My Many Mishaps

Rollerblading to get ripped

Picture a cheesestick wearing flight goggles. Now add shoelaces on the sides and bottom, and a poorly-taped raccoon to the top.

That would be a perfect example of middle school me.

It was back in sixth grade, during spring break. Spring break only meant one thing to me: Rollerblading.

I loved rollerblading. The sun on my face, the wind gently caressing my legs through the holes in my jeans, aah, nothing like it.

It was on this day during Spring Break that my ex-friend Gentry called me and asked if I wanted to grab my blades and head to the tennis courts. The tennis courts were about a block from my house, and had been freshly replaced the fall before. It was practically like sliding around on wet glass in socks. Wet glass with massive poles, chainlink, and nets.

Gentry considered herself a pro skater, ready to take on the big boys in the X-Games. I was pretty good, but lacked the confidence she had, not just in blading but everything in general.

We walked to the tennis courts and I sat down, putting on my rollerblades and wrist guards. As I was in the middle of tightening my left wrist's armor, I noticed Gentry was gone. I started getting worried, because there had been old ghost stories of strange undead teachers carrying off children and eating them in the science lab.

I know it's ridiculous, and it was just a story told by high schoolers to freak us little kids out, but I was not taking any chances.

I scuffed my way through the grass onto the court, and started calling Gentry's name. (I also kept an eye out for any undead teachers.) Court after court I searched but didn't see her.

After 15 minutes, I was ready to give up. Until I heard a loud rustling in the bushes.

I bolted.

I was almost to the last court, ready to rip off my skates and run back home, when a bloodcurdling scream struck my eardrums. I thought I was a dead man.

Until I saw Gentry holding her flip-phone recording me. Laughing.

It took me a second to get what was going on. But when I realized that Gentry had been hiding in the bushes, recording my freakout, I was ticked.

I started chewing her out, still skating, looking right into her phone camera. Looking back on it, I should stopped moving before I yelled at her. She had ever-so-strategically placed a stick in front of the tennis net.

I was so focused on her, that I didn't even notice the stick halting my left wheels and hurling me right into the net.

Ow.

Of course I smash right into the net. It caught me right in the abdomen too. Thankfully my plastic wrist-chainmail took the blow when I hit the ground. Nothing to bad on my arms and face. My ankle was a bit sore though. And by sore, I mean that it felt like it was stuck in a bear trap. I'd have to get up to see what was wrong, blah, blah.

But when I tried to get up.. My shirt got stuck. It was at this moment that a group of very popular kids sat down at a picnic table, took out their phones, and started recording me too.

My shirt was stuck, I was bruising already, and was about ready to cry. Especially when Gentry finally stopped laughing, and tried to help me. Let's just say my bright pink training bra was for all to see.

The entire front of my shirt was ripped off, and was still hanging on the net. I was seriously wearing the sleeves and back of my shirt, with the front missing in action.

Guess who was tagged in a video MANY times on Facebook over break.

Everyone in school saw it, some teachers included, (one teacher liked and shared it!) and I was mortified.

But also a little proud.

That video got 429 likes and 86 shares.. Not to shabby, at all. I was even a little sad when the kid's mom made him take it down. Back then, in my mind, I was a star that day. The day I wiped out was the day I discovered fame.

I also discovered crutches...