game of Crack the Whip, but apparently my mind was already occupied with simply getting my body out onto the ice in the first place! For those unfamiliar with this modern-day form of torture, Crack the Whip is a game in which a line of skaters whizzes around the ice lead by the person at the head of the line, with the overall goal of tossing the person at the end of the line if he or she is unable to hold on. Sounds simple enough and by now I would assume that you should be able to visualize the amount of pain brought to the “whipee” as they’re released from the line and jettisoned into a nearby wall…but that’s not my story, friends! You see, I’d have been more than happy to be released from that speeding freight train and sent to my collision of an end, however it seems that my “friends” didn’t believe that to be an appropriate demise just yet…
So instead I found myself trapped smack dab in the middle of the line – between two of the best skaters to ever grace that chunk of ice – and for the following forty-five minutes, my body was pushed and pulled every which way this side of a mosh pit! I could do little except watch the back of the line in envy as my other friends held on for dear life, and then eventually lost grip and floated away – as the time passed us by, I yearned for any event that might end this diabolical train, whether it called for a power outage or a runaway Zamboni or even a late-night hotdog sale at the concession stand – anything to end the madness, I tell you! But alas, only time would bring an end to that particular evening and although it did finally come, I found myself constantly reminded of the events that had unfolded that Christmas Eve for an additional several weeks – eventually my sore and embarrassingly weak muscles did mend, however I will never forget the lessons learned that evening:
· Never let your friends pressure you into doing anything, especially when there’s physical activity involved, and even more especially when there won’t be a licensed physician on duty to mend to your wounds.
· If at all possible, make it a point to get some practice in at whatever you and your friends may be doing later on that evening by yourself ahead of time. If you’re a quick learner, it’ll make the night so much easier, and if not, you’ll know when to mysteriously skip out to avoid incident!
· And if nothing else, Christmas Eve isn’t really intended for doing things outside of the household anyways! If we don’t get that milk and cookies out and hit the hay good and early, do we really want to be the ones held accountable for the consequences??? I think not!
Happy holidays from my sore and aching bones to yours, and may all of your Christmases be safe and without irony!
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