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Living the Life of Holly
By Holly Winter
© 2005
Hardly Working to Fly

“Can you do it?” I asked, seductively. I know. It’s hard to act seductive when you’re living with the fear of the negative answer.

“No. Sorry. I don’t think my manager would let me.” He backed up slowly.

“Please? Please? If you’re worried about the liability…”

“Yeah… I think that’s what they’re worried about.”

“Look. It would be so much safer if you did it. I promise. If I did it I’d kill myself and take a large number of others down with me.” I tried to look helpless. “Why don’t you point me out to your manager. Tell him I said PLEASE really nicely.”

He laughed. “Ok. I’ll try.”

He picked up my heavy rollerblades and went on a manager search . According to Wiz-kid I needed new bearings and wheels. I didn’t care what I had to buy. I bladed up to ten miles a day. It was how I kept my sanity. I just wanted them to work, again. I missed flying along the bike path.

The manager approached. “Where’d you buy these?”

“Here.” I smiled. “About eight years ago.”

Manager nodded his head. “And how long have these wheels been on?”

“About eight years now.”

He shook his head. “You claim to blade up to seventy miles a week? No way. These can’t be the same wheels.”

“I guess the wheels don’t wear out much as people think they should.”

“Ok. We’ll change them. But it’s going to take a while. The screws are all wedged closed with caked mud.” He spun the wheels so we could all hear the grinding sound of worn out bearings rubbing against the wheel. “You don’t clean these very often, do you?”

“Um. Clean them?”

He shook his head. “How often do you rotate the wheels?”

I laughed. “Are you kidding?”

“But you DO adjust the screws. You DO tighten them, right?”

I stared blankly at him. Maybe I should go somewhere else. He clearly didn’t know a thing about roller blades. Blades need nothing but some pavement, a nice day, and a bit of speed.

Wiz-kid went through the door marked ‘Employees Only’ and got to work. He came out from time to time, letting me know he wasn’t on break. That the wheels were all wedged on, and he was having quite a time of it.

Yeah. I know. He could complain all he wanted; at least I didn’t have to flag down cars on the highway to find a roller blade mechanic.

As soon as I was gifted with the fix, I zoomed over to the park. How much smoother would my ride be without the constant grinding coming from worn out bearings? It was sixty-five degrees and sunny; a perfect day to work out.

As soon as my keys were looped through the laces, I tightened the straps until I was secured in comfort, then stood tentatively. Um. Would new bearings make me taller? Did they sell me the wrong wheels? I felt three feet taller than I had yesterday when I bladed. Maybe I should have asked more questions before I let them change the wheels. What if I got the wrong size? Were they on tight enough?

It was difficult letting go of my car. Surely I could handle a different feel. I started rolling my feet but the wheels were going too fast and I became a human windmill as I worked to stay upright. Um. Wasn’t this a little fast?

I made the first turn without falling. The wheels were spinning with almost no effort. This wasn’t right. I stopped waving my arms and finally found my groove. Um. Three times as fast as before. I was sailing along three times as fast, and still using only minimal effort.

Actually, maybe this wasn’t so bad. Hardly working to fly. Nice. Really nice. I relaxed into speed. Could working out really be this easy?

Heck with ten miles. Twelve will be easy today.

Wanna try another column? How about #216: What's Wrong with Her? which is about getting sick on a date.

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