I lost my virginity on the ice and all I got was this swollen ankle!

(Note: the dates listed on all posts are inaccurate. My posts are in oldest to newest format for the purpose of story telling.)

A twenty-five year old ice-skating virgin, I decided it was my time to be de-flowered. After all, I had the right city and the right man. I moved to New York City about a year ago, and about three months ago, met my studsy boyfriend. No better time than now!

So on Saturday, December 13th around 4:30p.m., we ventured toward the rink. En route, I explained to my boyfriend, a former hockey player who had been skating since childhood, that because I was such a serious little ballerina for forever that I could never ice-skate in fear of falling, breaking something, and thus ruining my future career as prima diva ballerina of the New York City Ballet.

What I didn't tell him, but was equally true, was that I have also had a fear of looking the slightest bit of amateur at anything since I was a kid; your average neurotic, perfection seeking and otherwise mentally self-debilitating ballerina mmm hmmm. So not only was I susceptible to pulling a muscle or cracking my skull open (and let me tell you that a cracked skull and a tutu do not go well together), but there lied a possibility that I would just look like a complete inexperienced-ass on the ice. The last thing I ever wanted was to step on the ice and not look Nancy Kerrigan-like.

Now, however, I am a twenty five year old grown person and I have learned to embrace my imperfections. I put on the skates and stand up in the lounge area and walk back and forth a little bit while I wait for my boyfriend, Dan, to tie his apparently uncooperative skate strings. "Walking's not so hard," a proudly tell Dan while he fumbles with his laces.

We get on the ice and I start to get the hang of it. Dan is a great teacher and I'm actually having a bit of nervous fun. I'm not overly self-conscious, despite the small children skating circles around me and the cliques of teenage girls pointing and giggling (whatever; they were standing on the rail and not even skating). I fall a couple of times on my butt and laugh it off. Dan assures me that everyone falls their first time.

So far so good. The main bother was that some of the rink workers were being annoying, as they wouldn't let us stop and take a break at the rail even though my poor baby's feet were hurting and I needed to stop and breathe.

--Shameful when a yoga teacher holds her breath while doing anything. "Must inhale, exhale. Inhale, exhale."--

After our "achy foot slash oxygen break" is cut short by hateful ice police, we proceed back onto the ice. I'm doing so well that we start making circles toward the inner part of the rink, far away from the railing. I don't know exactly what happened but all of a sudden, "THUD!" Or it could have been "CRACK!" Or maybe even, "POP!" I don't know. All I know is that as I fell my right knee bent and rotated inward, and my outer right foot rolled flat against the ice with my heel pointing out in front of me and my toes pointing towards the mean ice police behind me; what a stretch! If you cannot picture this then just know that no human body, no not even a yoga teacher former ballerina body, should be contorted into this shape. The inflexible and hard ice skates did not aid in my fall either. As Dan reaches out his hand to lift me up I know I'm in trouble.

To be continued......