Talk Derby to Me

OK. We have discussed the basics of MS. Let's go over the basics of Derby!

It may look like chaos, but watching the Derby is really watching a game of strategy, skill, and strength. Yes, there are often fishnets, funny names, and an occasional fight. But there are also bloody noses, bruises, and amazingly tough athletes who can skate like a boss.

Here is how you play Roller Derby: A game, or bout, consists of a series of plays called Jams that can last up to two minutes. Two teams put five players each on the track for a Jam: three Blockers, one Jammer, and a Pivot. The Jammer will be wearing a star on her helmet, and the Pivot will have a stripe. The Pivot is the only player that can become the Jammer during a handoff in the middle of a Jam.

Follow me so far?

The Jammer is the player that scores the points, while the other teammates have the job of running both offense and defense at the same time. Get your Jammer through while making sure the opponent's Jammer is blocked. Know of any other sport where you play offense and defense simultaneously? 

At the start of a Jam, the Blockers line up at the starting, or Pivot, line. These eight skaters comprise the pack. The Jammers set themselves at the their starting line 30 feet back. The whistle blows and all the skaters take off.

Still with me?

The Pivot sets the pace for the pack. The blockers are required to skate within 10 feet of each other, generally maintaining the pack. The Jammers try to break through the wall of Blockers. Blockers do everything in their power to stop the opposing team's Jammer while trying to get their own through. First one through is the Lead Jammer for the remainder of the jam. Your reward for being Lead Jammer? You get to call off the jam whenever it suits you. This will come into play in a moment. Hang in there.

After the Jammers break through the pack, they sprint around the track to lap it. Every time she passes a skater from the opposite team, her team gets a point. This process continues until the Jammer ends the jam, or the 2 minutes run out. 

See, easy as pie. To put it into football terms (which really has nothing to do with Derby and we shouldn't be comparing the two), the Jammer is your wide receiver. She scores the points. The Pivot is the quarterback. She calls the plays and leads the team. 

There are all sorts of blocking rules and penalties we can go over in another post. But this will get you started. All you have to do now is go watch a bout. And be warned, if you sit in the first two rows, you might end up with a derby girl in your lap and a quad skate in your ear. This is a full contact sport. You snooze, you bruise.

The super funny Chris Andersen was kind enough to let me repost his awesome Derby cartoon at the top of this post. You should check him out at: doctorsquid.com

Roll With It

Here is everything you ever wanted to know about MS, but were too polite to ask.

Multiple sclerosis is a disease that affects the central nervous system. Much like the plastic cover that houses an electrical wire, the myelin of our nervous system—the brain, spinal cord, and optic nerve—covers and protects our nerves and channels electricity to the correct place in the body. Essentially, my myelin is being attacked by my own immune systems. Traitorous scoundrels. Wretched hive of scum and villainy. All I wanted do was pick up some power converters.

Sorry, I geeked out for a moment.

Anyway, the demyelination leaves scars, often referred to as plaques or lesions. These lesions are dotted throughout my brain. You can see a couple of them in my MRI image below.

What’s that you say? My brain looks so sexy? Oh, go on, you flatterer. Those little white dots are the lesions. Incredibly, this scatter shot of lesions has avoided a lot of important brain parts. Much like Dick Cheney quail hunting. The MS buckshot missed the quail and only hit some minor right-wing attorneys.

Scientists don’t know what causes this in my particular nervous system. They don’t know how to cure it. But here are some of the things that doctors think may have accelerated the progression in me. These are things you can do for yourself to help your myelin last your whole life. And even if you have the myelin of Wonder Woman, you should do these things anyway.

Get more Vitamin D. If we had our levels checked, most of us would find that we are Vitamin D deficient.  Part of the blame for this falls at the feet of our dermatologists, who are forcing us out of the sunlight for the sake of healthy, cancer-free skin. The sun is a major source of Vitamin D. And while this freckle-faced redhead is more than happy to sit in the shade, wearing a very large hat, I have to supplement my D. I take a capsule every morning. I now buy fortified milk and orange juice. I try to eat more leafy greens. You won’t find me getting rickets like some sailor of yore. Now you know the secret of why Popeye ate so much spinach. Well blow me down! Toot toot

Stop smoking. I know, I know… Hey pot! Meet kettle! Smoking has been linked to accelerating MS symptoms. I smoked in college and for a few years after. I quit for a while, and picked up the habit again after I got divorced. I’ve quit for good now. But I will freely admit, I quit because I had to. Dr. Sister (that would be my sister that is a doctor) would kill me herself if I didn’t. I wish I could unsmoke every cigarette I sucked down. I also wish I could go back and work for Google circa 1999. I can’t do either. I miss smoking. I really do. On the other hand, how would I ever hope to do 27 laps around the skate track in under five minutes if I was still smoking?

Relax. I mean that literally. Try to de-stress. Extreme stress can not only worsen symptoms of MS, some science-y types think it might actually increase the risk of developing it.

I also mean… relax. There are some things you can do to MAYBE stave off this stupid disease. But it seems like it may have an element of the random to it. So why worry about it? Do what you can to be as healthy as you can. Wear your seat belt, eat more salad, smell the flowers. Other than that, we are all kind of along for the ride.

MS is not a death sentence. It’s a life sentence. But I won’t do hard Andy Dufresne time in solitary. It will be more like Martha Stewart prison: hanging with lots of interesting, tough, smart women who occasionally hit each other, then crochet a scarf. MS isn’t fatal, a common misperception. It is, however, something I will be managing for the rest of my life. And I will manage the shit out of it.

I might need a wheelchair someday, but until then I plan to be on eight wheels—not four.

Top Ten Things My Dad Has Said About Roller Derby

10. You don’t need a helmet. Your head is so thick.

9. I’ll beat you up for free.

8. Crossovers are easy. You just cross over.

7. Way to go, Lunkhead.

6. Better to get knocked down, than knocked up.

5. I paid a lot for those teeth.

4. Those pigtails make you look like a <insert high pitched, mocking voice> little girl.

3. What the hell are you wearing?

2. No more tattoos. Not until I’m dead.

1. (No words. Just laughter, smirking, and shaking of head)

My dad is the greatest.

Borrowing Energy

One thing I have noticed in the past couple months is how tired I get. Not need-a-refreshing-afternoon-nap tired, but true fatigue. Now, I'm not sure that this is all because of the MS.  I've been bone tired well before my diagnosis. I am a single mom that works full time. Most working moms I know are exhausted.  But I have a feeling that the disease isn't helping my energy levels.

I can't really remember a time when I haven't had trouble sleeping. I can fall asleep in a matter of minutes, but staying asleep is difficult for me. And if I wake up in the middle of the night, going back to sleep is nearly impossible. My doctor has told me how important it is for me to get sleep. She also told me that MS might be the root cause of my insomnia. MS--the gift that keeps on giving. 

Lately, I feel like I lose my mojo really quickly. I notice this at skate practice. I'll be moving along fine one minute, and the next minute I will feel like someone pulled the stopper on the drain. I can feel the energy spinning away.

I think there are a couple reasons for this. The first one is totally on me. I am really out of shape. I work on my skating skills, endurance, and overall fitness every day. And I'm getting better, but I can't go from couch potato to mash 'em, bash 'em derby girl overnight. However, there are some other things that are affecting my energy level. The bright flash of light in my right eye--the one that originally drove me to the doctor--is still there. It makes it hard to sleep sometimes. And the medication I take makes me very tired, while simultaneously making sleep even more challenging. So, there are several forces sabotaging my energy levels.

Today at practice, we learned assists. Biz and the other coaches taught us Whips and Pushes, two of the most basic moves in Derby. The Push is exactly what you are picturing: a teammate skates behind you and shoves you forward to get you moving. When performing a Whip, a teammate extends her hand behind her. You grab her arm, and while you pull yourself, she swings you around her and shoots you forward like you are a rock in a slingshot. It's pretty fun, actually.

The great thing about these assists is that, in essence, you are borrowing someone else's energy. You are able to leverage your teammate's momentum to move forward. While we were practicing these moves, it occurred to me that I couldn't think of many other sports where someone else can boost you forward. In most other sports, while you are working as a team to accomplish a task, you  rarely are able to literally draw strength and power from another member of your team.  That is one thing that makes Derby so special.

It did occur to me later today how that is a life lesson we should all learn. Giving your all to something is great. Working together makes things easier. But being able to rely on the people on your team--your friends, family, loved ones--to give you an assist when you need it is a truly special thing. To be able to fill your life with people that can whip you around the obstacles in front of you, when you just can't do it yourself, is something amazing. 

Thanks for the Push, Derby team. Thanks for the Whip, Life team.

Nervous Systems

I can’t do a crossover. I know the mechanics. I know that falling really doesn’t hurt. I know it is an issue of mind over matter. But right now, I don’t trust my mind. So pushing through that fear and distrust is difficult for me.

I’m skating so much better than when I first started. I’ve had help from the veteran skaters, who tuned my skates to my skating style. Who knew you can tune your skates to get them to perform the way you want them too. My coaches have observed my skills and given me very specific and helpful pointers to help my form. Improving my form improves both my strength and my endurance. I’m not spending all my energy compensating for my lack of ability.

But I can’t get myself to do a crossover. I get close, and I chicken out. I ramp up my speed on the straightaway, get to the turn, and pick up my right leg for one brief second. Then my brain overrides the vote of my legs. Cowardly brain.

Nerves are obviously not my strong suit. Literally and metaphorically. It’s funny, though… If it wasn’t for my traitorous nervous system, I would never have set out to find courage. My rebellious brain has not only triggered optic neuritis. It has triggered this determination to test my courage.

You know who is one of the bravest people I know? My niece, who is starting kindergarten in a couple weeks. It’s not that she is incredibly tough. She isn’t especially daring. She just never lets anything get in between her and what she wants.

When she got her ears pierced last year, we warned her that it might hurt for a minute. She said that she didn’t care if she cried. She got the first one done, and it did cause a couple tears. But she just powered through and got the other one pierced.

Her first loose tooth was ready to come out, and she let me try to pull it. We got it most of the way. She got upset (I think more because it was bleeding a little, than because it hurt). Then she marched into the bathroom and finished the job herself.

That girl, she is brave. She is my great reminder that bravery does not mean never crying. It’s not about pretending something doesn’t hurt. It’s about doing it anyway, even if it does hurt.

The incredibly brilliant and talented J.K. Rowling once said, “You sort of start to think anything’s possible if you’ve got enough nerve.” I need to find that nerve within myself. I need to do a crossover. I’m sort of starting to think it’s possible.

The Vicious Circle

Since I was young, I have had this problem when I try something new. If I am not immediately good at it, I quit. Meaning I don’t actually do anything to become better at it, which means that I don’t try it again, which means I don’t get better at it…

I tried fencing in high school. I took lessons with a group comprised of mostly adults. I thought the mask was sweet, but I was mortified when the instructor told me that I had to wear leather protective cups in my bra. He said bra in front of the whole class. The horror of knowing that now everyone knew that I had breasts made me shy, which made me concentrate on things other than my epee, which made me not go back to class, which made me not learn fencing…

You get the idea.

I experienced this circle with curling, cooking, running, knitting, bowling, furniture upholstery, and swing dancing.

I was not immediately good at roller skating. In fact, I was (ok, I am still) comically bad at it. But, strangely for me, I haven’t quit. It hasn’t even crossed my mind. I’ve cursed, I’ve cried, but I haven’t quit. This is the longest I have stuck with something I am not immediately good at. Ever.

I can’t really explain it. I don’t quite understand it myself. I want this in ways that I haven’t experienced before. I want to be really good at this. And for the first time, I am willing to set aside my feelings of inadequacy and put in the time and energy to get there. Maybe it’s because I like the skating. Maybe it’s the incredibly supportive and encouraging group of women that I am interacting with. Maybe I just love the idea of being a badass. But when I really analyze it closely, there is one observation that stands out like a big, purple bruise on my pale, see-through skin. (See how badass I am?)

It’s the MS. It is the thing that changed. It made me realize that some things do have an expiration date. I don’t have infinite time. No one does. We all get a day older every 24 hours. We all age a year every time we circle the sun. If I want to do something, I have to do it now.

I had an appointment last Friday with a new doctor. I was going over the list of all the medications and supplements I was taking. I felt like a little old lady having to read the list from my notes because I couldn’t remember them all. Then I told her, “And I have just started skating with the roller derby team. Is that OK to do? Is it in any way riskier for me?”

She got a giant smile on her face and told me that she thought it was great. She confirmed to me what I had already figured out, that I would be fighting fatigue more than some of the others. But in general, she thought it was good for me. It builds my muscles, works my balance, strengthens my core, and gets me really fit. “And it is a pretty cool way to do it,” she said. My doctor gave me her blessing to go hard on the track for as long as I can.

I’m not being fatalistic. I am not picturing myself in a wheelchair or going blind. At least, I am trying not to. I try to believe that the Avonex really is slowing the progression of the disease and that MS will not impact my life in the next couple decades. But even without the MS, I am on the back 40 of my life. If not now, when?

My vicious circle is slowly becoming an oval flat track.

Bambi’s First Derby Bruises

I haven’t come up with a good derby name yet. I’ve got some idea, but I want to be a better skater before I take on a tough new moniker. It seems a bit premature to start having people call me Banksy Skullcrusher (my son Nathan’s suggestion), when, at this time, the skull most in danger from me is my own. Meanwhile, the trainers are calling me Bambi.

And like the wobbly deer of the movie, this skating fawn falls down. A lot. And you know what I am learning? It doesn’t hurt as much as I thought it would. All those pads really… well… pad! OK, sometimes it hurts a little.

I had a decent practice last night. I mean, decent for me. I didn’t fall while taking laps around the track. They were stilted, clumsy laps, but upright ones. I am learning the derby squat, which helps center my gravity and makes my thighs burn. I am learning how to recover when I lose my balance. The trick? Sit down into the fall.

The one thing I did that I believe helped me the most? I didn’t think so much about falling. I concentrated on keeping my knees bent and my elbows in. I didn’t worry about stumbling over my skates. I trusted the protective pads strapped to every part of my body that bends, if not quite trusting my own legs.

I guess the lesson I learned here is: Prepare for the fall, then put your faith in the padding. Most of the time, the padding helps. When it doesn’t, you end up with some pretty bad-ass, tough girl rink rash.

Battle scars are always cool. They show the world that you survived.

I need to work on crossovers. Those are the key to getting around an oval track with any speed or stability. I will admit, I’m a little afraid of them. So here is my next life lesson I need to tackle: If you are afraid to try something new because you are afraid of looking like a jackass, you are kind of being a jackass. I need to muster the courage to try the crossover. I need to prepare for the fall, then not think about it.

I want to be brave and bravery requires risk. In fact, the only time you can actually be brave is when there is risk. Otherwise, there is no need to be brave at all.