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.

Being My Own Hero

So, I can’t skate. I used to be able to. I used to skate with those old-fashioned roller skates that went on over your shoes and you tightened with a key. I used to wear the key around my neck because I had visions of loosing that special tool and having to go through the rest of my life with these strange metal contraptions over my shoes. At five, I had some trouble envisioning a world where there were other ways to unlock the skate.

I remember getting my first pair of skates with the white boots that lace over your ankles. I would pretend I was Dorothy Hamill, skating in the Olympics. I would skate with my sisters for hours on end. I never feared falling. It never occurred to me that I would fall. And if I did fall, I would spend the next week showing off my scabby knees.

Somehow, between then and now, I lost the ability to skate. Maybe it is because I started being afraid to fall. I forgot the thrill of going fast. I couldn’t remember the high of trying a new technique and successfully pulling it off. I forgot how to skate.

But I am learning how again. I am learning how to balance. I am learning how to fall. I am training my body to move forward, and I am figuring out how to take a hit and stay on my feet. Oh, and I am also learning how to skate.