Skating

Last Sunday we went rollerblading, as always. It was warm but there was a bit of wind, and the path was virtually empty throughout the whole trip.

We parked at Toulon. We started slowly, pacing ourselves, chatting from time to time. Until the pain started, which, I know now, if you leave it for a few minutes, becomes numb again until you forget it was ever there. We paused after the first leg of the cycling path, stretching our legs. The sun burned marks of the straps of my shirt on my shoulders. He passed me the energy drink we had bought earlier at the gas station: a purely psychological drink. The sun started to get to us. I was panting like a fish œout of the water.

“You need a push? I can push you,” he asked. I shook my head. “No, I’ll try to find my pace, you find yours,” I said. We took turns taking the lead. We passed the second part of the path. “Uh-oh. Here’s the dreaded part,” he shouted. We slowly made our way uphill. It’s an uphill where you can only push as hard as you can, and feel like you’ve barely moved. We inched our way to the top. We knew it was a downhill afterwards.

Cruising downhill, we spread out our arms for a bit of air, ecstatic that the first hard part was over. Energized, we started talking again, skating side by side, holding hands sometimes.

“Do we go a bit farther than we usually go?” I asked. “No, let’s just do what we can do, no pressure,” he said. We stopped a lot during the third leg of the path, there were plenty of streets to cross.

The next path, I feel the need to describe it, is the most serene path of all: there are mountains all around, you pass by fields, there is a stretch of land that grows flowers, up the road there are donkeys. We moved to our own rhythm, lost in thought. My feet ached but then they’re supposed to ache. Afterwards I realised that he had pulled ahead, in a burst of adrenalin, and I couldn’t see him anymore. I made my way to our meeting place, the bus stop, and waited for him, dizzy under the heat of the sun. A few minutes later he joined me, apologizing for going too fast. I told him that it was ok, that I couldn’t catch up, that’s all, and that we should head back.

Every weekend, as often as we can, we skate about 25 kms. We enjoy the thrill of outdoing each other; we want to be the one to jeer at the other for being tired, for giving up. It’s all a game of bravado, a game that only people who like competition can enjoy. But this weekend something was different. We had gone too far, it was too warm, we were hungry, we were tired, and it was a long way back to Toulon. A few minutes into the return trip, I paused. “Christ,” I muttered, massaging my aching calves, “it’s too far.”

He stopped as well, panting hard, not saying anything at first until he finally admitted, “Yes, it seems really far to get back…”

“It’s going to take forever,” I moaned. Then: “Can I have the energy drink?” We brightened up as we drank our psychological drink. He said gently, “Let’s go, when you think about it, we’re almost there. There are a lot of downhills, starting here.”

Three-fourths into the journey the mood changed. “We’re almost there!” he cheered, from some dam of energy that had broken somewhere. “Stay close!” he shouted, then started moving faster. I tried to keep up, until I got my pace again, then it was sort of a race to the finish line, where we finally relaxed and started chatting again. We staggered back to the car, removed our blades, wobbled about comically and painfully on our feet, then drove off.

We ate a late lunch at 4 pm by the port of Hyères. We wolfed down our crepes like there was no tomorrow. Boats docked and others headed off towards open sea; people milled about, dogs were walked by their owners, children ate ice cream.

Rollerblading is a remarkable sport. There is so much time to think; too many things you remember, too many things you forget. Things are easier once you know the path, but still your legs ache, and still you get dizzy, and still you feel like giving up, even though you’ve been through it more than a dozen times already. Between fighting your way through the torturous uphills, and letting yourself go at the downhills, I try to keep the following things in mind: Go at your own pace. Find your rhythm. Take turns in taking the lead. Don’t always try to stick together. But stay close to each other. Don’t be scared to say you think you’re tired, because maybe the other is thinking the same thing… and the only thing needed to be able to make it to the end, together, is to admit it. And always have a psychological drink to keep you going, even if you think it is only overpriced water and lemon.

And this is how we spent our third year anniversary of being married.