George Lopez would say, “Member? You member! You member Skee-Ball, don’t you?” It’s the old midway game, invented in 1909, and still filling amusement arcades to this day. If Skee-Ball is a sport, I’ve finally found a sport at which I’m good! I whipped the hubby’s nether region on Memorial Day in a 30 minute, one-on-one SB competition. No, we don’t have the commercial game in our basement. Instead, we took a drive to the local amusement park for a little friendly competition.
There’s a new wooden rollercoaster here in Erie, PA at a family amusement park called Waldameer. Even though I’m not a coaster fan, the Ravine Flyer 2 is a sight to be seen. No, we didn’t visit the park to ride the rides (thank goodness). The hubby’s back certainly wouldn’t allow for twists, turns, bumps, or wallops to the spine. This was actually our first visit to a park where we didn’t come to blows over my unwillingness to risk it all and plunge towards the earth in a bucket. “Please, Sunshine, just go on one ride. NO! C’mon, just one [insert pouty-face from three children and an adult]. NO!” I despise coasters and other crazy park rides. It’s not all because of the M.S., although the dizziness and vertigo definitely are heightened if I’m spinning and plummeting. I’m just scared to death of it all. The last major (and participatory) experience I had at an amusement park was as a teenager on a no-parents trip with friends to Cedar Point. I was coerced and pushed onto the Demon Drop, after which, with legs shaking and tears streaming down my face, my lunchtime sno-cone and chili dog spewed across the asphalt. I think that experience truly scarred me for life. I’ve been back to Cedar Point as an adult, actually on a weekend family vacation a half-dozen or so years ago, but the closest I got to an amusement park ride was relaxing in an adjacent water park, lounging through the Lazy River with my bum sticking out of an inner tube.
Why then did we go to an amusement park when neither of us wanted to ride the rides? To take a walk. Why did we want to take a walk? Because it was over eighty degrees outside and I needed to move and to feel the sun on my face. Why did I need to talk a walk? To answer that question, one needs to revisit the terrific piece published earlier this week by Needles ‘n Pens. I’m angry. I don’t always share my anger here. I try to be positive, yet I try to be real. When I do express anger, depression, or anxiety, I try desperately to find something positive on the other side. I’ve been carrying around deep-seeded anger for more than a week or so. I was struggling to find the positive. I didn’t know where to begin.
What’s making me angry? Being weak. Being vulnerable. All because of Life with M.S. When I walked in Walk MS 2008, my teammates nearly lapped me. I had to walk slowly, weakly. My legs shook and throbbed after only one, silly, very slow-paced mile. My energy to exercise is non-existent. I know I must exercise to get stronger or I will shrivel up to nothingness – a weak, wimpy, noodle-legged redhead. I have foot drop and weak legs. If I sit for more than an hour, I rise slowly. Summer is here, yet I don’t dare wear shorts. My legs not only feel awful, they look equally awful. I’m out of shape.
This all makes me angry. So, when the sun was shining, I begged to go somewhere for a walk. The hubby was craving the sounds and smells of an amusement park, a place that requires a significant amount of walking, so off we went. We walked slowly and deliberately, and despite the fact I was a little non-committal and negative about being in an amusement park, I had a blast. With the fear of being forced to ride scary rides out of the picture, I opened up to other options in the park. We watched silly people sing on stage. We waved at costumed creatures like little children. We played games and reminisced about being teens at the decades old park, each taking our respective boy/girlfriends for make-out rides through the “Wacky Shack.” We bought fresh baked cookies the size of dinner plates. And we visited the arcade, where once again I behaved like a child, begging for quarters to play Skee-Ball – where I proceeded to be named the “Queen of the Skee.”
My legs thumped while playing the game, bringing the anger to a rise once again and making me realize I hadn’t found the positive yet. Then I spotted the answer. Game tickets, strands and strands of game tickets! You win them when you are the “Queen of the Skee” or if you do well at any other game. You then trade in the ticket for prizes at the prize booth. Between the hubby and me, we had dozens and dozens of tickets. I spotted a little child and took our tickets to him and his mom. His face lit up like it was Christmas. I found a way to release the anger, turning it into something positive instead.
Then I talked it out with the hubby. I told him I’m frustrated that I can’t seem to walk as well as before. I’m frustrated that I can’t work out like I desire. I miss kickboxing. I looked woefully out the car window as we passed the gym where I used to sweat, kick, box, and feel alive. I told him I’m unhappy with my level of health and the level of my vanity. Then the neurotic Sunshine made a plan. Time for baby steps. Little walks, building to medium walks, building to speedy walks, building to workouts again. I also acknowledged my anger, identified it, and then it seemed diffused.
Now I’m counting the minutes to Skee-Ball again. I’ve offered to take the hubby and my youngest step-daughter back to the park in a few weeks. The coaster fanatics can ride that darn coaster (and any other ride) for as long as they want. As long as I get to wait in the arcade, collecting tickets for another deserving child.
