Blood on the Rink Floor

Yesterday was my first time back at the skating rink since late November -- and my last time skating on my "Franken-skates" (13-year-old Chicago artistic boots, one size too large, modified with Radar Cayman wheels -- a set-up I've since learned is not only an odd combination, but also very poor quality.)

Crappy as they may be, these skates have served me well. Any issues I've had have come from my own lack of coordination or skill. Until yesterday. That was pure karma.

After the public session yesterday, there was to be a roller derby bootcamp for our local league. I noticed two girls come in about an hour after I got to the rink for the public session, decked out head to toe in derby gear, including cutesy knee socks, tights, running shorts, and slick low-boot skates, and I knew they must have been practicing for the bootcamp. I was a bit intimidated at first, but I quickly realized neither of them could skate their way out of a paper bag. I started to get cocky and a few petty thoughts entered my mind: thoughts about these girls being spoiled, privileged posers. And then, before I knew it: BOOM! I had my first fall. I'm not sure what hit first -- or how I fell -- but somehow I managed to hit my knees, wrists/forearms, and chin in one fell swoop. I felt like Ralphie in A Christmas Story when he broke his glasses and thought he shot his eye out -- I was convinced I'd knocked out a tooth, so my first move before pulling myself up was to run my tongue over my teeth and make sure they were all there and intact. My lip felt a little sore, so I poked at it with my finger -- and my finger came back bloody. This was a pivotal moment. I've never played a contact sport (or any sport, for that matter) in my life. Never learned all those cliche lessons of toughening up and learning from the pain. But in that one moment, all those lessons flooded to me and I felt a zen-like calm. I also felt empowered. A little girl asked me if I was OK; I said yes and smiled through my puffy, split lip, then skated off to clean the blood. Any other time, the second someone asked me if I was OK, I would instantly realize I wasn't and start to cry. But not yesterday. Injuring myself made me realize I'd been through what I'd been fearing most and I came out the other side stronger. My bloody lip was proof I'd been through something -- and ya know what, it wasn't so bad.

Today, I'm typing this through two wrist braces. My knees are sore and my lip is still swollen. But I can't wait to go home to my new Sure-Grip Rebel Fugitives on my doorstep tonight, and I'm even more excited to try them out at a new rink on Wednesday evening.