Datebook: Monday, January 21st ~ 2008

Today we had a “light dusting”. At home, this means it will snow, but it won’t really stick. Apparently in the Twin Cities this means how my sister salts French fries—a complete covering until the original surface is concealed. The difference is here you then deep freeze it to make it interesting.

This wouldn’t normally bother me, since we are shuttled from the hotel to the arena, and since I found my way through the skywalks that also go underground into tunnels which I assume are like Meercat Manor, as we keep popping up at various locations around the city. No, a light dusting wouldn’t bother me except my coach decided to get ice time at another rink at 10:30 tonight. This is 30 minutes from the hotel, on ice-crusted roads that I do not know, in a rental car I don’t know, and he asked me to drive the kids and a coach there.

I’m not sure how I won this duty—I am a skating parent and therefore I guess on the surface I have lost all signs of rational judgment. I suppose he has heard the rumors that I was a police officer for fifteen years, but I worked undercover and my street ID was a woman afraid to drive in bad weather—this was pretty effective because I didn’t have to put much into the act. In my real life at home I own a SUV and an all wheel drive vehicle so why would I enlist being the chauffeur of a Dodge minivan on what looks like a luge track instead of an interstate highway?

And this on top of a day of intense competition.

And while it is true I did not compete, I never-the-less felt each step of that waltz. Even if it didn’t really help, I mentally pushed through every loop to keep that pattern tight. I was a bit out of breath when it was over and felt a slightly light-headed. Thankfully Joan Branella offered a smelling salts of sorts—the promise of fine coffee-- so I didn’t have to pull out my inhaler.

So I am sitting here with the age-old question that all skating parents ask at one time or another. Is it ever possible to just say “no” in ice skating, or in all things ice-skating related? I know I opened my mouth to say “No, that just doesn’t make sense” but something else comes out instead—like some ice skating muse is lip-synching for me, echoes of Ashley Simpson.

I know I should just “waltz” over to our coach and say, “No, I’m not driving that mobile bobsled on ice covered roads that I don’t know”.

But I’m afraid I will open my mouth and actually volunteer to take a bevy of other skaters for an even later session.

Maybe I’ll just text message him, or send a balloon-a-gram.

Mombo