Assessment Reflections: Impossible things

"Sometimes I believe as many as six impossible things before breakfast...  Six impossible things.  Count them, Alice.  One, there's a potion that can make you shrink.  Two, and a cake that can make you grow.  Three, animals can talk.  Four, cats can disappear.  Five, there's a place called Wonderland.  Six, I can slay the Jabberwocky."     ~Alice in Wonderland, 2010

The big night for our fresh meat skaters finally arrived last night!  The rink was full of nervous concentration as we performed techniques we know by heart, as well as some that might still stump us.  It took over two hours, and the hardest part for me was wondering how I was doing that whole time.  Seven of us tested and we didn't get the results until after practice.  It was a long ride home.  While I knew I had performed well in most areas, I wasn't sure I'd done every single thing well enough.  Finally I found out that I did pass, along with three of my teammates.  I am still re-reading the announcement to be sure it's true.

I've been at this eight months.  Eight.  Almost as long as it takes to have a baby, and for me, having a baby was probably easier.  (Not raising a baby; just having one.)  The journey so far has been fun but emotional, scary at times, and I've discovered a side of myself that I didn't know was there.  Now that I have reached this first summit, I'm ready to push harder.  I need to improve my long-known weak points of hitting, blocking, and understanding strategy.  I'm skating in our fresh meat invitational on March 30th, and from there I'll be preparing for my first real bout.  Onward and upward.

When I look back at where I started, I know more than ever that I needed derby.  We all need to believe impossible things about ourselves.  I never thought of myself as an athlete, and I wasn't "born with skates on" like several of the girls on our team, either.  I have always struggled with sports.  Dodgeball, softball, basketball, volleyball--you name it, I couldn't play it.  I was so terrified of high school gym class that I signed up for Junior ROTC just to escape it.  The feeling that I was confused and clumsy at sports sank deep into my bones and after high school, opportunities to disprove that feeling seemed to vanish.  

And then, finally, I found roller derby.  I was at best a mediocre, very occasional rink skater.  Me, weave through that pace line?  No way.  Hip checks?  Are you kidding?  That's a death-defying stunt.  Skate close together in a pack?  Do a 180 and pop up on my toe stops?  Skate 25 laps in five minutes when I've never moved that fast outside of a motor vehicle?  Let someone sling me, push me, hit me while zooming around with eight wheels strapped to my feet?  Impossible.  Never going to happen.

But somehow it did.  And if I have all of that in me, what else is in there that I don't know about?  There's this race called The Bear that I someday want to run.  You begin at the bottom of a mountain and finish at the top.  It's five miles completely uphill.  At first it was a far-off, far-fetched item on my bucket list.  So far, I've never run anything even close to that.  I wondered if I might do my best and still get picked up by the van that comes for stragglers.  Now I look at it and think, pshaw, if I train for it I know I can kick that race's butt.  And someday I will.

We are blind to so much of our own potential.  I'll be forever thankful that derby helped me uncover some of mine.  With all the skulls and crossbones, racy nicknames, and tiny shorts, it took me a while to recognize roller derby for the Godbreeze it is.  I think of all the wonderful women who have helped and encouraged me, and the new ladies fighting their way through and discovering new sides of themselves.  I see my daughters watching me do what I dream of and absorbing it into their hearts and I know I was meant to be part of this.  Without a shred of irony, thank God for roller derby.

P.S.  A photo from last weekend of all-star Columbia Quad Squad jammer Mel Anoma.  The grinning, excited little girl?  Her newest fan, R.L. Bustya, future jammer.  She is also my five-year-old daughter, Suzi.  Maybe she'll change her mind and take on a challenge other than skating, and that'll be fine with me.  Whatever she does, I want her to always know there's no end to her potential.  She is amazing and capable and she can reach out and claim her dreams, with force if necessary.  That's roller derby.