Thank God she’s not last again!

She had wanted to know how to skate backwards since childhood. Ever since the days of skates that you attached to your shoes, she had envied the girls who got to wear those pretty skating skirts at the roller rink, do their arabesques on one foot, and skate backwards. It was the romance of the beauty of it all: lovely skaters in lovely costumes, and it was the feeling of freedom -- gliding across the floor, that made her love skating and watch it, in the form of ice skating and ice dancing, whenever the Olympics were on TV.

So now at the age of 48 she decided it was time. In the midst of wanting to assert her own sense of identity and individuality again, she began roller skating and roller skating lessons. It was fun. Just gliding along the floor was fun. It was fun watching the kids, mostly girls, dream of being Peggy Fleming on roller skates. It was fun learning to skate backwards and doing so around the whole rink during warm-up. She even learned more than she had envisioned: the airplane, the scorpion, and a small jump or two.

After a while her coach encouraged her to enter the competitions. Silly. What for? She hadn’t intended to compete. But then she began thinking about it, how it might be fun, being there with all the hoopla, watching the kids and their mothers, and trying it out herself. So she began learning figures. Figures didn’t appeal to her too much, but she knew they were the first step, and dance skating would come after that. So she practiced, and before she knew it, it was the big day. She, along with all the ten-something-year-olds and their mothers, went down to the convention center for the competition.

The girls were excited. They got to wear make-up and all those beautiful, grown-up-looking skating costumes. And if they didn’t fall, they had fun and were happy playing at trying to be the best.

When it was time to do the figures, she got in line with the other little girls and the one other adult who had also dared to enter the competition. When her turn came, she did her figures, and she did them better than she had ever done them before. Then they waited for the posting of the results.

Once the rating sheets were hung on the wall, everyone went over, and they all stood there looking for their names or the names of their children. And there she saw her ranking: not just last, eighteen out of eighteen, but way below the skater who was seventeen on the list! She had done her very best. She had done better, she felt, than ever before, and yet she was not only the worst, but much worse than anyone who was competing! She thought, if she as an adult felt bad, how must the girls and boys feel when they were the worst? She stood there for a while, watching the mothers and the children looking for their rankings.

After the crowd had dwindled, she saw a lone mother come over to look at the figures rankings, searching for her daughter’s name. The mother’s finger worked its way down the list of names until she found the one she was seeking, number seventeen out of eighteen. And then an exclamation burst from her lips: “Thank God she’s not last again.”

The day was done. They packed their bags. The hall got quiet as everyone filed out. And as she, the 48-year-old figures competitor, climbed into her car, turned on the ignition, and began driving away, a smile slowly crept over her face.