It's dark and I am at my four-year-old's primary school — but he's at home sleeping horizontally across my bed.
What am I doing here? Well, it's not parent-teacher night and there's no wild P&F (parents and friends) quiz about to kick off.
My friend Hayley and I are the only ones on the basketball court, trying to skateboard.
"I think mine goes too quick," she says. I glance over at her board, its different from mine, one end is more pointy than the other.
In my mid-thirties, going to the pub isn't cutting it anymore, not to mention half the time my friends were too busy with work and small children to partake in a last-minute drink.
Most my life, I have lived in cities where I would clock up thousands of steps walking to a bar to catch up with friends. Now, living in my hometown, not only was I finding it hard to get those steps in or see friends, my jeans had gone up a size.
My therapist suggested combining my love of socialness with exercise. Genius, I thought. But hang on, I hate to exercise.
But then, I got a skateboard.
The hardest part?
The basketball court is littered with stray gumnuts and twigs. A plastic pen lid strikes fear into me.
If I break my wrist, will I still be able to write and work? I borrow my four-year-old's mantra of "I can handle that."
The first time Hayley and I went around the school, I followed her down a slight incline. I squealed and jumped off my board onto the grass. She squealed and jumped off her board onto the grass. Were we too old for this?
The first time I fell didn't feel great either. My older brother — a "real life" skater — asked me to the skate park. The vibe was better than any bar I had been in lately.
I got too cocky. I rolled up a ramp, and instinctively changed the direction of my body and rolled down. I felt pretty good about it.
On the second attempt though, I hit the cement.
So hasty was my embarrassment that I rebounded upwards in a split second, declaring I was fine before I had even taken stock of whether I was injured. Of course my brother had been filming me.
My wrist and hip were all bruised. My ego hurt the most.
Why I love it
Each week, I improve. I lean and roll around the hazards. Occasionally, I roll straight over them.
I find the unmistakeable sound of wheels on concrete soothing.
Rolling around is electrifying, and I work up a sweat too.
The thrills and mental clarity you can get from skateboarding is nothing to be sneezed at.
Growing up in the 90s, it felt like skateboarding was synonymous with reckless behaviour and waylaid adolescent boys. 'No Skating' signs adorned public areas.
The attitude towards skateboarders has changed dramatically since then.
Today, more and more women like myself are picking up skateboarding. With improved social acceptance, skateboard schools and government-built skate parks, a new social scene has taken off.
Local skate parks are filled with teens and small children on scooters, all of whom are better than me. Skate shops are filled with young skaters and their mums.
Young female athletes such as Poppy Olsen, Australia's best female skateboarder, are competing at the Olympics.
It's not for everyone, but once you find a sport that empowers you, you might just get addicted like I did.
It's not without failure. I have taken falls and felt embarrassed. Yet, each week I am drawn back to the board, to the empty basketball courts, to the sounds of wheels on concrete.
Roll away your worries
It's 5am, and I am rolling around the local school basketball court with the Hamilton soundtrack blaring in my headphones.
My phone dings — "Sorry for the early text, can you work today?" my colleague asks.
I can't as I am already working on something else. He questions why I am up so early.
When I tell him, his reply makes me laugh out loud.
"Oh God, that poor boy," he says. Thankfully, my son is still too young to be embarrassed by his mum.
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