Goodbye Fresh Meat, Hello Subpool

Hey howdy, my people,
When was the last time you got some good news? The best news as of late is, of course, Obama's election and I'm riding high with the rest of y'all on the idea of a well-spoken, intelligent Democrat sitting in America's big chair. But even that awesome turn of events was tempered with the crushing victory of Prop. 8. Oh how quickly dancing in the street turns into pissed off protesting.

But here's some good news no Mormon can screw with. The LADD captains have moved me up into the league's subpool! This is a huge step in derby. It means I can be tapped to play in games and no more Fresh Meat practices. From now on, I'll be practicing and scrimmaging exclusively with the likes of Mila Minute, Krissy Krash, Tara Armov, PITA, Amber Alert, Broadzilla, et al. I've also heard a rumor that the vets like to hit the newbies extra hard, so I'm properly terrified. But still excited and grateful to be given this chance.

As perhaps the oldest Fresh Meat skater in the history of LADD, I thought it would be fitting to pen a little farewell to my fellow Freshies. I posted this on our private message board earlier and now share it with y'all. Plus, photos from the Baby Doll Brawl by Rinkrat throughout. Ah, it's a good day indeed.



Hey Freshies,
I got some news this morning that's just too incredible to keep to myself. After a year and a half in Fresh Meat--which must be some kind of record--I've been moved "up" into the subpool! It's an amazing achievement for me.

This is the result of three tryouts, two babydoll brawls, and I don't know how many hours of practicing, falling, getting up, and falling again. I've lost count of the Fresh Meat who have—literally—flown past me into subpool and onto teams while I seemed to skate in circles. I've shed a lot of tears and thrown my share of fits over this league. But today I feel like it's all paid off.

Something you guys should know about me. I was the girl who faked having her period to get out of gym so many times, my teachers must have thought I was the most fertile girl in North America. That weirdo girl in all black who sat on the sidelines reading "The Bell Jar" while you played volleyball? Yeah, that was me.

I eschewed sports so much that I never went to one game while attending a major Pac 10 school. Football, track, basketball, even women's softball were all for braindead jocks who coasted on inflated scholarships as far as I was concerned. I still can't bring myself to be a "fan" of anything other than derby. So, I haven't evolved much in that respect.



This is all to say that I came to LADD a sheltered, somewhat pompous nerd who had avoided physical activity all of her life. I would have been Charles Atlas' 99 pound weakling if I wasn't a good 30 pounds overweight. I also have a long history of taking up activities on a whim and dropping them as soon as it became clear they required time and energy. Just ask the guitar covered in clothes in the back of my closet or peruse the half-finished novels, essays, comic book scripts, and plays on my hard drive.

I could go on about why I was perhaps the most unlikely Derby Doll ever to wobble on rental skates. But I kept going, gradually improving practice by practice. And now LADD's Powers That Be have decided that I'm ready to skate alongside and learn from the likes of Mila, Krissy, Laguna, Gori, Amber, Broady, Tara, et al. I'm incredibly grateful, excited, and completely terrified.




So, what the point of this message? Am I just bragging about my clichéd "Rocky"-like rise? Hardly. I just want to let y'all know, tha if I can play this sport, each and every single one of you can, too.

I'm not talking about the sporty ladies among you who came into this with flat stomachs and trophies on your shelves. I'm talking to my awkward, athletically challenged sisters out there. You guys can do it because you're already doing it. You're getting closer with every practice, every new skill you master, every pack you get through, and every skater you knock into the infield. You will graduate FM as long as you keep going. Don't fret about the girls who go onto subpool without you or the new girls who seem to have been born on skates. They've got their own obstacles to overcome, their own things to work on. Focus on yourself and your goal. And don't forget to have some fuckin' fun, too.



It seems like Freshies and subpoolers often lose touch when some graduate and some keep at it in FM. I don't want that to happen in my case. So, although I won't have access to this board, please keep in touch with me. I'm an email and Facebook freak and am around the track constantly. I want to hear about your progress and cheer you on.

That's it. I'm going to miss y'all. But "onward into the breech" as they say.

Hugs and bruises,
Gritty

Hey there, Internet!

Long time, no write. How the hell are you? I really like what you’ve done with the place. I don’t care what anyone says, Web 2.0 looks great. And kudos on Hulu and Funny Or Die. Good, good stuff. Did you loose some weight, btw?

You know, I’ve been meaning to get in touch forever and I’m a total douche for ignoring you. But I’m back--if you’ll have me. We had a great thing going on there for a while and I hope we can at least be friends. No pressure, though! I hear you’ve been seeing quite a few bloggers lately, which is totally cool with me. Just think it over.

What have I been up to? Oh man, a whole hell of a lot. Did you see my interview with award-winning, internationally beloved reporter Lauren Horwitch in Who Gives a Fuck Monthy? You didn’t? Huh. Well, I’ve cut and pasted it below. It should give you a idea of what I’m up to these days. Read it, or not, whenever you have a sec. That’s cool. You really do look amazing. Been working out?

Gritty Gets Back in the Pink
By Lauren Horwitch
Who Gives a Fuck Monthly, Sept. 2008

LH: It’s been seven months since you wrote your blog. What happened?

GiP: Get right to the point, why don’t you? I guess that’s why you’re the award-winning reporter, whose articles have appeared in LA Weekly, The Hollywood Reporter, Variety, Back Stage, and LA City Beat, to name a few.

I wish I had kept the blog going. I liked writing it, but I got a little worried that I might write something that could be misinterpreted or taken the wrong way. I wanted to be completely honest about my derby experiences, but at the same time I didn’t want to hurt any feelings, upset any apple carts, etc. Can one be totally honest in a public forum without looking like a dick? Maybe if no one’s reading.

But it turned out people were reading! And over the past year, rollergirls I’d never met came up to me at bouts and Rollercon saying they liked the blog and when would I start it up again. The final straw came just last night when one of my Witch Slap! teammates said my little ole blog convinced her to keep skating. She followed this up with, “And how did you get so fast?” She is officially my favorite person in the universe right now.



This is all to say that I can’t write unless I convince myself that no literate organism will ever read my work. And, like you Lauren, I’ve been fortunate to work for publications where that’s pretty much the case.

So, having even a small audience freaked me out. My ever evolving roller derby abilities—or lack thereof—freaked me out. Once I got over freaking out, I was just too busy with derby stuff: training, Rollercon ’08, helping out at LADD’s very first Jr. Derby Camp for Girls, participating on committees and such. Plus, the usual life/work-related stuff that gets in the way of our “real” derby lives so often.

LH: So, you haven’t given up roller derby, specifically skating with the LA Derby Dolls?

GiP: Not at all! In fact, I’m more into it than ever—practicing about four times a week (usually two hours per practice), getting into extra scrimmages, helping out at bouts, and within the league. It’s hard to have any time left for anything else, like my uber-tolerant wino boyfriend Chas. Fonville, over at Huevos Caballos.

It’s kind of amazing that I’m still passionate as ever about derby. I’m not usually one to stick with things. Just ask the guitar and unfinished novels in the back of my closet. The sewing machine arrives next week.s

LH: It says in your press notes that you’ve been training with the Dolls since July 2007, but you’re still not on a team. What’s up with that?

GiP: Yeah, thanks for brining that up. Yes, not on a team yet, but I’m crazy close to getting into the subpool, which will mean I’ll be eligible to sub for team players in bouts. In August, I tried out for the third time to get into subpool and was denied, but with a weird caveat. The captains deemed that I should continue practicing with the Fresh Meat nubes as well as with the vets during All Skate practices and the Saturday morning team/subpool-only practice. When I feel that I have improved, I can ask the captains to reconsider me for subpool.

In a rare stab at optimism, I gave myself props for “half-passing.” They could have said “no” outright.

And for what it’s worth, advancing up the LADD ladder has gotten hella competitive. As the amazing, physics-defying vet skaters get better, so must we all. The bar keeps getting raised, but it pushes everyone to be the best. And the best I want to be.

LH: But deep down you’re bummed that you’re still Fresh Meat?

GiP: Sure. It’s hard to watch your friends move on without you. I’ve been in Fresh Meat for about a year and a half now, which must be a record. I’ve seen so many girls wobble onto the track for the first time then go into subpool and even onto teams in just a few months. I’m psyched for them, don’t get me wrong. But I get a little choked up watching my friends skate out under the disco ball, waving at the crowd in their new uniforms. I’m only human, as far as I know.

But I can’t dwell on it. I’ll get there. It may very well kill me, but I’ll get there. I’ve come a long, long way skill-wise and I don’t want to throw all of this time and hard work out the proverbial window.

Plus, if I love doing this, who cares if I ever get into subpool or on a team? I should be happy as long as I’m still skating. Who needs uniforms, the roar of the crowd, bragging rights, and the league’s approval? Turns out, I do. Sigh….

LH: So, what do you have to work on?

GiP: Control. In other words: stops. Apparently, I didn’t stick one stop during my last tryout—not even a simple right-foot T-stop! That must be what did me in.

The other big thing is being aware of what the hell I’m doing in a pack. It gets confusing in there; derby is one of the few sports in which you’re playing offense and defense at the same time. But I’m certainly getting better at this. So, it’s all about scrimmaging as much as I can and running strategy drills. The more packs I play in, the more comfortable I’ll get.

Plus, I’m working on jamming, which means building major endurance. And footwork and hitting and not ramming or advancing, and…and….what was the question again?

LH: Last time you blogged, you had just started running to build endurance. Still doing it?

GiP: Yes! These days I do it on an elliptical at my new gym, the very low-key and friendly Body Builders in Silver Lake. I still run to my friend DJ Steve’s Podrunner Intervals podcast, too. I’m now on Level 2: “Gateway to 8K.” I can’t say enough about it without sounding like a piece of blatant product placement. Just check it out: http://www.djsteveboy.com/mixes.html

LH: Do you ever think about what skater you want to be?

GiP: I think about it a lot, Lauren. Like everyone else, I’d probably sell whatever is left of my soul to be a star jammer like Mila Minute, Krissy Krash, Gori Spelling, Crystal Death, and Fighty Almighty (who has retired, much to my dismay). They get the glory and keep the asses in the VIP seats, and rightfully so.

But when I really think about who I want to be on the track—and within the league—I come back to solid players the fans rarely notice, blockers like Amber Alert, Broadzilla, PITA, Myna Threat, Killo Kitty, and Razorslut. They’re the skaters who make the game for me and get to be in the thick of the action. Hell, they are the action.

Above all, I want to a reliable player that gets shit done: gets her jammer through the pack, knocks down the opposing, controls the pack, and hits and hits and hits. I want my teammates to know I’ll get in there and do whatever it takes to win and I want to make the other team shake in their skates. I want to jam, too, but my ego will survive if I don’t inspire a fan club or a bobble-head doll (not that that wouldn’t totally rule).

LH: I hear you’re going to be in a game or something soon?

GiP: You heard right, sister. I’ll be skating THIS SATURDAY (OCT. 25) in LADD’s Baby Doll Brawl! The theme is good witches vs. bad witches, and I must say my “good” team—Witch Slap!—is looking downright rad-tacular. The bad witches on team Toil and Trouble will got a big taste of just how much trouble they’re at the pre-bout scrimmage on Tuesday. We spanked them good and I can’t wait to do it again! (Is it necessary to insert a “” here or can you tell my trash talk is mostly bluster and I still love my buds on TNT?).

Anywho, get your tickets here. General admission is only $7.50 on Goldstar!

We've even got our own promo. Check it:


LH: Time to wrap this up, Gritty. But this has been great -- the height of my journalism career, in fact.

GiP: Awesome.

LH: Just one more question: will we have to wait another seven months to hear from you?

GiP: Not at all! I’m planning to make more time for this blog, and adding video and music. Especially video! So, please check in regularly, comment, send email, befriend me on various social networking sites (especially Facebook), and such.

Run, Gritty, Run

Hey there, friends, well-wishers, mortal enemies and Derby fans,

Sorry to leave you hanging for so long, my devoted minions. Derby training and business combined with this really annoying thing called “work” have kept me otherwise detained.

I’m proud to report Operation Build Endurance is on. I’ve been running and skating a few times a week—well, my “running” is more like speedwalking/jogging, but it’s something. I’ve always detested jogging. As I trot by the kiddie birthday parties in Griffith Park, I swear I can hear children squealing, “Mommy, look at that fat lady running! Who is she kidding?”

“Yes, angel honey,” Mommy replies. “No one will ever love you if you get that fat. Here, have another piece of sheet cake.”

Paranoia aside, I’m really enjoying it. Much of the thanks is due to my friend DJ Steve Boyett's Podrunner podcast .

It’s one of those simple, brilliant why-didn’t-I-think-of-that ideas. Steve posts techno/house/funk mixes set to BPMs (beats per minute) perfect for running. You upload the mixes from iTunes, pour into your iPod/MP3 player, shake well, and run to the tunes. All easy, all free.

I’m doing his interval-training program called Podrunner Intervals , mixed by DJ Beatsmith. The mixes are set to slower and faster BPMs. He starts you out with a slow one, then a fast one, then a slower one, etc. You speed up and slow down accordingly. A little tone tells you when to change your pace. Steve posts a new mix every week that get more and more challenging (he recommends running to a mix three times before going onto the next level). I started Week Two on Monday and so far, so good.

I haven’t listened to techno/house since my early ’90s college days when every weekend was dominated by underground parties (we were too cool to call them “raves”) and handfuls of Ecstasy. Sorry, folks, I burned all photographic evidence of me with Muppet-colored hair, a pacifier ’round my neck, making out with some dude I’d known for a total of 60 seconds. My chronic short-term memory loss and tinnitus are all the souvenirs I need from those good times.

I’m still way rock n’ roll, but I dig the Podrunner music because there aren’t distracting lyrics and it’s easy to set your pace to the music. Plus, it makes me feel very “Run, Lola, Run.”

It’s been hard to schedule running/skating time because I’ve been so busy with LADD events and duties. Since I last posted, I was elected Official Secretary of the Dolls! I ran unopposed, so a “campaign” was not necessary without an Obama running against my Hillary. So far my secretarial duties are taking notes at meetings, offering suggestions, and generally helping out. It’s very enlightening to get a glimpse of how the league works behind-the-scenes. It takes a lot of work, time, and woman-power. My hat’s off to Democlious and the other boss ladies who make it all work.

I also fell in with the proud LADD Enforcers, better known as the refs. Perhaps you saw me working the white board at the Feb. 16 bout? That was me in the infield wearing fake pearls, tiara, and a makeshift black-and-white stripped T-shirt “dress” scribbling down penalties on a white board and holding it up for the refs in the announcer’s booth. This has to be the least stressful, easiest job during a game, but I was still nervous. I think I did a pretty good job. Announcer Evil E says I gotta hold the board up longer and use a darker pen. Otherwise, the feedback is positive.

Did you catch that I got to watch the game from the infield? Talk about a fuckin’ VIP view! I was right there for all of the jams, the injuries, the fights, and the Tough Cookies vs. Sirens drama. In fact, hanging out with the refs and seeing the game through their eyes has been fun and tremendously helpful. We don’t learn much about penalties and game rules in Fresh Meat. Maybe there’s more of that when you reach subpool? Anyway, I’m very grateful to the refs who took me in as one of their own, if only for a short time.

There’s so much to blog about, but I’m gonna have to sign off for now—to go Podrunning/walking/jogging, of course. I’m experimenting with running during the work day. When I get home after another depressing day in my cube, all I want to do is veg. Running after dark is also kind of sketchy. So, I figure I can tear myself away from my computer for 40 minutes or so during the day. Four o’clock is perfect: things are slow here and I don’t have to sit around in my own sweat for too long.

Chao, babies, I’ll be back soon.

Yours speedily,
Gritty

Super Bowl Slip-Up

So, get this. I slipped and fell down my stairs on Sunday. Mind you, these are six little steps leading down to Chez Gritty’s den/former garage. I blame the wood floor and the comfy traction-less socks Boyfriend’s mother gave me for Xmas. Sabotage, perhaps?

Of course, I was carrying hot coffee, which rained down on me, the stairs, a chair, carpet, and walls. Thank god Boyfriend was there to help me up and clean the coffee stains before our company arrived. By the time 5 p.m. rolled around, I was still hurting and had had enough of falling down that day. So, I cut practice. But I’ll be there on Tuesday to show you my awesome stair bruise, ladies.

(By the way, said company came over to watch Chapter 6 in Fassbinder’s 15-hour, incredibly depressing German mini-series “Berlin Alexanderplatz” . Why else would three red-blooded American dudes gather before the TV on a certain Sunday in February? They’re not without taste, though. They loved “Showgirls” the last time I got to pick the movie. And they’re the proprietors of a forthcoming Uwe Boll Appreciation Website .)

But I digress….

I’ll be damned if I let a few stairs cripple me! If I break a limb or puncture a major organ it’s gonna be on the track--preferably, in front of a lot of witnesses.

Speaking of which, big ups to my Darling Nicky who shattered her ankle and broke a tibia at Team Rad practice. While “tibia” sounds like a third-world country I should feel guilty about, breaking such a thing nevertheless sounds painful. Nicky is one of those girls who took to derby like a duck to water almost immediately. Heal fast, girl, we need you!

It’s strange knowing you can be seriously injured every time you step on the track. Sometimes it seems inevitable. My boss broke one ankle and badly sprained the other months ago. She says she slipped while getting out of the bathtub. Perhaps my co-workers and I have finally driven her to drink?

Anyway, I’ve been watching her move from cast to boot-thingy, from a wheelchair to crutches. She says the worst of part is begging rides from her mom, husband, and friends. Nothing makes you feel helpless like limited mobility--and “helpless” is something I can’t contend with.

Sometimes as Boss Lady hobbles past my cube I think, “That’s gonna be me!” Then I think about how much I’d have to lean--literally and metaphorically--on Boyfriend if my tibia gives out. I felt so pathetic asking him to help scrape me off the floor on Sunday—imagine how awful I’d feel asking him to help me out of the shower. Is pursuing a dangerous sport selfish knowing it could impact your No. 1 Loved One?

I guess the answer is, “don’t think about it.” If I obsess about getting injured, I probably will be in traction sooner rather than later--all the more reason to fall safely and consciously rather than splay all over the place. I’ve got to keep remembering that derby training is a long process, not unlike a never-ending, ponderous German miniseries. Only entertaining!

Auf wiedersehen,
Gritty

It’s the End of the World as We Know It (And I Feel Fine)

Sorry, dear readers, for keeping you in such suspense. I know you’ve been gripping your laptops fervently, sleepless eyes going red from staring at this page, fingers cramped from hitting the refresh button again and again and again.

“What happened? Did Gritty pass tryouts or what??”

You’ve muttered it so many times the words have lost all meaning, syllables blended into nonsense. Unbeknownst to you, rocking back-and-forth in the corner, your new psychiatrist calls another 5150 on your ass and the nice men with butterfly nets ferry you to UCLA Medical Center. Selfishly, I’ve neglected my blogging duties to enjoy several seasons of “Gilmore Girls” for the umpteenth time (blame Boyfriend for giving me the complete series for Christmaskuh).

Fear not, poor Britney, I am back and here to tell you all about tryouts on Tuesday. They were indeed grueling—as Long Island Lolita warned. I knew the skills that would be tested, but I didn’t know about the 15 minutes or so of continuous, fast skating. I started out all confidence and bravado, but I got sloppy as I lost steam. And, as we all know, I loose steam way too quickly.

When it was over I was just happy to have survived. I think even the stronger girls felt worn out. I knew instantly that I hadn’t shown my best, which was disappointing. The writing was on the wall as I braced to get critiqued by Myna Threat. As always, she was great: direct yet encouraging.

I have to work on…well, everything. El numero uno is endurance. Myna said she thought going to RD practices was enough for a long time. But these days she does an hour of cardio at the gym four days a week! Sound extreme, but it’s made a huge difference for her on the track. Witness the last bout when she skated jam after jam as one of Fight Crew’s remaining five players. Now, that takes stamina!

I don’t know if I’m up to 240 minutes per week on the elliptical yet, but it is time to step it up. Thing is, I HATE gyms: the noise, the sweaty crowds, awful Power 106 music, MTV & CNN on the many TVs, the gleaming torture machines, and don’t get me started on group showers. Plus, no matter what I do, I always wind up on the treadmill next to the bounciest, blondest, tallest, 20-year-old model/actress in the place. Good thing the thoughtful gym staff places a full-length mirror right there so I can accurately compare and contrast my sagging 5’3, 32-year-old-ness with the co-president of Delta Phi Vagina.

Do gyms install those floor-to-ceiling mirrors just to make customers feel worse about themselves? I don’t know about you, but watching myself exercise is just as appetizing as watching me have sex—I can really do without seeing either of those activities. With that in mind, I need to find a gym that looks like my bedroom: soft lighting, mellow KCRW on the radio, and a cloudy vintage mirror on the wall.

Where was I? Oh yeah: tryouts.

To make a long story short (too late), I didn’t make it into subpool. Three months more of Fresh Meat for me. And I really do feel fine. It’s the best thing not only for me, but for Team Radical right now. No Pity Party here. It’s not the end of the world, not even the end of my skating.

I did experience a twinge of jealousy while reading the list of the fine, wonderful girls who did make it. A little sadness in there, too, because I won’t see them in FM practices anymore—though we’ll get together for Team Radical practices once a week.

That isn’t to say I’m not jazzed for them. I’ve seen how hard those girls work—they fuckin’ deserve it. They’re the perfect first representatives of Team Radical! They’ll get the others good and scared of us.

The way I see it, I have three months to get my shit together for tryouts in April. It’s a good interval of time to (literally) get up to speed. Now if only I can only find the Dorothy Parker Commemorative Gym and Spa.

I drink your milkshake!,*
Gritty

*I’ve got to do something about my Daniel Plainview Tourette's impression. Naw, it's too much fun -- and loud!

Sometimes You Gotta Say 'What the Fuck'

Me and Gravity didn’t see eye to eye today. I resolved to run like hell on eight wheels around a slippery, inclined oval, slamming into a bunch of girls doing the same. That killjoy Gravity had different plans for me. I come to you with a throbbing knee, sore nose from a full-on faceplant, and a bruise on my ass the size and vague shape of Canada.

Fundamental forces are such assholes! (Or “massholes,” if you want to go there, nerd.)

Still, I had an awesome time and accomplished a lot in today’s practices (one hour for those headed for try-outs and one for Team Radical, LADD’s up-and-coming fourth team!). For one, I had a revelation so simple it should have hit me months ago. I’ve worn glasses for five years and, of course, I am now my frames’ slave (can’t help it, they’re too cute). For fear of breaking said cute glasses, I skate without them. Though I can’t see facial expressions, per se, I can perceive fuzzy blobs in my path, which I thought was good enough. But I’ve always been afflicted by a lingering nausea while skating. Not enough to decorate the track with my dinner, but enough to make me feel worn-out and wobbly.

While practicing stops and feeling particularly green, I had the breakthrough thought, “Hey, think I’ll put on my glasses for a bit. Judy Gloom wears her glasses in bouts, after all.” Hallelujah, sisters, I could fucking see and it made a huge difference. I’m still nervous about breaking them, though they did just fine in the aforementioned faceplant. I’m making an appointment to get contacts first thing in the morning.

Too bad I won’t have them before try-outs, which are almost upon us. Since my last pathetic post, I’ve decided to quit my bitchin’ and just go for it. The worst that can happen is I don’t make it into the subpool and have to spend the next three months in Fresh Meat. Well, actually, the worst thing that can happen is I make a giant ass of myself. But that would be fine, too, and the outcome would be the same. Plus, if I don’t do it, I’ll be plagued with “what ifs” and an assorted chocolate box of guilt. Better just to do it and get it over with. To quote the eminently quotable Miles/Booger : “Sometimes you gotta say ‘What the fuck.’”

Axels of Evil suggested we think about what we do well, as opposed to beating ourselves up over what we need to work on. In that vein, here’s my little list:

What I Rock:
Right foot T-stop -- got that down like Chinatown (apologies to Robert Towne)
Left foot T-stop -- still a little wonky, but getting there
Skating the track -- stay low, stay low, stay low, stay low
Rock Star -- s’long as I can get up fast
Snowplow -- hesitate to put this here, I get it about 60% of the time. But what the hell?
Shoulder block -- Ah, the joy of the block.

What I Need to Rock More:
Getting up quick! -- falling in a position that’ll make it easiest, then just keep going!
Endurance -- the everlasting problem for many girls. But I think I’m getting better.
Transitions -- Not too bad, but I still need to keep my balance when skating backward.
Power Slide -- okay, I’ve never stuck one of these flashy stops. I always wind up doing a Xanadu spiral. That’d be great if I was auditioning for a touring production of “Starlight Express,” but twirling like a top ‘aint gonna help me in this case.
Hip block -- not bad, but not up to speed of the shoulder.

It all comes down to controlling those four wheels under my feet. And let’s not forget attitude. We’ve heard again and again that skills are important, but a genuine I’m-gonna-make-you-and-your-entire-family-eat-track-with-relish spirit will garner the most points. I was going to write about my struggle to dig down and find my killer Doll. Blame it on social conditioning that directs girls to be submissive, quiet, polite, and hobbled by pointy shoes. My rage is in there somewhere -- I think? -- buried beneath thick layers of guilt and cholesterol. But how does one pick up the emotional pick axe and [Anne] Hackaway through all of that sugar-and-spice bullshit?

But I’ve gotta tell ya, I think my Raging Doll came out a bit during tonight’s practice. With glasses in place, when the pack took off, I just thought, “Fuck it!” I got four girls in my sights and set out to pick them off. Of course, I fell and fell and fell, but kept going. PITA gave me big props afterward, saying I was the most aggressive one out there. Me? Lil’ Miss Please and Thank You? Cool!

So, I know its there; I’ve got to commit to bringing it out. Fall or no fall -- what the fuck, right?

Oy, I’ve spent nearly 900 words babbling about tonight’s practice and not a word about the balls-out amazing first bout of the season on Saturday night -- Fight Crew vs. Tough Cookies . It was packed -- we sold out, SOLD OUT. That means there was nearly 2,000 people in rapture of the Dolls. Pretty damned incredible.

And I haven’t mentioned the personally incredible experience of running into two longtime friends whom I’ve missed for years. Turns out they’ve become huge LADD fans. At first they thought it was going to be stupid, exploitative fun, but they’ve fallen in love with the real, raw sport. Ah, Derby, bringing people together in so many ways.

That’ll all have to wait for next time. Think good thoughts for me going into try-outs. Feel free to offer up a prayer to the deity of your choice. I’m not picky.

‘Night,
Gritty

Pity Party for One

Please forgive the following post. Those prone to contagious negativity should read no further. I’d turn back if I wuz you.

Your ol’ pal Gritty had a setback after last night’s practice that’s thrown her for an unexpected loop. Since I started skating way back in July, I’ve been waiting/hoping to reach the next level, which for a Freshie means “getting cleared.” For those not familiar with the process, “getting cleared” means a beginning skater (aka Fresh Meat) demonstrates she’s got enough skills to roll with the advanced skaters in the weekly “all skate” practice. Cleared skaters also sign a six-month contract and pay dues instead of a per-practice fee, and she can now skate the track whenever it’s free (though she must have someone else with her).

Generally, it seems girls get cleared after about eight FM practices or two months. I first asked to get cleared in September and was told to not even try. I didn’t ask again until this weekend and was offered the chance to try last night.

Well, your True Grit (still) didn’t make it. Specifically, I am on-contract, am welcome to skate outside of practices, but still cannot go to the all-skate. I think I got too cocky. Practice went well -- it seemed like I was finally nailing some of the skills that’ll be assessed during try-outs next Tuesday. When it came time to get cleared, I was pretty dang confident – maybe over confident? I fell during a very simple pace line and made some other stupid mistakes. But the bottom line is after seven months of doing derby, I’m just as frustrated as I was the first day I laced up.

Of course, the instructor who assessed me, was very kind and encouraging. She said I’d “come a long way,” but I need to get better control. She absolutely did the right thing in not clearing me, as it’s her job to protect other players from unsafe skaters. And I do appreciate her encouragement, which has been ample since Day One.

Thing is, my reaction was far more shocking than my lack of cleared status. I drove home in tears. Once in the driveway, I gave myself the permission to give into it and throw myself a little pity party in the shower. But after that enough with the crying! I’m an adult with a mortgage and birth control. I’m somebody’s boss, for fuck’s sake, and I’m carrying on like some whiny kid picked last for Dodgeball.

And come on! It’s roller derby, not exactly a life-and-death situation. Isn’t this something I just do for fun, for exercise, to make new friends and wear short skirts?

But once I gave in, I couldn’t stop the pity party. I took it into bed, immersing myself in my self-created misery. My concerned boyfriend lay beside me asking what was wrong. I sounded so ridiculous describing “not getting cleared,” I cried even harder for being such a baby. It was one of those moments when it’s as if you’re watching yourself doing something totally insane. You wonder, “What the hell am I doing? Snap out of it!” But you continue being insane anyway. (Maybe I’m the only one who has these moments?)

Boyfriend said all the right things: I’m wonderful, I’m brave to even attempt derby, don’t give up, keep going, etc. Eventually, I did calm down and sleep. I felt much better this morning and have been puzzling over my behavior all day.

The thing is: I’m starting to feel like the slow kid who keeps repeating the 3rd grade. I watch my FM friends literally fly by me while I stay in the same place. After Tuesday’s tryouts, most of them will be in subpools or teams – no longer allowed to practice with us beginners. It’s embarrassing to be left behind.

My bigger fear is those who go into subpools will get better and better by skating with the vets, while I languish in FM. When we form the new team this spring, won’t I be so behind I’ll never catch up?

And about those tryouts. I had been planning to go and give it a shot, but now I’m not so sure. If I don’t have the basic skills to get cleared, how can I expect to pass tryouts? It wouldn’t make sense for a kid who can’t add 2 + 2 to take the SATs. My 10-month-old niece who just started walking won’t be entering marathons in the near future. If I stay in FM long enough, she’ll probably pass me on the track someday. “Inside, Auntie G.!”

Some say it’s good to try out because each skater gets a thorough evaluation of what she needs to work on. Well, don’t I already know that? Should that math-challenged kid take the SATs so he can be told he can’t add? And if I reacted so strongly to not getting cleared, how will I react when I don’t make it into a subpool? Do I need to put this extra pressure on myself just to wind up disappointed?

I’m at a loss. Now that the awful pity party’s over, I’m just trying to think logically. Maybe I should keep going or maybe I’ve hit the Derby wall for good. Maybe I need to accept my place in FM and just have a good time. Or maybe I should spend every free minute between now and Tuesday working my ass off to perfect my skills, so I’ll at least have a slim chance at tryouts. All I’ve got are questions.

Okay, the pity party is NOW officially over. I just needed to fling all of that shit into cyberspace.

Ta,
Gritty