I guess the fact that I haven’t blogged about derby in a while
is one really good reason to blog.
I’ve reached an impasse. Or
so it seems. (Depends on whether
I’ve taken the red pill or the blue pill…)
We have a bout coming up on June 30th. The first one of our league that
includes everyone in the league, depending on whether you want to sign up to
play, help out as a Referee or NSO (Non-Skating Official), or volunteer to help
organize and run the event. We
also have a travel team now, in addition to the upcoming bout. Both of which, all league members were
invited to sign up and be considered for.
Having only skated derby-style for about 4 months, I
considered both, but settled on a new mantra: “I’m not going to compete until I feel ready.” Simple enough, yes?
So I’m going along with this mantra in my head, attending all
practices, keeping up my enthusiasm, trying to learn something new every time I
skate, and feeling very proud to be one of the original members of High
Altitude Roller Derby, even if I won’t be skating in the first official league
bout. I’m happy to be here, and
happy for the girls who feel ready to take on another team from another league. You go, girls. Thumbs way up!
Every
month, we hold a league meeting at someone’s house, where people bring
refreshments – usually consisting of various types of wine. Being the adventuresome, quirky type,
and since the husband, who has now joined us as a league Referee (and usually
says “I never drink… vine…”), actually drove us to the meeting, I decided to
partake in the vino. It’s only the
polite thing to do.
The list starts going around to sign up for the bout on June
30th. I hold fast
and true to my mantra: “I’m not
going to compete until I feel ready.”
As the list comes my way, I smile sweetly and pass it to the person next
to me. Another glass of wine,
please.
The meeting lasts for a while, many things are discussed, it’s
a lively conversation among my favorite people in this entire town. I’m enjoying the company, and celebrating
my contentment with… another glass of wine. The bout is discussed with great enthusiasm, I feel a tiny
pang of envy, but remember my mantra:
“I’m not going to compete until I feel ready.” Pour another glasss…
The meeting breaks, and I see the list come around again as
I’m standing next to Hubby Ref. I
shee he has written his name on the lisst – to Referee, of course. I’m sso proud of him. Thumbss waaay up, babe! I take amother sip ov my newly-poured
glasss of vine and schtruggle to remember zeh mantra. Ish it… schomething like… “I’m going to compete I feel ready”…? Uhh… yep, I zchink that’s it. Yeah, that sounds aboot right… I shign
my name to the lissst.
 |
| "Dahling, put Zsa Zsa on ze list, vatever it's for. Zsa Zsa doesn't like to veel left out." |
Three hours and one godless headache later, I realize what
I’ve done. For the next week or
so, I’m actually pretty excited and proud of myself. Going the extra mile.
Stepping not only out of the comfort zone, but directly into the
fire! Good for me!
Then we have another league practice, and I’m feeling kinda
yucky, not much energy, and I’m thinking, maybe I need to get my name taken off
that list – what if this is how I feel on bout day? That’s not fair to the other girls here who don’t EVER feel
yucky or sometimes don't feel like going to practice, because it’s just me who feels that way
every now and then. (I know – but
sometimes I get in these moods, you see…)
About an hour into practice, I’m still feeling yucky but found
I’ve managed to get lead jammer 3 out of 4 times, so that cheers me up
some. And then something crappy
happens while I’m a blocker during a jam, and I manage to trip and nearly kill
the jammer for my own team.
Everything closes in on me, and all of a sudden I’m “that girl” again –
the one in High School P.E. who everyone rolls their eyes at and doesn’t want
on their team. I turn my disappointment
inward, and my entire night is ruined.
The issue here is that I’ve still not found that “way out” of
my own self-destructive thinking. Most
girls join roller derby because that’s innately who they are. They’re outgoing, boisterous, Type A
personalities who don’t take shit from anyone and can take their aggressions
out on a sport – on each other – and go have a beer afterward and feel much
better about themselves, their teammates, and their lives. A lot of these girls are health care
workers, with RN and ER and EMT attached to their profiles, or law enforcement,
or crime scene analysts – and you just know
these chicks need something like this
to keep their sanity. Derby also
attracts those girls who were always the team captains and can’t even fathom
wanting to ditch P.E., and girls who are generally athletic, tough, and take no
prisoners.
I joined derby because I’m none of these things – I’ve NEVER
been that way, but if there’s one thing I love about myself, it’s that I’m one
helluvan adventurer, and I’ll try anything
if it looks exciting, or simply because I’ve never done it before. That has gotten me into a little bit of
trouble in the past, so I’ve learned how to pick and choose those things that
look dangerous and exciting but won’t cause me to pick little invisible bugs
out of the carpet or think my wall heater is harboring the voices of evil spirits.
But the other reason I joined roller derby is because I can
see the OUTWARD anger in these girls.
Something pissed them off at work that day, or they’re still upset about
something that happened in their childhood, or they’re just generally in a
donotmesswithmetoday kind of mood, and I can see ALL of this smoldering behind
their eyes when they swoop up and solidly HIT another girl out. I can still see it in their eyes when
they get knocked nearly into next week, get right the hell up, and charge back
into the pack, hearts black with vengeance and pumping blood-red with
self-confidence. It’s both admirable
and awe-inspiring, and I want to learn
from these girls how to turn my anger into something acceptably destructive and
– haha – “sporty” – rather than let all of that inner fury eat away at my
insides and cause me to think and do things that only hurt myself.
My realization that I’m simply not where I want to be in this
game on a mental level also made me consider that I will not, CANNOT, learn to properly
hit and take hits until I stop turning on myself and letting everything that
has ever upset me continue to decay into depression and self-loathing. They say anger is depression turned
outward – not for me, nope. I turn
it all right back on myself, regardless of whether I deserve it or not. Since I can remember, every time I felt
slighted, or messed with, or picked on, or bullied either at home or at school,
I’d get angry and then do or say something to make things worse rather than go
deal with the source, and I’ve been doing that ever since. Damn it, THIS is why I joined derby in
the first place. To uncover that
secret – to get that fire behind MY eyes that says, don’t even TRY your
obnoxious on me, I will pommel you.
The secret is in the hitting. I can do the other skill stuff pretty well by now. I’ve even gotten lighter on my skates
and can juke around and find that jammer opening and blast through it; I can
skate backwards and whip my jammer through; I can positional block two girls
behind me at the same time with my ass and my long legs and not give either one
of them a prayer of getting past me.
But the hitting… that’s personal.
There is something holding me back, and it’s not physical, because I know how to do it, by God. They’ve gone over it and over it at
practice, and I’ve tried and tried to do exactly what they tell me, but the
FIRE is not in my eyes yet. It’s
still deep down in the pit of my stomach, burning up my insides and eating up all
of my oxygen, and it hasn’t broken through a window yet. I’m looking forward to the backdraft.
 |
| Pretend this is a silhouette of a derby girl... |
So I considered all of this and decided, I really am not ready
to bout yet. Not until I can light
that fire exactly where I want it.
I remembered that I’m a filmmaker – and we’re having the first bout of
our league. This is a special
thing for us, a memorable event.
It should be documented. Besides,
we need a promo video to get more sponsors. Perfect. That’s
what I’ll do for the bout. I’ll be
Suzy Filmmaker instead of Suzy Hotrod Wannabe.
Okay, back to the hitting stuff. A couple of people have actually approached me and told me
that they’ve seen my improvement and they can’t wait to see what happens when I
finally unleash that mental block that keeps me from making those solid hits. Yeah, I’m kind of looking forward to it
myself. The very fact that my eyes
well up with tears when I think about it tells me that this is NOT just about
getting good at a sport. I have to
– I MUST learn to hit effectively.
I will, however, give myself credit for getting up after taking a good solid
hit that rocks my world (and my spinal cord) and getting on with the jam –
that’s a start.
But I don’t have that fire behind my eyes yet. In fact, it gets a little cold inside
when I get slammed down hard, and I am in the habit of blaming myself rather
than remembering that this is simply the Game. You’ll get knocked down – sometimes harder than you think is
necessary. But you get the crap
back up, catch up to the pack, and start knocking around with the girls again,
because it’s hit or be hit, block or be blocked, lead jam or get lapped;
besides, it’s just a game we call roller derby.
