So tonight begins my official career as an Ypsilanti Vigilante. I guess I could've gone to Vigi practice last week, but it was hours after I'd found out my assessment results, and I was a little dizzy still from it all. It's hard to believe that I've come this far in five months. It's not precisely that I feel *different* than I did at the start of Fresh Meat, I don't think I'm a different person, but there is definitely something that has shifted. I almost feel more like myself. Like there was this girl inside of me for years, ever since I first heard the term, and she just sort of chilled out in a beaten up lounge chair at the back of my mind with my dreams of owning a bookstore and a world-class hunter-jumper horse.
My fellow wave-mates and I have talked about the
"roller derby blur", and I sure as hell felt it on Sunday. Sunday was our first scrimmage day as a wave: normally I guess we get to do a little scrimmaging before the skills test, so some of our pack skills are better, but our timeline just didn't really work out that way I guess. So Sunday, first real scrimmage. I was excited, but nervous as sometimes my body has a tendency to forget how to derby after a while, and I hadn't skated in a whole week (since we didn't skate on Wednesday, just answered endless amounts of questions....) so I was already on edge. This was new ground. I didn't know how I would be or what I should expect or whether it was something I was actually good at. I mean, sure I'm "skilled" in the eyes of WFTDA and Frac and Whiskey, but what if that wasn't enough?
Now, I will readily admit that I suffer from anxiety, and it used to be really bad in high school. I haven't had a anxiety attack it a few years, I felt like I'd sort of mastered how to deal with myself through self-awareness and meds and timing. Imagine my surprise, then, when the tell-tale shakiness started to creep back after our warm up. My heart got tight like I'd been pumped with too much coffee, and every time I tried to turn around toe stop my toes just kept sliding and I'd end up on my ass. I sat out a few to work on my damn toe stops and make them behave, so I thought I was good again and returned to trackside. We had started to play a game called Secret Service that was designed for newbies to be able to focus on one job and not get so overwhelmed trying to think about everything during a jam, and I'd been handed the jammer star for one round. I got through the pack (not lead, but I got through), and I hauled ass to get back around, but I came in too hot around the curve and ended up diving through the pack and wiping out rather than getting through on my own 8 wheels. I got up, play resumed, and then I got pushed out and called for a track cut. I got up and the jam was called and I shakily made my way over to the penalty box. I sat down and then silently handed the jammer star to one of my derby wives, who I knew could tell something was amiss, but she had to be out on the track and she'd ask me later, her eyes said. I stood up, legs still almost vibrating. I skated slowly, head down, to the locker room across the rink, tension building in my chest the closer I got to the door. When I got inside, I broke. I had begun to feel terrible, like such a spaz and not in control of my own body, or my mind was not connected to my muscles anymore. I took off my helmet and my wrist guards and put my head between my knees and let myself sob a few times. Every time I heard voices near the door as skaters went by on the track, my heart did a funny little flip flop, and I remembered all the times when I was little when I would hide far longer than necessary just to see if someone would come see if I was alright. More often than not, I gave people too much credit and ended up alone on the steps next to my house angry that no one had noticed my pain, but not registering the fact that they were probably rolled up in a coat of their own hurt. I didn't want that to happen now. I didn't want to wait to see if my friends or derby wives came in to find me, I didn't want to let myself get angry at them for enjoying practice or hell, respecting my space. I tried to repeat as much as I could remember of Bonnie D.Stroir's "Puppy Talk" podcast to myself, breathing into each phrase. When I'd calmed myself down enough, when I didn't think I would cry at the drop of a hat anymore, I ventured back out and joined in stretching. I stretched silently, eyes on the floor, and geared down faster than my peers. I went to the bathroom to wash my face, when my wife Nailer came in and just asked if I wanted a hug. Of course I did, but I didn't want to cry, and she knew it but she hugged me anyway. Trauma came in shortly after, and then Belle, and soon my body was wracked with sobs and apologies as my wives just hugged me and were sweet.
I was reminded over and over that day of the safe space that derby can be if you let it, the space where you can feel your feelings but also be propped back up by every other girl who's going through the same confusion and learning as you are. That is one of the reasons I love roller derby. One of the reasons I am excited for tonight. We get to practice with the other Vigilantes, women who are talented and strong and vulnerable just like me, and I cannot wait to be able to love myself and this sport like they do.
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