Sometimes, it's good to come tumbling down.

I'm not the most coordinated person you'll meet. It took me three months to learn to ride a two-wheeler in the second grade. I spent the majority of grade school with bandages across my knees, and in latter years, have developed an infamous knack for falling down the stairs.

So imagine me on rollerblades.

As dumb as it may sound, the idea of gliding around on shoes with little wheels was incredibly intriguing to me. It looked so easy — all these people gliding around with the greatest of ease —even a klutz can do it, right?

Uh, wrong.

Aware that I couldn't take any chances, I strapped on my skating gear —kneepads, wrist guards and elbow pads — and attempted to get up. Within five seconds, I realized I would not be one of those graceful gliding bodies. Instead of flying over the concrete with the greatest of ease, I tumbled to the ground in a startling slump. There was nothing graceful in sight.

Great, just great. I'd only been on these things for five seconds, and already had taken a face plant into the cement. I knew if I was going to complete this mission successfully, I had to get back up. So I grabbed my friend's hand, shakily rolled back up to a standing position (almost tearing her down to the ground in the process) and tentatively was on my way again.

And slowly, but surely, I was rolling. Slowly, but I was going somewhere. Finally! I was navigating bumps, cracks and small inclines, and by the time I reached the end of the avenue, I considered myself a pro.

Next obstacle — crossing the street.

I guess the problem started when I couldn't figure out how to stop when I approached the road. Rolling out of control, I grasped the stone wall in a desperate effort to brake. Aware my skill was not yet advanced enough to combat moving vehicles, I was forced to take my friend's hand and be pulled across U.S. 33. Shaking off the glances of amused drivers, I made it across the street — with guidance.

After about 20 minutes of slow progress, I had navigated my way through the grotto, across south quad, and almost back to Saint Mary's. I thought I was home free — maybe even klutzes could manage this rollerblading deal. But it became painfully evident from the sympathetic glances from runners and pedestrians on campus that I still had a long way to go.

I guess my biggest victory was getting home that day. I did end up making it back to Saint Mary's uninjured — a major feat for a self-proclaimed klutz. Besides the scrape on my left leg — the one patch of skin left exposed by my skating gear — I returned with a small amount of confidence that maybe, just maybe, with the help of some friends, I could do this.

And hey — if I'm going to fall, at least they're there to help me up.

That's all part of learning to roll.

• Learning to roll