Pain Heals

I have a soft spot for inspirational sports films. Especially when Gene Hackman is in them. But there has never been a motivational speech quite like the one from The Replacements.

 

As I recover from my knee surgery (too goddamn slowly) I have to constantly remind myself that it will heal. The scars are pretty cool. But derby, derby lasts forever. Or some shit like that.

At the end of every practice, our coach has us do suicides. They suck. For a variety of different reasons. One being that a 180-toe stop at full speed is still something I'm not terribly good at. Two: a 180-toe stop, even at 75%, wrenches the shit out of my knee. Because the knee that had surgery is on the same leg I put most of my stopping pressure on, occassionally it gives out. And when it gives out, I go crashing to the ground. And when I go crashing to the ground, I usually ram said knee into said ground. It's excruciating.

The good news? It hurt LESS when I rammed into the ground today, then when I rammed it into the ground 2 weeks ago. That's progress, right?

Teacher Mode

I'm a teacher by profession. Junior high to be exact. Some people might consider that crazy. "Junior high?" They say. "I'm sorry. Why would you want to subject yourself to that?" In the years I've taught Junior High, the truth as become apparent to me. Because I, for better or for worse, am a Junior High-schooler at heart.

Turns out that I'm something else at heart, too. A fucking teacher.

And this is what I often look like...

 

I became a teacher because I love that moment when someone finally gets 'it'. But I make a good teacher because I'm task driven. My love for teaching could have died a cold, lonely death a long, long time ago and I'd still be a decent teacher because my main motivation is to get shit done. Period.

This drive is serving me well in my new role as Provisional Government Member of my new league. And I hate it. The last thing I want to do after herding cats all day is to come and herd cats all night. Where by "herding cats" I mean "teaching junior high" and by "herd cats" I mean "organize derby girls".

Turns out, the task master hidden inside of me is not particular about which herd of cats I'm facing. I've started to catch myself at board meetings doing the same things I do in a classroom full of 35 9th graders. I repeat myself, I ask others to repeat what I've said, I throw names into my discussion to make sure people are paying attention, and -- the ol' standby -- slapping the palm of my hand on the table and starting a tirade with, "Alright, listen..."

That's usually the beginning of the end.

If you've pushed me to the "Alright, listen", things are about to go downhill fast. I've learned, in my years in the classroom, to channel my drive to cross things off a checklist. I find myself breaking jobs into tiny pieces and imposing strict deadlines. I also use the acronym "SOL" a lot. This approach requires a lot of patience, which is a virtue I lack. When I want to rip my hair out because you're spending DAYS talking about step 5 when we're only on step 1, I have to remind myself to breath. Meditate. Relax.

Thank goodness derby is a contact sport.

There you are!

Some things become annoyingly apparent when you've stepped away from derby:

• The snappy metabolism you THOUGHT you had decides to leave you cold, alone, and unable to fit into your jeans.
• The butt you didn't realize you were so proud of seems to be nowhere to be found.
• Your big toenail starts to grow back; healthy and unmangled (perhaps not so annoying).
• You can't frivolously eat a package of Newman-Os and then skate them off later.
• It becomes really difficult to fit practice into your new and exciting lifestyle of couch-sitting and TV-watching.

But worst of all, you realize the calluses and rough spots on your feet that you've lovingly cultivated into patches of little-to-no feeling have disappeared. That's right. My fucking feet hurt. Again.

The first time I got my Antiks, I went through this terrible break-in period. I constantly had hot spots in all the normal places: the ball of my pusher foot, my big toes, the inside of my right ankle. But I had toughened those spots up and broken in my skates after a few months of skating on them. But now I'm back to dainty little girl feet. After two days of skating in a row (not even hitting -- just skating!) my feet are screaming in agony.

Oh cruel world! How could you have turned my skates against me??

(Not to mention, my knee hurts like a bitch. Seriously. What if I can't go back to derby? What if I never heal? ACK!)

The Eye of the Beholder

You know you've chosen the right derby spouse when they give you a gift that, from the outside, seems like a gift no one would enjoy, but it gives you a big surge of excitement anyway. And causes you to exclaim, "I've been looking for these EVERYWHERE!"

Apparently, vegan glucosamine supplements are to me what diamonds are to a normal girl.

Other things...

...that make me go weak in the knees. (Just because.)

Edward Norton in American History X

Vegan Chocolate Cake

 The 5 o'clock shadow

Really fantastic tattoos and really talented tattoo artists

This piano cover of one of my favorite A Perfect Circle songs

Seeing my husband for the first time after he's been gone for months.

My fantasy is that when I go to the airport to pick up my husband in April, he is ripped like Edward Norton, hasn't shaved, is carrying a vegan chocolate cake, and 3 Libras is playing. I WILL lose my shit. (Then I can get a tattoo later...much, much later.)

Weak in the knees

Long story short: I had knee problems as a child athlete. I (mostly) ignored them. I got older and decided to stop being an athlete. I got older still and decided to start being an athlete again. I joined Derby. I fell down a lot. On my knees. My knee hurt. I ignored it. It hurt more. I ignored it. I realized that I was getting old enough that I could see my derby career shortening in front of me. I got help.

It was a torn meniscus and a few days after Christmas, my doctor went in with his magical little scope and sliced the torn part right out. Voila! No more torn meniscus.

10 days after the surgery, I still couldn't walk without a bit of a pimp limp, but the doc cleared me for "light skating" (i.e. nothing that would make me fall and, damnit, no contact).

Currently, it's been a month since the surgery. I made it through my first full 2 hours practice on skates last week. I kept up in endurance for a while, but couldn't keep pace in the pace line and by the end, my whole leg felt like a wet noodle. There was already a pretty vast muscle difference between my left and right legs, but now the gulf has widened. My left leg is The Hulk and my right leg is Bruce Banner.

Last year at this time, I was getting ready to join the Roller Derby Workout Challenge. This year I'm creating the Tweedle Walks Without a Pimp Limp Challenge. They're actually pretty similar...the latter just has a more specific goal.

*emotional vomit*

I've been trying to avoid "the blog" for awhile. Look, it worked! I haven't posted anything about what an upheaval my derby life has gone through. (Mostly.) I should be given a major award.

After 6 months of going-along-to-get-along and taking-one-for-the-team, I resigned from the league that I started my roller derby career with. It was not an easy decision. I don't even really want to talk about it.

No, that's not true...I HAVE talked about it. I've whined and cried about it. I've bitched and moaned about it. I commiserated about it. I've even been labeled as childish and selfish for my decision. Okay, great. But we all reach a time when we need to re-evaluate our relationships in life...this time, my league didn't make the cut. So, I left.

It seemed like as a good a time as any. I couldn't skate anyway, not after getting knee surgery. What was I missing out on, really? But I DID miss it. And let me tell you, the Freshman 15 have nothing on the weight you gain when you go from skating 3-4 days a week to sitting on the coach and FINALLY watching 'It's Always Sunny...'.

QUESTION: What does a displaced and unhappy derby girl do when she has nowhere to skate?

ANSWER: She finds other displaced and unhappy derby girls and starts her own league.

I could lie to you and tell you that it's NOT out of spite. But it is, a little. I have dreams of starting a league that is policy-driven with open lines of communication and a no-shit-talking rule. A league that is not like the league I just left where no one even seemed to care that I had gone because my presence was so meaningless.

My dreams are filled with glitter and booty shorts; grand slams and rainbows.

PROBLEM -- I'm realistic. No league I start will be perfect. But I'm finding a lot of skaters want what I want and are willing to put in MORE blood, sweat, and tears to get it. So you can sit behind your little computer monitor and be pessimistic about my chances (I'll secretly be joining you on occasion), but I'm doing this.

FOR LIFE, LIBERTY, AND THE PURSUIT OF DERBY!