Yesterday, Karen and I went to an ice skating rink. It was the first time in 24 years that I'd had ice skates on, and a similar span for Karen (and it was her first time in a rink, to boot).

To our credit, neither one of us fell down — though I came close when a delightful young urchin skated right into me — but we were both rather awkward at first. The old muscle memory came back pretty quickly for me, but Karen complained that her center of gravity had shifted forwards a bit since she was a child. I certainly don't see that as a bad thing...

There was a movie a while back in which a hockey player, no longer able to play professionally due to an eye injury, teams up with a spoiled-brat figure skater to go to the Olympics. He had all sorts of trouble making the transition from hockey skates to figure skates ("Toe pick!" his partner would call out derisively every time he tripped). I had the opposite experience; it was my first time in hockey skates, and I kept trying to use the (nonexistent) toe pick to alter my velocity. But at least I didn't trip.

For the first time since I moved to Florida, it actually felt like winter. Of course, we left the skating rink to a lovely Florida winter day, with bright sunshine and temperatures in the seventies. Maybe if I thought of it in centigrade, it would feel colder ("Oh, look, it's down to 23!").

I had expected my ankles to be killing me today, but they're not so bad. It's my knees and calves that are feeling the results of unfamiliar motion.