Larocque and Roll

This is how I knew it was Monday December 21, 2004

When I was in grad school, I would gauge how bad my day was going to be by how early in the morning I started drinking Coke. (I had a similar gauge when I worked at the public library - how insane the day was going to be by how early I was sent to Tim Horton’s for the coffee run. Anytime before we opened was not a good sign.)

Yesterday, I should have started drinking Coke as soon as I got up.

I’d only had three hours sleep. My bad - Karen and I started watching Jersey Girl at around 10:40, and it was going to be late when we finished. Knew that, wanted to watch anyways, and then ended up talking for another two hours after the movie ended. So, right off the bat, I was tired. Not sleepy-tired, but hideously giddy-tired. Giggling maniacally, I got ready for work.

Now, Saturday night when I got home from church, it wasn’t that bad weather-wise - the temp hovered around -10 or so. Over the next three hours, the temp dropped 20 degrees, and the wind picked up. I didn’t plug my car in because I wasn’t going anywhere Sunday, but I did run down Sunday afternoon to plug it in. Did you know it takes less than 10 seconds for your nostril hair to freeze when the temp with the windchill is -46 degrees? I know that now.

Knowing that it was bloody—-ing cold*, I made sure I got down to my car good and early. Went to the driver side door, and it wouldn’t open - terrific, it’s frozen shut. Again. The passenger side door did open, and after unplugging the car, I started it. The car made an awful noise, started, and continued to make funny noises. I walked around the car to try and open the door again, and noticed this black soot-like stuff under my exhaust pipe. Uh-oh - soooo not good.

It turns out that none of the outlets on that side of the parking lot were working, so although I plugged in the block heater, nothing happened. Fabulous. I ended up calling a cab and being 45 minutes late for work.

Karen was home sick, so in my giddy state, I started prank calling her and leaving messages on her answering machine that consisted of lines from movies we’d seen recently. Such as, “You dress in the manner of a male prostitute!”, “Of course, it doesn’t have the long-range capabilities of, say, a sword…”, and “Am I to understand that you have inserted your father’s skull in that ball for bowling?” “No, the guy at the pro shop did that.”

Someone offered me a ride home, but that fell through. Fortunately, I was able to get a ride home with someone else. By the time I got home, the outlets were working again, but I still couldn’t get the door open.

(An example of how cold it was: when the door wouldn’t open, I tried pouring a little bit of water around the frame to try and melt the ice some. For everyone who is cringing and hollering, “NO!” let me assure you that I know better than to do that now. By the time I put the lid back on the bottle and put it down on the hood of the car, the water around the door had frozen. Solid.)

Karen was able to pick me up for dinner at her parents and then curling, where we had the late start time. At one point, I was throwing a take-out rock*** and slipped at the last second. I almost took out the team on the sheet beside us. We were so thoroughly trounced that we just called the game after the sixth end. The scoreboard only goes up to 15, after all.

(And, can I say that I seem to be turning into a curler? Last night I realized that I was yelling at my rocks when they weren’t curling properly. “CURL! DAMNNIT! CURL! NOW! NOW! NOT THAT WAY!” Hence, the cursing and swearing.)

Then, I didn’t get home until after 11, at which point I thought I’d read a chapter of my book. At 12:30 I looked up and said, “Huh. It’s past my bedtime now.”

I’m more tired today, so at least I’m not giddy. And no Coke or cola products were consumed before 8am - a hopeful sign.

(And my car door opened this morning. Yay!)

* I’m disguising the fact that I used a Bad Word because my mother’s going to read this. Hi Mom!**
** It’s a good thing she wasn’t at curling last night - I used a couple of words that didn’t have asterisks in them.
***Throwing the stone fast and heavy - you want to knock the opponent’s rock right out of the rings.

Word count confessions November 16, 2004

Last night after curling, I semi-hysterically admitted to Karen that I wasn’t doing so well with my NaNoWriMo word count (as of 11pm last night - 6754 words). As of yesterday, I should have 25,000 words. Yikes.

(I also should note that I did not slip and fall at all last night. However, our team - who were all there - was most profoundly and thoroughly beaten. Embarassingly so. I won’t even admit the score, except to say that we inquired about the “mercy” rule after the 6th of 8 ends.)

We’ve got a curler down! November 9, 2004

Last night was the second time I’ve fallen so spectaularily at curling that teams on the sheets on either side of us stop and come over to make sure I’m okay. Thank God for all my extra padding!

Last week, we finally met the two people who would be mine and Karen’s new teammates (more on that later). The new guy and I were sweeping for all we were worth, and we’d just crossed the hog line. I glanced up to see where the other rocks were so I wouldn’t trip over them (because I’d totally do something like that). I felt my left heel slip out from under me and I went flying, landing flat on my back and knocking my hat off. From everyone else’s perspective, it looked like I either landed on the rock or hit my head on it. At any rate, I just lay there for a few minutes, collecting my wits, while several people came running over. I was fine - merely embarassed.

However, last night’s fall was worse from my perspective. Our new new team’s sub and I were sweeping and were about to cross the hog line. I could feel my feet slipping, but I didn’t want to stop because the rock needed all the help it could get. I think I said “I’m slipping!” and went flying; this time, I landed square on my tailbone. Unlike last time, I tried to get up right away, but the skip on the team on the sheet next to us came running (okay, slidding) over, and started hollering “Don’t get up if you’re dizzy!”

Okay, I admit that I can be klutzy and clueless at times, but I don’t think that was the dizzy he meant. I was halfway up and stopped because my lower back was starting to get painful in a bad way, and things were still swimming. I didn’t hit my head, but I think I have a minor case of whiplash (it still hurts a bit). I took a few deep breaths, and sat out the rest of the end.

Today, my tailbone hurts in the way that anything that gets bruised will, but the rest of my back isn’t sore. Had I fallen on my hip, or even hit my tailbone slightly to the right of where I hit it, they would have had to take me out on a stretcher. I have a trick back - old fencing injury.

There’s a “fun”spiel on Sunday, and I’m on a team with Karen, her dad, and her brother. I may invest in hobnail boots before then just in case.

(The ongoing saga of mine and Karen’s lack of teammates. It was expected at the beginning of the season that there would be others signing up for the rec league without a team, so we’d round out our team that way. As it worked out, there were enough people for seventeen full teams and one half team - Karen and I. For the first two weeks, our empty slots were filled in by a series of “Special Guest Stars”, such as Karen’s dad, her brother, and another floater.

Last week, we were told that the organizers had finally found another couple for us to round out our team. They played one game with us, and asked to be switched to another team. Mind you, it wasn’t because Karen and I suck, but because they were in their late fifties, and wanted another couple instead of a couple of hot chicks to curl with. Ha ha. As it happened, another team had lost two of their team, so the two couples now curl together. And Karen and I were still without a team.

The team we played against had a sub, and he said that he and his friend could play with us for the last three weeks. Great. Terrific. At least, for the last three weeks, we’d have some consistency.

Last night? Buddy threw his shoulder out and couldn’t curl. His friend did come out, and did curl with us. And our “Special Guest Star” slot was filled by one of the other guys on the team we curled against last week. And we did the best we’ve done so far - it was another team of people who were all roughly the same age as us, and at roughly the same skill level. We lost on the very last rock, but it was a close game all the way through.

Next week? We’ll see what happens.)

Mama, don’t let you baby grow to be a Skip October 20, 2004

Tonight, and every night of the week, in cities all across the country, thousands of people are taking part in a dangerous sport. They don’t realize what kind of harm they risk incurring, with their complete lack of safety equipment, like helmets or kneepads. Oh sure, it looks harmless enough - even guys with beer bellies can participate, so it can’t be all that bad.

Recently, a friend invited me to come out for the Monday night Mixed Rec league. I jumped at the chance, having never done it before. I mean, I’m no athlete, but I’ve done some stuff before. I played softball, basketball, and soccer. Hell, I fenced epee for over two years, so I know wacky danger sports! I just wasn’t prepared for the risks I would be taking.

Curling, people - no one ever tells you that when you step onto that ice, it’s sink or swim, baby. They hand you these Teflon sliders to make it “easier” for you to glide around, but they don’t tell you that putting that glider on is akin to putting butter in a hot pan - you’ll glide all right. If you can stand upright for more than 5 seconds.

They give you a broom, which is supposed to be for sweeping the ice, but can also act as a crutch when you slip and break your ankles. It also becomes a deadly weapon if flailed about while falling down.

I went to a beginner’s clinic on Friday night, and did okay. Once they took the glider off of me. I used Teflon tape instead, which is still slippery and allows you to glide, but isn’t as bad as the glider. Eventually, I got used to being on the ice - I’d forgotten how slippery it was (which sounds like the stupidest thing anyone’s ever said, but I haven’t been skating in years and I forgot which muscles to flex, where to put my weight, etc).

Once I got the hang of gliding, it was on to “curling” the rock, sweeping (which was okay), scoring, and throwing the rock. Eventually, I stopped falling on my ass whenever I threw the damn thing, and when the instructor stopped laughing long enough to come up for air, I got to use a stabilizer, which acts as a “crutch” - it’s perfectly legal, and is actually a good idea for anyone learning how to curl, at least until you’re used to balancing.

Monday night I went out for the first game. Since Karen couldn’t find anyone else to fill the last two spots on our team, we had to wait for the second round - in the end, it was just me, Karen, and Karen’s dad on a team. We were up against another team of teamless newbies, and we all went down to the sheet.

(The highlight of the evening was when I almost got my rock onto an adjacent sheet. Hilarious! I didn’t see it because I slipped and fell as soon as I let go of it.)

Another hazardous element of the game is the other team. Guys? If my teammate has just thrown a rock, and I’m sweeping, I’m doing all I can to stay upright and trot awkwardly down the ice and wait for someone to holler “SWEEP!” If you get in my way, or don’t get out of my way fast enough, there’s no way I can slow down and I will be taking you down with me when I trip and fall. I’m just sayin’.

My other moment of glory - when you’re sweeping, you’re focused on the rock and sweeping for all you’re worth. I kept forgetting to watch for other rocks once I got passed the hog line and more than once, ended up tripping over guards or other rocks. The other skip was really good about it - once she stopped laughing, she just put them back to where they had been before I blundered through. Oy.

I think I’ll stick with it for now. I have to be super careful out there because I’ve got enough war wounds from fencing that one wrong move on the ice and Bam! I’ve blown out my knee again, or pulled the trick muscle in my back. So, if you’re at the curling club on Monday nights, try not to get in the way of the chick with the funky reddish-orange hat with pom-poms and cat ears. She’s as much a danger to you as she is to herself.