She used to fall down a lot. That girl was always falling again and again. I used to sometimes try to catch her. But never even caught her name.

It's a little-known fact, but Robert Smith wrote those words about me. No really, he did. Because I fall down. A lot.

I trekked over to the East River bike path on Saturday with my rollerskates and a dream. I quickly learned that these were not the white high top rollerskates with the purple wheels of my youth. These were fast. Very fast.

I was very wobbly at first, and resembled Phoebe in that episode of Friends where she and Rachel went jogging together and Rachel was horribly embarrassed by the way Phoebe flailed about when she ran. Then I got the hang of it, although the East River park bike path is not of the smooth, rollerskate-friendly variety. It's not like, say, the West Side Highway bike path. After about 20 minutes of good quality skating, I crashed in a most spectacular fashion. There was blood. A lot of blood. Pouring out of my right hand and left knee. And boy did my ass hurt. I decided to put my flip flops back on and hobble home.

Now, one would think I'd pack it in and go over to the West Side Highway next Saturday, when it's rollerskating time again. But no. I'm determined now to conquer the East River park bike path. No matter how much blood I may lose in the process.