Wednesday, March 13, 2013

First Bout

I'm still here! Still plugging away.

I skated in my very first bout last week!
It was terrifying.

It's been a while since I've posted so let's catch up for a moment. I'm an awful player. I skate slowly (passed my skills test without the 25 in 5.) I fall constantly, often tripping others. I can't slice very well, meaning I can't move laterally across the track. In scrimmage I can see the opposing jammer, but I can't get over to her. Okay let's be honest. In scrimmage I can't see the opposing jammer. The second the whistle blows, I'm engulfed in a visual cacophony of women and wrist pads and helmets and skates. Strangely, the din of rolling wheels, grinding stops, and yelling teammates blends into white noise. I find myself skating in silence with my thoughts.

"Where's my team? There they are. How do I get back there? Crap. I'm turned around backwards. Got to turn back around. Oof! Get up. Okay. Now where's my team? Oh, good. They're right here. Now where's the jammer. Is she theirs or ours? Wait. Now where's my team? Oof! Get up. Okay. Now they're all the way up there? Lets go. Whoosh-who was that? Was I supposed to block her? Oh shit. I'm a goat again." This goes on for the full two minutes.

It gets frustrating, but I am VASTLY improved from where I was a few months ago. The coach and I decided it was time for me to be in a bout.

I spent the two days leading up to the bout in abject terror. I oscillated between eating everything in the fridge and not being able to eat at all. Whenever I stood still for a moment, people could see me shaking. What was I afraid of? I was worried about injuring someone with a random fall. I was afraid of getting too much play time and passing out or vomiting. I was scared of spending the whole time as a goat. Mainly I was terrified of embarrassing my family, who would be in the stands supporting me. My parents are so unconditionally supportive that I think it causes physical pain for them to watch me be bad at something. I would hate for my husband to see how bad I am after we both gave up so much time to this. I didn't think I could do it, and actually considered quitting derby before I would have to play.

I held on, though, and showed up on Saturday with my smoky eyes, knee socks, and hot pants. I forgot my glitter. I suited up and hit the track for warm up. Warm up was awful. I spent most of it on the floor. Ugh. My parents sat in the bleachers, video camera trained on me. Ugh. Between warm up and the start if the bout, I must have gone to pee about twelve times. Anyone who has tried to go to the bathroom while wearing skates, kneepads, tights, spandex and hot pants can tell you this is no small undertaking. I was so nervous. For some reason I had started to fear peeing in the track. (Plus - TMI -- my "lady time" had arrived. As if I wasn't self conscious enough.)

Then the most astounding thing happened. Our bench coach wrote my number on my arm. All the gear, the uniform, the socks, the skates -- none of it said, "you're an official derby chic now" like having those numbers on my shoulders.

Bout starts. Bench coach says I'm in the fourth jam. I'm pretty sure I'm not going to puke. One jam goes by, two, three. I'm up. I shoot out into the track, determined to be where I'm supposed to be when I'm supposed to be there. I hear yelling. We have too many girls on the track. I'm waved back to the bench. Ah. We have a girl in the penalty box so we need to play short one girl. I'm bumped.

This happens a couple more times. My turn comes up, we have a girl in the box or its a power jam, I get bumped. At first I'm relieved. I had been so scared about dragging the whole team down and about over exerting myself. I had told myself that I just wanted my "Rudy" moment. One jam would be plenty. As the timer for tge first half dwindles away, however, I become increasingly anxious to get our there. Let me do this! Do or die! If I don't play, I'll always be afraid. This is my chance, and its slipping away!

The bench coach taps me. It's my turn! Breathe. Breathe. I'm in the pack. The whistle sounds. Silence falls. I do not! Not at first. My team does have to slow up a bit because I cannot keep up with the sprint. I do take a couple of falls, but I do not spend the whole jam on the floor. I do not get trapped as a goat. At one point, I find myself leaning on the opposing jammer, pushing her against the outside line. I'm DOING SOMETHING! I may find out later that I was hurting rather than helping- that I am out of play or something. Right now I don't care, though. I'm in there! The jam ends. I'm obviously a new player, but I didn't make a fool of myself. As a bonus, I have another girl's number partially imprinted on my arm!

I play three more jams this bout. Most of my time is spent trying to keep up with my team. The jammer goes right by me because I just can't get over there. I wind up throwing a couple of elbows because my mind is screaming, "Get over there!" I'm reaching with my whole body, but my arms are the only parts of me that can move sideways! Luckily, I'm so ineffective with my fouls that nobody cares and I don't get a penalty.

I have one more highlight. Lining up, the opposing jammer is right behind me. I see her peg me as an easy mark. The whistle sounds. I don't let her by. She tries to go around and through me for a moment, but I don't give way. She backs up and finds somewhere else to get through. Yippee!

After the bout, the girls congratulate me on being a "vertical skater." It feels great, but on the other hand I think it's easy to be impressed when the bar is set so low. On the other hand, I did better than expected and that's all I can ask. I feel awesome! I've done it!

I can't express how good I feel now that I've been in a bout.

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