The story of my failed attempt at curling when I came, I saw, and was most assuredly conquered.
For thirteen years of my life I played hockey and really enjoyed it. Defence, of course, because defence rocks and I was a badass. No, not really. I was a scrawny geek at the time. Apparently some things never change, as I’m still a geek. The only scrawny parts of me now are my chicken legs, so that’s just super. I also had my flings with baseball, swimming, karate, and golf, but apart from karate none of them ever stuck. We especially won’t discuss that last one, as I’d rather be back in high school with someone trying to stuff me in a locker; it’s far less fucking embarrassing than my flailing about on a golf course. After all my forays in the sports world back then, I realized in my heart of hearts I was a hockey player.
Therefore, it should come as no surprise that another sport I forever wanted to try was curling. As a hockey player who was also a really good skater with great balance, I always figured it should be a walk in the proverbial ice rink for me. So a couple of years ago before the shit hit the fan, I attempted to fulfill this longstanding dream of mine and signed up for lessons. I was so excited, and with my past experience as well as watching it on TV I figured, “How much harder than hockey could this really be?” Spoiler alert: a fucking lot. Little did I know it would be a combination of the hair-pulling frustration of golf with no beer cart to drown my sorrows, and a whole lot of pain.
Some personal notes I very quickly learned about curling:
- The bigger they are, definitely the harder they fall.
- Ice + no padding = see rule #1.
- This isn’t skating, it’s sliding you dumbass.
- Having core body strength that’s apparently akin to a Raggedy Andy doll is not conducive to doing, well, anything in curling.
- For fuck sakes, I should’ve tried golfing again…
- Interesting, my knees sound like Rice Krispies every time I lunge.
- Perhaps this would be easier if I wasn’t tall?
- Those assholes on TV make this look so easy.
- See rule #1.
- I need a fuckin’ beer.
- None of this was in the brochure.
- Yep, rule #1 again.
I should clarify, these revelations all came within about the first fifteen to twenty minutes of trying this lifelong “dream”, which from the perspective of an onlooker likely resembled an elephant on a oil slick trying to run away from a mouse. I’ve had nightmares that were less embarrassing and disappointing than curling had become for me, so this dream was quickly looking like a bust. In my defence, I wasn’t — and am still not — in good shape when I attempted this, but my belief that this would be a “low impact” hobby was probably not my brightest moment.
By the end of my lesson, which was not the actual end of the lesson itself, I was literally hobbling away with my tail tucked between my legs as one of those legs had a pulled quad. Ironically, said leg was my right one, painfully reminding me every time I had to flex my foot to drive the car home in shame, to smack myself awake the next time I think of trying something because “it looks easy.”
I mean really, jumping out of a plane looks easy, but that’s only in so far as being able to jump successfully, which I know I’m capable of. The rest of the free-fall doom flight downward is much more difficult amongst not passing out from terror, puking backwards into my own face, clenching every muscle in my body (including my tongue) in the desperate attempt not to soil myself, and avoiding contorting and writhing my body into a Top Gun-style flat spin. Oh yeah, and the whole hoping on that parachute thing saving my sorry ass. Mind: looks easy. Reality: Ah, ground.
You know what the icing on this Advil flavoured pain cake was? I didn’t even get to yell at people like the curlers on TV do.
Time to learn piano, that’s easy right?
Posted in #SeptemberScrawls - Day 23