I turned fifty-four this year in June and last week I started teaching myself to skateboard. I’ve always wanted to do it, and I’ve always been too scared. It’s odd – I’m fine on scooters, and I have good balance – I can hold a tree pose for minutes. But skateboards have remained a never. They wobbled so; I felt moments away from a fracture.

I’ve never been the bravest when it comes to things that promise skin loss.

I read “Pageboy“ last week, Elliot Page’s memoir of what their journey has been like so far, what it was like to grow up as them, what it was like to be misgendered, and what his life is like now, moving forward. It’s a hard read at times: there’s abuse and an ocean of pain. But there’s also optimism and hopefulness.

It was good timing – I was having a week. One of the chapters was about filming the movie “Whip It,” about some of the challenges when it came to learning how to roller derby. About how it all clicked when he started trusting his body to do what it needed to do.

And it occurred to me that I don’t trust my body. The body-and-self relationship is destroyed by an eating disorder, and rebuilding trust takes time, especially when you abuse your body as violently as one does with bulimia.

Or so I’ve heard.

Isn’t it funny how a little bit of self-awareness can change everything? That and a new helmet. I’ve been concussed before and I don’t recommend it: it’s not a good time. Zero stars.

What if I started to trust myself? What if I just believed I could learn to do this thing?

I’ve been practicing skateboarding in my garage. It’s a good choice, it’s mostly flat – it slopes a bit to the street so some of my mini-runs are faster than others – and it’s mostly smooth, two key features when beginning a hobby that involves little boards on wheels.

FYI – there’s a WikiHow page. It’s been very useful.

I’ve been doing it for a week. Fifteen minutes most days and I try hard to stay in the moment. That was another bit of advice from the book, something else I struggle with.

I started slowly, just a push and glide, but it was so much easier when I let go of the fear. And honestly, what’s the worst that can happen. When I got that second foot up and kept rolling forward, I thought I heard angels sing.

It’s a lovely feeling, rolling along hands-free. Even when it is in a garage.

I can pump with my foot. I can turn in both directions. Slowly and with frequent bails, but I’m doing it. I’m learning to lead with both feet and on two kinds of boards, the regular one, and my son’s old Penny board. The latter clashes with my helmet: I didn’t think that purchase through. The lavender was just so pretty.

I still measure distance travelled in feet and I’ve yet to try things out in public, but I’m doing it. I do have plans to take the show to the road. Or maybe to a parking lot. I just want a non-audience.

What’s something you’d attempt if you were guaranteed not to fail?

The success, or at least one aspect of it, is in the attempt. The only failing move is not to try. And try hard. Don’t half-ass it. Commit to not giving up when the going gets hard. That second bit is really hard. Persistence took me a long time to learn.

Giving up is easy. Persistence takes work.

But regret’s a bit of a pain. And you miss one hundred percent of the shots you don’t take. Wayne Gretzky said that.

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(I included the link to Amazon because the book’s amazing and everyone should read it, but I’m not an affiliate, and I won’t be offended if you do as I did and take it out “Pageboy” from the library.)

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