I once wrote a blog with this same title, and with the World Cup over and an American victory - I also see it as an international victory. Roller derby is taking the world by storm.
My previous blog had less to do with World Cup, and more to do with how Derby transforms the lives of its participants; how Derby creates in us this undeniable sense of ass kicking - a sense of CAN instead of CAN'T, WILL instead of WON'T. It took a long time for me to find, and come to terms with, my inner roller girl, to finally give life the finger and start kicking ass. Quite a long time, actually.
In the past few years, I've had 4+ majors, got the boot from both my degree department AND my sorority while I was president of the 'professional fraternity for women'. I ran away to the desert to find myself, leaving my already in-shambles life and (then) wonderful boyfriend behind.. I came back, was dumped, was actually homeless for a little while. I had no money, no apartment, no hours at work.. It looked very possible that I would have to drop out of school because while studying abroad, the FinAid office messed up all 20 of our accounts/scholarships/grants/loans.
But let's rewind just a tiny bit...
On the 12 hour flight back from the desert, I watched a little film called Whip It. I am absolutely not ashamed to say that Whip It was my catalyst to becoming a derby girl. Before Whip It, I didn't even know roller derby existed.When I came back to the states, and arrived at the University, I was greeted by an ugly fight with my then-boyfriend. See, he'd started to pretend I didn't exist while I was thousands of miles away, across an ocean. So, things were, to say the least, tense. But this post is not about him. It is not about our relationship, or his shitty fraternity brothers, or deciding who gets to keep which friends and which DVDs...
This post is about ME.
It's about how lost and broken I was after all those things happened in rapid succession. It's about what a mess I was. When in the "Give me back my stuff" discussion, he was too afraid to return my things to me, in person. It was at this moment I realized I was a derby girl. Through and through. It was the moment when I finally felt strong, powerful and intimidating. Who knew it would take a messy, ugly break-up, a trip to a smelly cave in the middle of nowhere in east-jesus Jordan, a bit of being homeless and broke to realize how powerful I am, how much I can handle, how I am strong and alive.. And how much I'd forgotten in that year and a half.
I matter. I had mattered. I did matter. I've always mattered. I had forgotten this fact until I found the Springfield Roller Girls.
See, we all have our journeys to becoming a roller girl. They're all similar, but they all matter, because what is derby other than finding out how truly capable you are of living? Of beating the odds? Of kicking ass? It's honestly not very fun to rehash all the ways I was slowly turning into a derby girl. It's not. There were some rough times that I'm, honestly, not quite over yet. There was a lot of shit in my life. I was worn down, and kicked around, and beat up. So I ran away.
Hell, I'll own up to it: I ran away.
Thousands of miles away, across an ocean, to an entirely different culture, to a third world environment where I had to pee in Turkish toilets and learn to love goat meat, to live and work for a few months with people I barely knew. It was a gamble, I know. But I chose it. I ran away. When I came back, I told people I ran away to the desert to find myself. Before I went, I cried and fought it and cried some more. I was being a baby - did I really want to leave my reliable plumbing, drinkable tap water and manfriend who made me steaks and force fed me jelly beans and made me laugh when I was sad because I burned the biscuits we were supposed to eat for breakfast?
I couldn't have made a better choice. I ran away because I couldn't hack it. "Can't" is a powerful word, even if it is, indeed, for whiny babies - I had convinced myself I couldn't do it. I couldn't handle my life.
My life didn't change from "can't" until August 2010. I was terrified, so I made the amazing, the beautiful Thugz & Kissez, go with me to recruitment. I was SO SO scared. I'm actually pretty sure I threw up in the parking lot before I went into the rink.
Looking back, being that afraid was so silly. But we're all derby girls (and boys) here, so let's call a spade a spade, be honest, and remind ourselves that we were all scared. Derby girls are some of the most terrifying, intimidating women on the planet. FACT.
See, I'd had experience with organizations for, and by, women. It was actually a professional fraternity for women. Our goal was to be strong, upstanding women, to be role models to little girls in our profession. Let's just say that experience didn't end so well for me since I got kicked out of both my degree program AND my sorority because of some not-very-awesome women.... And hell, maybe they've gone through transformations too, but then... They were not very awesome. They were hateful and rude and it made me hate girls. I hated all things girl. I hung out with boys, I spent my time in frat houses- I stayed the hell away from girls, because I couldn't take it.
So, it put a bad taste in my mouth. I imagined that all girls were conniving and self-serving. That they were mean and manipulative. That girls were not to be trusted. See, roller derby was everything I imagined myself to be.. Or wanted to be. Strong, kick ass, intimidating, respected females who also wear fishnets, eyeliner and tutus. Women who were self-assured and could hold their liquor. Women who were accepting, understanding and welcoming. Women who stood for something. Women who would pull you up by your boot straps, tell you to put on your big girl panties and deal with it - because you'd been through worse.
I wanted to be all the women of roller derby.
I needed to be all the women of roller derby.
So, August 27th, I strapped on a pair of rental skates and glided around the rookie track like a baby calf on ice. Maybe "glided" isn't the right word. I stumbled and faltered.
I wasn't good.
At all.
I couldn't skate. I fell a lot. My legs wouldn't work with me so cross overs were out of the question.I honestly don't remember any of the drills we did, or anything that was said. But I do remember how I felt once it was over.
Relieved.
Relieved that I'd found something worth fighting for, something worth attaining. Relieved I could believe in women again. Relieved I could start believing in myself again.
Derby isn't half assed. The women involved are not babies. It is hard, and hard core. The culture is both forgiving and unforgiving. You either live it, or you don't. Can't doesn't exist.... Unless you break a bone, or get a hematoma.. Then can't might sneak into your vocabulary. "I can't bend my knee" "I can't lift my arm." But those are different than "I can't mend my broken spirit" "My heart is too broken, I can't go on."
Derby girls know injuries.
We know that hematomas hurt like hell, and bench you for a while. We know that broken collar bones damn near put us out of commission and make us miserable. We know the pain of torn ligaments and plates and screws. We also know heartbreak, the pain of a broken spirit, the sting of life's cruel jokes when we're broke and broken. But we know that it's much more painful to not get up. We don't say "I can't get up". We say "I will get up - I'll show you, Life". (and then we cunch life straight in its vagina...)
So, hello, world of Derby - I'm New Pound Glory. I skate for the most amazing league on the planet full of the most amazing women I've ever met and been inspired by - The Springfield Roller Girls. I'm a blocker, and sometimes I rock the Pivot panties. By day, I'm a paralegal. By night, I skate, and play and dream and read. I have a neurotic cat, and the best friends for which a girl could ask. I graduate with my Bachelor's in Music performance in 2 weeks, and then I will start culinary school.
I do hope I can dazzle you, readers, with my dazzling sarcasm and wit, and not bore you to tears.
x,
New Pound Glory
