The Game Plan

I think no one will be surprised to learn that I am struggling with skating right now. I am frustrated. I don't feel like I am improving. I'm not finding a lot of time for additional skating.

So there are several things I am going to do to help me move forward with my skating.

1) I'm going to put learning skating techniques on a hiatus while I work on stamina and endurance. I am going to skate lap after lap until I want to pass out, then I am going to skate two more laps. I'm going to do this for three months-ish. After that, there should be another Fresh Meat class, which I will join armed with the ability to skate for the entire hour.

I think, at the very root of the issue, my lack of endurance is inhibiting my ability to learn techniques. I get so tired out after two or three attempts at something that I have yet to master. This prevents me from trying something, falling, trying, botching it, trying, and trying, and trying until I get it.

Sara thinks--and she is my skating Yoda, so I have to listen to her--if I can build up my endurance, I will find myself naturally doing some of the things that have me stymied. Somewhere around lap 22, I might just find myself crossing over. 

2) I'm going to eat better and drink more water. Last night, I ordered a burrito for dinner after a super strenuous workout (see below). As I stood in line, it occurred to me that if I ordered my "regular," I would be undoing much of the work I just did. So I got chicken instead of steak. I got extra black beans and no rice. I skipped the sour cream and got the guacamole. And, you know what? It was good. And it was really easy to switch things around to make a meal that was better fuel for my body.

I am making sure I don't skip breakfast. I am trying to always have water near me to sip. I've cut out the Diet Coke. Yeah, that's the hardest one. I miss my DC. And to add insult to DC injury, there is a soda fountain at work about 50 feet from where I sit.

I am not dieting. I am just trying to fuel my body to help my energy and endurance. Which will help me accomplish goal 1.

3) I'm going to cross train. Now that winter is here, my skating time will be even more limited. I can't let that interfere with my level of activity.

I have vowed to myself that I would work out at least 30 minutes a day for 5 days a week. Two of those workouts will be skating. I have two options for the other workouts. One is the stationary bike in my basement. The plus side of that is I can watch 80s sitcoms while sweating, never having left the house.

But the other option is pretty damn fun. Doctor Sister and Sister Therapist joined a boxing gym. And they convinced me to try it out. And I loved it. Not only is it a killer workout, it's a lot of fun. It works muscles in my body that I never knew were there. And it's a place where I am making some new friends, learning how to wrap my wrists, and showing of my scuffed up knuckles.

Aside--When you are at a boxing class, and you drop to your knees to do a plank or burpee, it's good to remember that, unlike Derby, you are not wearing kneepads. Ouch.

Let's be real. I can vow to myself until my face turns blue. But I'm not accountable to anyone but Me. And Me can be kind of a flake when it comes to getting off my butt after a long day. I found the motivation that works for me. Money.

And there is an app for that. GymPact is an app for a social network where you decide how many workouts you are committing to for the week. Then you put your money where your virtual mouth is. Miss a workout that you pledged to do, and you get charged however much you set as your fine when making the pledge. This is real, live money we are talking about. Fulfill your pledge, and you earn the money of the people that didn't fulfill their pledge. It's pretty darn cool.

Is there anything my iPhone can't do? Oh yeah. It can't do crossovers. My iPhone might be my soulmate.

Going in Circles

I'm having a bad week. Not really a week, but at least I'm having a bad last couple days.

Skating on Saturday was difficult on several levels. I missed the team practice due to the birthday party of my favorite 6-year-old. I went to the Derby Depot after the cupcakes, but there were only a couple of us rookies there. And I was exhausted, quickly running out of gas.

I'm frustrated. I feel like I am not improving. At least not fast enough to be satisfied with myself. I think my biggest roadblock is my endurance. I get so tired that I cannot practice a drill until I successfully master it. I feel a bit... defeated.

It seems like there are forces at work that stand in the way of my success. Here is a prime example: I had my afternoon and evening planned yesterday. It began with loading some boxes in the car, installing a new light in my hall, going to work out at the gym, then heading to the Depot to help out with our fundraiser.

None of that happened. As I was loading my car, I somehow hit my head with the door. More specifically, I hit my glasses, which did not break (though it would have been better if they had). The glasses hit my nose and left eye. The pain was intense. Tears instantly spring to my eyes and I dropped to my knees. So now not only does my face look like I went 5 rounds in a title fight, my knee is good and skinned.

Aside--That settles it. I'm getting sports glasses before I ever scrimmage with the team. Luckily, I have some time to save up.

Another aside--Who wears the shiner better? Me or Luke up there? Feel free to let me know.

So, instead of going to work out, I sat on my couch with a bag of frozen peas over half my face and shoving a giant burrito into the other half of it. I topped it of with 3 mini ice cream cones. That is all kind of the opposite of going to the gym.

I'm frustrated. I'm sore. I'm mad at myself for my failing willpower. I am a little worried because I can't quite understand how I hit my face with the car door. And my back is that weird, kind-of-awful-but-not-quite-painful burning sensation.

But, I've got to pick myself up. I need to reset and move forward. Today is a new day. Today I will brave a snowstorm to go to the gym. I will wear my skates around the house, just to feel their wheels under me. I will have a healthy-ish dinner. And I will eat one of the holiday cookies a co-worker has brought in. And I will savor and enjoy it. And I might go back for seconds. Because it is the holidays and Carpe Diem! (Which is old-school YOLO for people who have read more than three books.)

I understand why we need holidays like Thanksgiving. I won't speak for all of us, but I know that sometimes I forget to be thankful. There are many things I am thankful for. My inside-the-house family. My outside-the-house family. My relatively good health. My doctors that are keeping it that way. My shared-parents sisters. My nose-piercing sister. My derby sisters. My son, who tells me that he loves to hear me laugh. And my son for making me laugh.

After all of it, I realize that I am incredibly lucky. And I am beginning to suspect that things may actually happen for a reason. I guess time will tell... For now, I will embrace the random and scale the roadblocks.

41 Is a Prime Number

My Year 40 was a shitty, shitty year. I was stuck in a bad job that continued to get worse with a long commute and an asshole boss. I had some "female" troubles in early 2013 that resulted in a hysterectomy and a week in the hospital. Relationship troubles plagued me, and hurt my very scarred up heart. There were chickens loose for years that were coming home to roost. (Said chickens will be named in future posts, I'm sure.) I was certainly not feeling especially happy or optimistic.

Then April happened. That month started with this weird, funky light flashing in the corner of my eye and ended with me sitting in a neurologist's office with him explaining that I had MS. I had 18 "holes" in my brain--areas bright as a dying star that were evident on my MRI. Life was about to change dramatically because of the golf course being constructed in my head. Well, fuck...

My good friend Sara did something then. She made me join her one Saturday for tryouts. Roller derby tryouts. She dragged me to the warehouse that contained the track. She strapped skates on my feet. Feet that have had no wheels on them for 30 years. She grabbed me by the hips and launched me forward into the pack of incredibly cool women that all harbored the dream that I had secretly had since I first learned about Derby. And I fell. And I fell again. I was fighting the side effects of a medication that I was taking that was making me shake. It was making me dizzy. And I tried to balance on 8 wheels.

My endurance was terrible. I couldn't skate forward. I couldn't stop. I was completely drained after a single lap. My legs burned from the exertion of muscles that had long since retired into a quiet existence.

Exhausted, shaky, and drained, I sat on the bench and watched these amazing women skate. And fall, and get up, and skate some more. I couldn't hold the tears back. Trauma, the team medic, gracefully skated over and sat near me on the bench.

"I'm not hurt," I told her. "I'm just frustrated."

"No you're not." Trauma looked at me and said, "You're pissed off. Your pissed that your body has betrayed you."

She told me to stand up, and try again. Then try again, then do better next time.

Biz, the Fresh Meat mama (that would be the veteran who is in charge of teaching the rookies how to skate), called me aside. She looked over my tryout sheet with notes about my woefully pitiful test scores. She asked, "Do you want to do this?"

I wanted to do this. Hell, yes I wanted to do this. If I had to go through the Fresh Meat class ten times, yes, I wanted to do this. I wanted to take my body back. I wanted to get strong in preparation for the days ahead when my physical abilities might be tested. I wanted to know that if I was in the emergency room, it was because I took an elbow in the nose while blocking the other team's Jammer. Not because by brain was being rebellious.

Biz made the announcement. We were all invited--I was invited--to begin the Fresh Meat training. Sara leaned back and gave me a wink.

Fuck you 40. Fuck you body. This is going to be epic. 41 is a Prime number.