From the helmet of: Gravy
One of the reasons I love jamming is because you can just sort of... shut off and go into primal spazz reaction mode. When you’re new to derby, it’s the easiest position. You don’t have to think about the strategy that you don’t really understand or the awkward things your feet and legs are somehow actually doing. And if you can use that wonkiness to make your way through a pack every once in a while, the jammer panty will just sort of... consistently make its way onto your helmet. And that’s it; you’ve got a star on your back for the rest of your career. While I’ve been steadily leveling up in jamming over the past 3+ years, my blocking has been pretty stagnated. The first few times I actually blocked in a scrimmage, I remember that I could get to the opposing jammer quickly, but once I got there, I had no idea what to do. Do I hit her out or slow her down so someone else can hit her out? Is my body doing this right? How is she moving so quickly? And unlike when jamming, if your brain overthinks for a split second, the jammer is gone and you’re left standing there, analyzing what just happened. Until it’s time for the jammer to come back around (how did she get here so fast?!) and you have to find your friends and hope your butts are close enough that the jammer that’s barreling in won’t hit your seam and send you flying. Being somewhat new to the blocking game is almost like re-learning how to play. I thought that the little tricks I used while jamming didn’t translate over to blocking, but it was only after I became a better blocker that I realized that each position could use the other’s skills, just differently. You can’t fake a jammer by pretending you’re not going to block her and then magically block her, but you can be sneaky and trick the jammer into cutting the track. Spinning, while sometimes getting you out of tough jamming situations, will not block the jammer, but solid footwork can help you stay in front of her while she’s juking. There’s a completely different mindset going into the game as a blocker than when going in as a jammer. Blocking is like a game of ambition, relentlessness, and patience. (What do you mean, patience?! This is ROLLER DERBYAHHH). Patience in the way you move and the way you think. You can’t get too gung-ho and overcompensate, or you’ll lose the jammer. You can’t move your head from side to side looking for the jammer or you’ll lose her. When your wall is patient and can contain that jammer, daaaang, that takes all the jammer juice away. Blocking is zen. It’s focused, highly mental, and takes a certain amount of clarity to be successful. Though I will always take that jammer cap when it’s given, I’ve really started to enjoy blocking. Blocking with people who are on the same page as you is like something I had never experienced before. Completely exhilarating, the way that everyone just sort of fills in where they’re needed, like a self-solving, soul-crushing puzzle. I hope that everyone experiences that feeling in their derby career, just as I hope that everyone experiences getting lead jammer for the first time (because you always take the opportunity to jam when it comes up, right? Right?!). If you want to play better and have a deeper understanding of the game, play both positions. Soak it all up. To be able to block a jammer, you have to move and think like one. And to be able to jam past blockers, you have to know what it’s like being a blocker. And the great thing is that you can soak it up. You have that power. Because whatever you put into derby is exactly what you get back (and then some).
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From the helmet of: Tesla
So, this last friday I had a group lesson with Smarty Pants, and I was all excited (who wouldn't be peeing themselves in glee, right?!). I was going straight there after work, so in the morning I gathered all my gear, packed it on my back, and headed out the door. Halfway through that door I realized I'd forgotten a whole bag of iamrollerderby shirts upstairs. Damn. It's ok, though, I thought, I'll just run up and grab them, my gear isn't THAT heavy. On about the 6th step someone placed a hot knife in the top of my right thigh. That doesn't feel awesome, I thought, but I kept running up those damn stairs. On the way down the stairs my thigh continued to feel not awesome. What did I doooo??! The morning of a Smarty lesson day?! WHY DID I DO THAT? I rested it all day at work, kept it tightly wrapped, and then skated on it that night. I did fine, and my leg felt so-so. Most importantly, the Smarty lesson was awesome. Two days later at practice I was feeling glimmers of that hot knife again, but I was determined to ignore it. I made it an hour and forty five minutes through practice. Like a freaking PROFESSIONAL. Then, mid-jam, I knew something was going to explode, and sure enough my leg was again searing with white-hot stabby pain. I coasted on one leg to the ground and quickly began to de-pad, lest that damn jammer panty get passed anywhere near me (nope nope nope). My brain was having a fit watching my girls skate. I wanted to skate, too! But.. the knife in my leg.. Why is it so hard to accept that we shouldn't skate when we're hurt? Because we just WANT to skate that bad? Because we paid too much money to miss a practice? Because we're just macho mamas? Maybe it's because we don't want to look like pansies sitting out of drills and jams. I don't know what it is, but it's super dumb. Two days of contact drilling and scrimmaging on that leg, that was super idiotic. And going to practice tonight, two days later, was maybe not the brightest thing I've ever done either. One stupid knee-tap and I'm now in more pain than I was that first day, and I'm probably looking at an even longer recovery time, but I just don't care. And I should. I need this body, man. Derby is a sickness, yo. And the only cure is more derby. Speaking of stuff that is sucky, my Arius plates tried to MURDER me this week. I'll explain. We were (thank goodness) skating slowly in a pack, about to go into a drill, when my left skate felt kinda floppy and weird. I looked down to see the side of my front wheel. Like, the side of it.. THE SIDE THAT SHOULD NOT BE FACING UP STARING AT ME. What the deuce? I plopped down on my luscious derby butt and grabbed my skate. I was missing a pin! Arius plates don't have kingpins and normal truck/axel set ups, they have butterfly cushions as a pivot point for each set of axels. There is a bolt that holds that assembly together, and one of mine was gone. For a moment I was panicky and upset, but then Memphis skated over with my pin in her hand and a slightly confused look on her face. THANK YOU, DERBY GODS! Memphis rocks. As I was hastily fixing my skate, Donna 'Pologize ran over and told me her Arius plates had lost a pin, too! At the skating rink! IN THE DARK! Holy hell. Why, Arius? You trying to kill someone? I'll be checking my stupid pins before I skate each time now, and if you have Arius plates I suggest you start doing the same. Damn sneaky ninja pin. The moral of tonight's story is this: Rest if you're hurt, and check your Arius pins to make sure they're not loose. My motto of "rest is for the weak/I'LL REST WHEN I'M DEAD" is just egotistical and moronic. I'm not gonna say I didn't have a blast at practice tonight, because I did, but I shouldn't have done that knee-tap of death. I shouldn't have offered to be the jammer in drills. I shouldn't have blah blah blah. Derby. From the helmet of: Tesla
Summer. That's how it began for me. A new coworker at my job turned into a derby godmother, and within a month I'd bought skates. Adult women roller skated? Recreationally? I had no idea what derby really was (there was a movie, right?), but I knew I had stumbled upon something pretty great/terrifying. I had skated as a kid. A ton. When my mom talks about it now she says, "Oh, she lived in skates. Refused to take them off," at which point my husband says, "Yeah, some things don't change. Lately I think she'd sleep in them if I let her." I feel pretty open and relaxed about my status as a rollergirl now (four months in), but it didn't start that way. I bought skates in May 2014, and the summer session of the Texas Rollergirls Rec League didn't start until June 1st. My coworker told me I should go to speed skate practice at the local roller rink to get my bearings. It had been 20 years since I'd worn roller skates, and time isn't always kind. I also have a bit (ok, maybe more than a bit) of a social anxiety issue. I may play things off okay sometimes when I'm feeling nervous, but on the inside I'm usually on the verge of a meltdown. I made up my mind to go to speed practice. I borrowed gear. I obsessed over the driving directions and traffic. I drove there after work. I sat in my car. I continued to sit in my car. Really, if my husband hadn't pulled up next to me in HIS car and dragged me inside, I may never have gone in at all. When he inched his car into the space next to mine I had a death-grip on the steering wheel, my gaze fixed on a nowhere point ahead of my bumper. I was dug into my VW like a tick, and fear was coursing through my veins. "There are gonna be roller girls in there!" "Why does everyone walking in there have inlines? No quads?" "What if I can't skate? I'm gonna pass out." I didn't even realize he was there until he opened my car door like a ninja. Yeah, I may over-analyze just a bit. What would have happened if he hadn't decided to come? But he did, and I DID go inside that roller rink... and I could skate. I could still cross over, turn around, and skate backwards. I even remembered how to crossover backwards! I didn't fall once. Jackpot. Now, stopping was a different story. Let's just say I rolled into a lot of walls and people that first day. I rolled into another rollergirl and made a friend. Turned out, rollergirls were pretty nice people. Jackpot numero dos. I spent the next few weeks going to friday night speed practice, watching derby bouts on YouTube, and trying not to puke myself whenever I thought about signing up for Rec League. Hubby told me to sleep on it until I was sure, so I waited until the very last day and then pulled the trigger. No choice now. I had bought gear. I had invested. Time to walk the walk! The first level of our Rec League is called Primer, and it's a non-contact basic skills level, and it's where I met Gravy for the first time. She certainly didn't belong in Primer, but was going through the motions since she was new to Austin, and to the league. I took lots of notes. There are assessments about three times per session in which you can try to get to the next level. After three Primer practices, I decided to assess "to get the feedback," I said. Yeah, right. I wanted to skate with the big girls! Sorta! I had no idea. I passed that assessment, and headed into what the league calls a mixed-level scrimmage intensive. It's not a regular practice session. It's drilling followed by scrimmaging every single practice. Every. Single. Practice. Scrimmaging. Ever seen a bright-eyed freshie do a hitting drill? I'm pretty sure I looked hilarious. Ever seen one try to scrimmage without knowing a thing about the game? YouTube didn't prepare me for this. And the HEAT. Holy hell was it hot. Texas summers aren't exactly cool, mind you, and we skate in a big warehouse/oven with no AC. There are a few gym fans, though, and a trash can in which to puke when the heat doesn't agree with the breakfast taco you hastily shoved down your gullet. Basura. And so it went. I was gung-ho... and then I was beat down. I was encouraged, and fussed at a little. I kept having to say, "I'm new! I'm sorry!" Some girls would help and give feedback, and that was the best part about skating with girls in a higher level. Some were more of the tough-loving variety and knocked me down every single chance they got. Sometimes that meant real, oh-shit-I'm-broken injuries. I must have had a sign on my back: "Hi, I'm Tesla. My fear response is to stand up, and I'm not short, so go ahead and slam me to the ground!! Teach me a lesson!" Despite my best efforts to stay cheery, I got pretty down on myself. I got hurt, tearing some muscles in my rotator cuff. I got sad and frustrated, and began taking every hit personally. Maybe derby wasn't for me? Moving into the Intermediate level may have been a bad choice. I decided to make my self-doubt known to the league coordinators and some of the girls, and I got lots of positive feedback. I also got a few links to some blogs about mental toughness, and a pep talk about owning my athleticism. No more excuses about how I'd never played a sport before. I'm playing one now! Time to own that shit. I went back to practice the next week ready to take on the world and keep smiling. I just did it. I took that stupid jammer panty when it was handed to me, and I got back up every time I slammed. I smiled through some pain and pushed through some exhaustion. I could do this. And the girls noticed. I got butt-slaps and high fives! I got congratulated on getting lead jammer! Wait.. I got lead jammer?! I hadn't even realized. By the last practice of the summer session I was a rollergirl through and through (and threw). I had started derby to have fun and get a good workout. Pfffft. Silly freshie! You don't do derby to get in shape, you get in shape to do derby. I had never worked out before, but I was now squatting while I brushed my teeth and doing push-ups while the oven pre-heated. It didn't take long for it to become one of the most important things in my life. Three months from terrified to hook-line-and-sinker in love. And that's how I got here. I just want to share this derby love. I hope you'll like what I have to say. |
Tesla and GravyJust two rollergirls trying to share the rollerlove from Austin, TX to the world. Archives
November 2015
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