I am home tonight with ice packs (ok, bags of frozen spinach and edamame) on my knees. But, really, I could not be in a happier mood.

Craig and his two wonderful sons (the math maven, soon-to-be chef - or lead guitarist - is the spectacle-wearing one and the sweet as sugar, soon-to-be drummer - or zookeeper -  is the soccerball-covered one) taught me how to ice skate today.

When I say they taught me how to ice skate, I mean: SERIOUSLY, I can ice skate. It’s amazing. I’m definitely someone who is on the ‘fraidy-cat end of the try-new-things bravery spectrum. I never really learned how to roller skate, had a traumatic one-try attempt at rollerblading (that ended in me walking home in my socks), and had never even laced up an ice skate before. So, I assumed the first go would be - at best - hugging the wall and - at worst - very wet and painful. I was planning for how to get to work with a broken ankle on the way up there.

But Craig and his oldest are fantastic teachers. In two hours of skating I only fell five times. Of course, two of them were pretty dramatic, but still, nothing is broken and I got right back up again. I was zooming around the rink almost as fast as they were (although, really, I noticed that they weren’t wobbling back and forth so much or squelling quite so regularly). Nonetheless, it was a total success.

There’s something so thrilling about trying something you would never picture yourself doing and having it actually work out. Next up: snowboarding. (Seriously.)

For now, I will be satisfied with replacing the wallflower roller skating rink pictures of me in my mind with the super speedy ice skater ones. Weeeeeeee, people, weeeeee!