Chick Wit: Rolling Without Homies

You can't feel yourself grow up, but every so often something happens to show you a change has occurred. This is about one of those times.

I live near the Hudson River, a great place to go running, if you like that sort of thing. I don't. I make myself run to stay in shape, but I hate it. It was on a recent slog - I mean, jog - that I noticed people zipping by me on rollerblades. I loved rollerblading when I was a kid, but I thought the sport had gone extinct in the '90s. Now, seeing these people glide by with the wind in their hair, I felt jealous.

So I flirted with the idea of getting rollerblades but felt too self-conscious to actually do it. My indecision became a running joke between me and my boyfriend, and we were kidding about it at a party, when a tall, beautiful girl overheard us.

"Ohmigod, do people still rollerblade?" she asked, her glossed lips sneering.

"I know, I know," I said. "But, why not? They're a good workout, they seem fun, and even if they don't look cool, as a woman, don't you get tired of having to work it all the time?"

"I don't have to work it," she said, as to leave no doubt that I do. Meanwhile, she was wearing five-inch platform heels, a skintight dress, false lashes, and color contact lenses.

I guess irony didn't go with her outfit.

This mean-girl's input was just the push I needed. As soon as I got home that night, I went online and purchased a pair of in-line skates.

In the absence of courage, defiance will suffice.

My mother was supportive, provided that I purchase bubble-boy levels of protective gear. She encouraged me to join a club so I'd have people to skate with, but that seemed like a hassle. I e-mailed a few friends to persuade them to get rollerblades too, to no avail.

Still, I was giddy with anticipation. I tracked the delivery of my new toy from UPS Santa daily. When the skates arrived, I didn't care that I had yet to recruit a single friend; I went out on them that day.

I'm not going to lie, I sucked at first. My street runs downhill to a major road, so I clung to the fence of the neighboring buildings, feeling my way along the hedges and tree boxes. Waiting to cross the street, I held onto streetlights and stop signs like my life depended on it - because it did. And more than once I willfully wiped out to avoid rolling into oncoming traffic.

But soon I got the hang of it, and it was a blast. I saw the sun shimmering over the Hudson, I found the best view of the Statue of Liberty, and I even got some tips from the expert trick-skaters who hang out in Battery Park.

And the few times I did fall, there was always a handsome runner to make sure I was OK. Is this what they mean by a "runner's high?"

Coming home from my solo ride, I ran - or rolled - into one of my neighbors, a young woman whom I recognized but hadn't met. Turned out she had a pair of rollerblades in her closet, and within minutes we made plans to go out together later that week. She's since become a new friend.

Yay!

If my other pals had been reluctant before, my newfound enthusiasm convinced them to go ahead and get skates of their own, marking my first time as a trendsetter.

Who knew?

And although I'm happy to have company, I'm even happier to find that I can enjoy something alone. I surprised myself to learn that I didn't need any validation to try something new, even something I wasn't particularly good at. Being alone is a skill. Having fun alone is empowering.

After all, a grown woman doesn't need anyone's approval to have fun like a kid.