I have a curling injury. Not a curling iron injury, a curling injury. You know, the Olympic sport where they wear funny checkered pants?
In keeping with our office tradition where holiday parties consistent of potentially fun activities that few of us would (ever) endeavor if left to our own devices, the gang (and plus ones) went curling in Laurel, MD. There’s actually a very nice curling rink and ice hockey facility out there. Who knew?
That’s when we found out from Coach Bob of the Potomac Curling Club that “muscles you didn’t know you had would be aching tomorrow.” I had no reason not to believe him, and the fact that he vaguely resembled Dumbledore, Renaissance hat and all, made me take him all the more seriously. After all, I didn’t want to be sorted onto the wrong team.
Here are my observations on curling:
It’s oddly fun, more fun than I thought it would be
It’s hard, harder than I thought, and I didn’t think it would be easy. Yes, I’m a wimp, and I could not throw the 40 lb rock that far up the ice – which is very far, BTW.
It’s easy to get injured, even though mine is a large three-inch bruise on my knee, not a strained muscle. (Apparently, if one uses the proper form, the knee should not touch the ice … Of course, I was just trying not to fall …)
It’s easy to get caught up. Some people got really into the sport – and it was funny, because you couldn’t necessarily tell who would embrace the sport whole-heartedly and who would try, call it quits and go into the warm room.
An unforgettable afternoon – at least for the next few weeks until the bruising fades.