It is 9:00 a.m. on a Sunday. I am stepping onto a skating rink for only the second time in 12 years. My friend Allison, or more notoriously, Ruby Chaos, has been a derby girl for a year and encouraged me to attend a clinic to learn the basics. It sounded like fun – I saw Whip It, I love trying new things and the event is for beginners. Sold.
Dressed in yoga pants and a tank top, I’m signing in for the derby clinic, thinking that this will be hard but nothing I can’t handle. Rookie mistake.
I strap on borrowed gear and make my way onto the rink where dozens of girls are skating laps around the derby veterans. I notice that most of these girls had their own derby skates which aren’t cheap. These are not beginners.
Within the first 15 minutes of skating (in a squat position), my legs are shaking. Now I know why Ruby carb-loads with two tons of pasta before a big practice or bout. The Clif Bar and coffee I had aren’t exactly cutting it.
After the warm-up, which rivaled some of my more intense workouts, we split into two groups. One group covered crossovers, which is the way derby girls gain speed and power in their skating, while the other taught maneuvering techniques. You learn, you sweat, you fall (believe me, you all fall), you switch – your typical training rinse-and-repeat.
It would take a Rocky style training montage to convey the athletic ability of these women. Not mine. Theirs. Had I made it into this imaginary montage, you’d have an accurate picture of what it means to be “running on fumes.” And while I wouldn’t call myself a quitter, I haven’t always succeeded at finding the value in being terrible at something.
The derby clinic provided an incredible workout, but that was only part of why I loved it. It wasn’t just about trying to learn a crossover (thank goodness because was I terrible) or weaving (where I actually managed to hold my own). It wasn’t just the relief I felt when we were learning how to fall down properly (nailed it). And it wasn’t just about the fact that no one would have cared if I had quit but instead, I pushed harder, despite being awful.
For once, I didn’t care that I was the worst one out there.
My mother always told me that even as a child, if I tried something, I’d usually be able to do it. With the caveat that I’d usually tap out at mediocre, I’d be inclined to agree. However, learning how to skate “derby” isn’t among that list of “natural abilities,” and neither is celebrating my failures. But that Sunday afternoon, I did both.
Derby isn’t some excuse for women to beat each other up and work out aggression. It’s not some escape from work or life into a world of man-hating girl power. And it certainly isn’t limited to the caricatures in Whip It.
These athletes’ lives off the rink rivaled the impressiveness of their skills once they put on skates. Just ask Bruze Orman, derby girl by night and clinical pharmacist by day. Or Hate Ashbury – derby girl, mom and college professor. How about 50-year-old, Jackie O'Sassin – psychologist and derby girl. Forget the athletic ability; I didn’t know if I was smart enough to roll with them.
These women not only play for the Atlanta Roller Girls’ teams, but they own and operate the league themselves, all while managing their individual careers, families and responsibilities.
They come from different places; they are different ages, sizes and colors with different motivations attracting them to the sport. And if they could get on that track their first time, I wasn’t going to be the one to walk off.
I may not be hitting up the skating rink every week while balancing work and a home life. I may never pursue derby. It might not be “the thing.” But there will be something – rock climbing, new work projects, bass guitar. And I’m less afraid of failing at them now.