Ice Skating

I have never ice skated and anxiety is what has kept me from trying it as an adult. I officially have been put to shame. Mark took Nico skating for the first time today and it went a little something like this: he was like a duck in water; he had no problem walking in his skates and tried to run once he hit the ice; he almost immediately figured out how to glide; the faster Mark led him, the easier it was for him; and he especially liked hopping up and down on his skates. The great thing about living with young kids who have no fear is that they help you overcome yours.

UPDATE 02.12.12: I not only survived my first time ice skating, but I made that ice my bitch. Well, maybe I won't go that far, but I can say that I didn't fall once. I can't say the same for Mark. He fell just once, but he fell so hard it might as well count as ten falls. He was trying to do something he hadn't done in years (crossing one foot in front of the other, I think) and he went down head first. It would have been beautiful had it been home plate. And he would have been safe. The funniest part is that he had put his phone in his front pocket to protect it in case he fell. Because, you know, you expect to fall on your ass and not end up picking ice out of your teeth. He has a hideous black bruise on his upper thigh that is the outline of a perfect rectangle.