Bex on Skates ...

Is scary.

I love speed: Here I am, hell-bent for leather at the outdoor ice-skating rink at the National Gallery of Art, in downtown D.C., on Friday night. It's in the museum's sculpture garden, where one can see modernist works such as this and this.

I was with E., and T., his 14-year-old nephew, visiting from England for the holidays. Wanted to show T. around the town and do typical American activities. Like channeling Apolo Anton Ohno even though one has set foot on ice only twice before. The second shot is blurry because E. was laughing and cheering me on.

Going fast is the easy part. Stopping? Not so much.

So I just kept zooming around in circles, once yelling, "Coming through!" when I encountered a clump of slow-moving skaters weaving every which way.

I fell down only once. Right on my knees. Big bruises have bloomed on my kneecaps, which bore the brunt (say that three times fast) of my 108 pounds.

But I can still run, damn it.

And that's all that matters.