[follow_me]
Well, true to my word, I am taking rollerblading seriously. Tonight I rolled into the greenway, took a secret right turn, then headed for hell . . . or as we affectionately call it, the Energy Lab.
What happens to my body and mind on skates is truly amazing. Thirteen miles of muscles, neurons, and emotions firing on the right cylinders.
It also takes me back to a crazy little stretch during college.
————————-
During a semester off from school I wound up driving Zamboni at my hometown hockey rink. Resurfacing ice may seem glamorous, but it’s a tricky art, especially with drunk parents booing you from the stands.
My nights were complete when I’d lock the door behind the last screaming kid. I was alone in an adult playground and would eagerly turn off all the lights, except those over the rink.
With the Zamboni safely parked in the garage, I’d lace my skates, then take my one-man-game to the ice. I wasn’t a great skater, but had no problem thinking I was Wayne Gretzky lifting a crafty wrist shot into the net while no one watched.
After three months I became a decent skater and as luck would have it, my first night back at college led me to a party hosted by the UW-Lacrosse hockey team. They were actually more of a “club” that lost a bunch of guys to graduation, leaving 6 openings on the squad. I bravely (and a bit stupidly) accepted their offer to come to practice.
Now, I could skate “ok” but this was Wisconsin, and club or not, it was not high school. Despite the fact I never played before, I was now on a college hockey team.
We practiced for two weeks before traveling north for my first game. River Falls was the defending Division 3 National Champion and about 75% of their roster was from Canada. I had no idea what I was in for.
On the positive side, I was on the fourth line, so it was highly unlikely I would play in this game. On the negative side, we didn’t have a team bus and one of the carloads was full of pot heads who got lost on the way to the game. Suddenly I was on the third line, with zero experience, and poised to face a bunch of Canadian savants.
So the game starts and I’m sitting on a hockey bench for the first time in my life. It was very exciting, but I knew nothing about the sport. I didn’t know the rules, and I certainly didn’t know anything about shift changes.
About 5 minutes into the game I’m leaning over the wall, slapping my stick against the boards, and watching in awe. That’s when one of my greatest sports flops took off in technicolor.
The second-line wing came skating toward the bench shouting, “Right wing, right wing!”
I was screaming back at him, “Yeah! Nice job man! Way to go! You rock!”
Then, with unbelievable aggression, he leaped over the short wall and landed on the floor next to me. I looked at him like “what the f*k are you doing?”
A teammate grabbed my jersey while screaming, “That’s you, Mike! Get out there!” Then he threw me over the boards.
The adrenaline shot to my heart, my head, then my legs as I scrambled to my feet. Big, huge, fast guys flying around me and I felt like a teddy bear in a tornado.
River Falls was already winning 2-0 and for good measure running the Russian Weave offense. Your favorite Zamboni driver was spinning like a top and couldn’t catch up with anything. I was supposed to be an offensive player, but wasn’t fast enough to get into the zone. I spent two minutes skating back and forth between the blue lines, which is the equivalent of not going down to play offense (or defense) in basketball.
I had no clue when I should go back to the bench. Just as I decided it was time, the puck flopped in my direction and a 6″4” 225 pound opponent coming right at me. Instead of simply skating around me, he reared back and unloaded a deafening slap shot that drilled me in the right shin.
I hobbled to the sidelines and considered sneaking to the locker room. I was a wounded soldier lying on the cold wooden floor. I was dazed, confused and swore . . . I could smell weed. Sure enough, I looked up to the most comforting of sights. The third line had found the rink.
————————–
After seven more games, and numerous embarrassing moments, I was actually decent enough to get off a few shots and have loved skating ever since.
Tonight was filled with easy gliding mixed with intense mile intervals. What amazed me most was how fast skating at 5 minute pace seems and putting that in perspective with world class marathoners. It’s really kind of stupid.
I pushed it pretty hard for a few of the miles and couldn’t get below a 4:20 mile. I honestly can’t believe people run a mile faster. All told I skated about 13 miles in an hour and five minutes, and yes, people run that pace for a half.
Just out of curiosity, I looked up rollerblading vs. running and while running burns more calories, skating faster can definitely put you in the ballpark. This from Livestrong:
Calories Burned Rollerblading
Rollerblading for one hour at 10 miles per hour will burn about 528 calories for a 150-lb. person. Jogging for the same amount of time burns approximately 192 additional calories. Even though rollerbladers typically move faster than joggers, they’re gliding rather than jumping, making the exercise more efficient for the body, and thus burning fewer calories.
Rollerblading definitely gets a bad rap, like on this thread on bodybuilder.com, but I think it stems from that “no pain no gain” mantra that, frankly, I have outgrown. I have two major goals with my training right now:
1. Be holistically in tune with my body so I enhance all aspects of my life.
2. Train efficiently, and effectively so I can hit my expectations at Ironman Louisville
I am convinced rollerblading will play a large part in both. And, if it only helps me hit the first one, I’m cool with that, too.
