Searching for Meaning Through a Houston Skating Club

Back then, when I had big questions with even bigger answers, I’d press stop on my taped Full House episodes and strap on my Rollerblades. I’d skate-walk out of the door like a giant toddler, then glide onto our cul-de-sac in Southwest Houston. Even though I was skating in circles, Rollerblading was just the distracting dose of dopamine I needed. This continued well into high school when my JV soccer team would Rollerblade through the quiet and pothole-free streets of River Oaks. I didn’t find out what “this” all means, but I felt alive. Now, toggling between the weather forecast full of 90s and my work calendar full of meetings, I crave the satisfaction of escaping it all with each glide and push.

I watch myself type “adult women inline skates” into the search bar. With a few clicks, I spend money I hadn’t planned to on revitalizing a hobby of yesteryear. In a midlife haze, I find skates and safety pads—and Space City Skaters. Of all the skating groups I look at, Space City Skaters is the only one that looks unpretentious and welcoming.

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Space City was born out of the pandemic in 2022, when a few locals started hosting get-togethers around town in late spring. The group is all heart and enthusiasm, and decidedly non-hierarchical. “It’s important for Houstonians to have community in a way that lowers the barrier of entry as much as possible,” says Doann Nguyen, one of the original organizers. Space City Skaters hosts regular year-round events, with Tuesday Night Skate and Wednesday Night Skate as its marquee gatherings.

Clouds overtake sunset as I drive to a nondescript café in the Heights for a Thursday Night Beginner Skate. I didn’t wear glasses as a kid, but as an adult, I have to wear them at night. My palms sweat as I try to remember if my helmet, which barely covers my large head and thick hair, will have any room left for the frames. Please, God, make it rain, I think. Bad weather could do the quitting for me, since my enthusiasm has diminished between my euphoric skate purchase and reality-grounding arrival. “Are you Jennifer?” someone asks as I unload my excruciatingly new gear. Immediately, I notice an unexpected friendliness.

“I can fix that for you,” a guy with dreads says, holding a special wrench to switch my heel brake from the factory-issued left foot to my dominant right foot on my very uncool, pristine new skates.

After his handiwork, I put my skates on and melt into the nostalgic feeling of the boot: snug, protected, and ready for fun. I stand up and wobble, assuming nothing is standing between me and skating across the fourth largest city in the country. Despite studies that say, mentally, we all believe we’re much younger than we really are, I assume my inline skating skills are frozen in time, circa 2001.

“Let’s go!” the skate lead says.

“We’re out!” another skater proclaims.

“Whew!” many skaters shout.

A few dozen skaters file out ahead of me, down the ADA ramp and onto the street like a flock of graceful geese. We’re still in the parking lot of the Benny Thunders taproom and the sound of honking traffic crossing nearby White Oak Drive disappears, as if I’ve stuffed my ears with noise-canceling earphones. My mind joins in with the ebullient woos of my fellow skaters, but my body only emits the sudden thump of my own nervous heart. Suddenly, in slow motion, my feet unroll themselves from beneath me and I fall onto my stomach.

I pause on the pavement and consider crying as I wait to be helped up. Then I remember I’m 40 and get up on my own.

“‘Happens to everyone!” someone offers.

“Just skate every day and it’ll come back to you,” another person offers, along with some Malcolm Gladwell-esque practice metric.

Now that my introductory wipeout is behind me, I glide and push across the Heights Loop, my inner child glowing. We come to our first traffic stop, and thanks to the advanced skaters’ tips, I successfully stop and start along with the group. But something in me says I’m not ready for this urban 2-miler. Just like I used to practice challenging violin music one measure at a time before gradually building up to tempo, I knew I needed to practice skating in chunks before such an undertaking. So, I abruptly thank everyone and practice alone on a stretch of the trail that is unexposed to traffic crossings.

Some people skate for physical or mental health, but like me, a lot of people are attempting to tap into a childhood experience. “Usually, it’s people who have dabbled in skating as a kid, but it’s also people who’ve never skated before, or people who see us on Instagram or at an event,” Nguyen says. Hosting beginner nights makes space for newcomers.

Skating independently in my made-up intervals, I remember a bespectacled guy in khaki shorts and a striped T-shirt from earlier in the evening telling me his first skate was the beginner skate night only a week ago. “I’m leading a beginner skate next week,” he said. “Skating just came back to me.” Could I become a skate lead someday, escorting dozens of skaters on my own path throughout Buffalo Bayou, over underpasses and under overpasses, whizzing skillfully through clear parking garages and parks? “Come with us on a Tuesday Night Skate—you can ride a bike,” Nguyen says. “That’ll give you the actual vibe of our regulars.”

In the corner of the West Gray Kroger parking lot, people unload skates, bikes, and lights. After a quick countdown, our party begins. The soothing sound of polyurethane to concrete pairs well with intermittent house beats, hip-hop, Tejano, and indie-pop music blaring from personal speakers strapped onto skaters and bike riders. Waiting for a light to change to cross Washington Avenue with the downtown skyline glistening, I realize this skate group represents a wide swath of Houston. Skaters of various ages, races, ethnicities, and genders cut through parks and zigzag through sleepy neighborhoods. I feel cool by association, though not nearly as cool as the girl skating with rainbow knee socks and furry ears sticking up from her helmet.

As I surrender to the Tuesday Night Skate energy, I see a girl skating with her arms outstretched, as if she is receiving a warm hug from the wind. She looks blissful and radiant, despite the darkness. At the midpoint outdoor bar, Re:HAB Bar on the Bayou, where we convene at picnic tables to sip a beer and shoot the breeze, I learn she moved to Houston a few years ago from Colombia. “I love the city but it’s really hard to build community in a city where everybody’s in cars,” she says. As a native Houstonian and longtime New Yorker, I nod in agreement. “But then I found this group and I just love it.”

In my limited time with Space City Skaters, I too feel the love. If it weren’t for my low threshold for pain and high aversion to risk, I’d monitor the group’s WhatsApp to catch the next beginner skate night. I’d rip and roar through star-lit streets and parks with or without the internal force of existential dread. I am no closer to figuring out what any of “this” means, but each acrobatic skater I met gave me something even more valuable: a new way to keep pushing through the unknown. Maybe I’ll just loop around and around on my Rollerblades until nightfall, just like when I was a child. The stars and moon have a way of saying, “That’s enough worrying for today.”