On October 5, 2010, nine of the ten remaining members of Belles 'n' Bombshells roller derby voted unanimously to close the league permanently after a one-month hiatus. We needed that hiatus to clear our heads, to discern whether there was anything about our league that was salvageable after the detonation of such long-held grudges, the collapse of our schedule, the lack of confidence that positive change could be enacted. When the smoke cleared, we were at peace with the idea that we were voting to permanently close something that had been an integral part of life for a year or more.
Our Articles of Dissolution have not yet been filed, and remain in my possession. Yes, I've been busy, and haven't had time to get them notarized. But there's hardly a time I wouldn't have been busy during a teaching semester, and if I'd really wanted to get it notarized, I could have done it by now. I think the real reason that a part of me held on to these papers because I needed time to say goodbye.
By way of a benediction and eulogy, I'd like to start this entry proper with a quote: "Some people come into our lives and leave footprints in our heart, and we are never the same."
Belles 'n' Bombshells was that- a group of men and women who have impacted me deeply. Through them, I have learned more about change, acceptance, passion, commitment, grit, fear, and heartbreak than I ever thought I could from just playing a sport. I learned that fear was the only thing that held me back from skating instead of reffing. I learned that knowing your teammates believe in and respect you is one of the things that will solidify commitment and grit. I have learned that acceptance breeds acceptance, and that if you approach the open-hearted with an open heart, there is no end to the depth of your love for these steadfast friends. I have learned that passion leads to victory, but that it also leads to heartbreak, and that this is a risk you take when you give your all.
I began skating with Belles 'n' Bombshells as an impressionable person begging for the acceptance I felt I had never been given by my previous team. Begging for the chance to show that I could be a good skater, a skater that the team needed to succeed. I got what I wanted in spades- and not just on the track. After the whole ordeal passed, I realized that the team's need for me was about more than just my skating ability. Long after girls who had started with me, or even after me, had surpassed my skill level, they looked to me for leadership, reassurance, and acceptance. That fired my passion for the team and the sport, my belief that we could make it through anything as a team, if we only did it together. My passion emerged from the heat press of a physically and emotionally difficult season and the heartache caused by the ending of it all as a hard-pressed diamond. It sits now at the center of my chest, firing me onward, speeding past my limits, driving me towards achievement and acceptance, fueled by white heat desire to be good at this sport that I love, to be valuable to this team I have recommitted to.
The people I have met are gems in the crown of friendship. In Zelda Fistgerald, I found an intelligent, witty, passionate woman who shared my love of the written word, a kindred spirit who I miss dearly since BnB ended. Roll-r-Reaver showed me a down-to-earth, practical spirit and off-kilter humor that made me smile and relax; with her, I felt a realness, knowing that she didn't sugarcoat her feelings, but nor did she judge situations based on unbalanced anger. In Izumi Mystique, I saw grit far beyond my own. Setback after setback, my second little sister (Reaver was the first) continued coming back to practice because she wanted this, in much the way I wanted it when I first started. Mad Malice and Double Tap were interesting sides of the same coin - related by blood, if not often in opinion, they each showed me (in different ways) passion for the sport, creativity, dedication, and fearlessness. To me, there was never a question of whether or not Malice and Double Tap were committed to the team, or a question of their plainspoken, open hearts. Invader Slim showed me her wit, humor and compassion, her dedication to thinking through a problem logically, instead of with her emotions, as some of us admittedly did. Those who left the team and formed a new one shouldn't be left out either- I was inspired too by their creativity, intelligence, and their ability to know when it was time to let go.
I feel like I can't leave my ex-derby wife out either. From the point that I started skating with BnB, Ember was a monolithic influence on me as a skater. It was hard to tell sometimes whether it was good or bad- and even when I was upset with her, I'd remember a happier time that would melt away anger and make me smile. Ember to me is an enigma- a wild fount of passion for the sport and dedication to her team coupled with a crushing desire for control over her own (and thus our) fate and an unpredictable temper that made it impossible for me to love her fully, no matter how much I wanted to. I saw a lot of myself in her, and I understood her mind, even if I didn't understand why it chose the modes of operation that it did. I feel like it wouldn't be honest to say that I was surprised that Ember eventually cut me out of her life. I knew she would- I knew when I became her derby wife that it wouldn't last. But regardless, I gave her all my loyalty until I simply could not do it and remain true to myself anymore. There were times when it broke my heart to think of losing Ember as a friend or as a derby wife, but I slowly came to understand that it was part of the inevitable flow of many of Ember's relationships, one of her patterns. I was a passing whim, and now that the whim has passed, the connection has died- not with a bang, but a whimper. Our mutual chapter, like many others in life, will have no well-written ending, but simply the ragged edge of an unfinished sentence.
I consider myself lucky to have found Vixen and Midnight, however. They say when you meet people, sometimes, you just know. When I met them, I knew. I remember wondering to myself, once, when I first started with BnB, if Midnight might be my derby wife. I remember loving Vixen's big heart and wide open laugh from the moment I first met her. When they became derby wives, I won't lie- I was a little saddened by it. But nonetheless, Midnight and Vixen were the two I remained closest to during my entire tenure with the Belles. I am proud to call them my derby wives, because our story is the other side of my story with Ember- friendships that are meant to be, that don't run achingly hot and cold like undecided early autumn in Alabama. Loyalty as solid as the rink under your feet and as dependable as a teammate's whip at just the right time. They are sweet, talented, vibrant big-hearted and protective. By way of an anecdote, when things with BnB went south, both Midnight AND Vixen told me that they had wanted to leave the team, but they hadn't because they didn't want to leave me by myself. I was never able to truly explain to them how much that meant to me, to know that my well-being was such a concern to them. I have never met people that fill my heart with the love of true friendship the way they do. It goes far beyond derby, and it always will.
These are the people that I have lost. Of all of them, Slim and I are the only ones who still skate together. For one reason or another, the rest haven't continued derby, or at least haven't immediately continued derby. I can see why they would be soured by the experience, especially knowing that many of us got rough treatment (not to mention a lot of uncharitable distrust from Montgomery's new league) based on behavior that wasn't our fault, or even our own. After being sucked into such a tornado of negativity, why would you want to keep skating?
I wish I could remind them. Every Wednesday and Sunday, I sink into the whir of wheels around a rink painted sickly blue. I listen to and join in on laughter that is free, easy, and silly- people having an unconstrained good time with their teammates. I absorb the words of teammates slash teachers when they tell me about my mistakes or teach me new skills or strategies. Above all, I skate. I skate, and I skate. And I run, and I jump, and I sweat. I push, harder than I did before. I want, more than I did before. I strive. I live it. I love it. This is where the addiction starts. Once, we all knew this needle to the vein feeling, the anticipation of the next time you would become a mechanical biped and strap eight wheels to your feet. I remember now the inexorable blurring of lines between my "real life" and derby, of coming to the point where Mary Helley is here more often than she's not.
I can't change the way things unfolded. I can't take away the bitterness that many of us felt (or still feel) about some of our sisters starting another team in Montgomery and destroying ours with it. I can't take away the emotional, stressful time that we spent between August 28th and October 5 dealing with the fallout of it all, and struggling to maintain a league that was clearly tanking.
What I can do is make sure that the last act of Belles 'n' Bombshells is one of good karma. Before we file our papers, we will be donating all of our remaining money to the Sunshine Center, a local women and children's shelter that does great work in the Montgomery community: a shelter, advocacy, education, prevention, even post-shelter support to make sure that women and children do not return to dangerous, abusive situations. We may not have been able to control the way things fell out after the schism that killed the league, but we can control where the money we consistently struggled with goes. And it goes back to what spawned us in the first place- the Montgomery community, so desperate for something as positive, uplifting, and exciting as a roller derby team. Now, I hope that we'll give back what the community gave to us: positivity, friendship, love.
I'm filing the papers this week. Those papers don't hurt me emotionally- but what I do regret is that the joy that is roller derby was taken away from so many people who needed and deserved the experience. I'd like to tell them that the experience is still out there, and that you only have to open yourself to it again, but many of these beautiful women may well feel that you can only intelligently put your hand into a fire once before you're just asking for whatever you get.
But I believe in this sport, and I believe in second chances. I believe in friendship, support, and teamwork. Like my zombie incarnation on the track, I will rise from certain destruction, and I will conquer my fears.
I'll end this eulogy with an Irish blessing, for the sisters I was never born with, the friends I didn't even know I was missing: "May the road rise to meet you. May the wind be forever at your back. May the sun shine warm upon your face, and the rain fall softly on your fields. And until we meet again, may God hold you in the hollow of his hand." Love and health to you all.
Tuesday, November 9, 2010
Sunday, November 7, 2010
Full Circle
When I started this sport in the fall of 2008, I entertained dreams of being a blocker and pivot, of being a hard hitter, a fast skater, a part of a cohesive, amazing team of tough and admirable women. Then, I got injured.
Everybody said we needed good kneepads from the start of the sport, but I figured I could wait it out. Not so much, as I found out from the grapefruit-sized bruises on my left knee and a sudden and very painful tingling sensation every time I tried to kneel. Couple that with terrible skates, rapidly weakening knees, and confidence that melted away every time I fell and needed ice for it, and I suddenly started to feel my dream of roller derby disappearing into the mist.
I won't say it was BCR's fault that I got so disillusioned with reffing, either. Yes, there was some tension between team and refs, and I think that's undeniable, but it's derby- it happens. It felt bigger in my head at the time because I was so unhappy having to watch the team and their skills pass me by. I wanted to be out there, but I felt like I wouldn't be welcomed because I was weak. I didn't feel like the team believed in me, but I think it's much more likely that I didn't believe in myself. Derby's psychological- if I felt that way, they could read it on me sure as the sun rises. And what do you do with a skater who's that uncertain of herself?
That's why I thought Belles 'n' Bombshells would be the smart answer. And when I walked in and found people who welcomed me with open arms, people who didn't snap at me when tempers got high during practice. I found people who saw that I already had some skating skill, and who were impressed. People who looked to me for advice, and asked me questions, people who helped me open myself up. I felt valued, important. And I finally began to believe again- if I start over with this team from the ground up, I told myself at the time, I'll finally get to live the dream, instead of constantly struggling to make up lost ground with BCR. Couple that with the amazing friends I made on the team (and still love today), and I was sold.
That was how I left my first team. No pomp, no circumstance, I just disappeared around Christmas and didn't come back to any more of their practices. I didn't regret that at the time, though I've since cleared the air.
The year since then has been an eye opener. A huge one. I improved by leaps and bounds as a skater through my first few months at it. I broke psychological boundaries that I had had since the first time I went to a derby practice. I was proud of myself. I was named captain of our team (not because of anything special skating-style wise- just that I knew the rules, having been a ref). I wasn't so sure about it myself until midway through the season when I realized the unexpected. Girls looked up to me. They believed in my leadership and respected me enough to vote me as MVP of a bout that I didn't play particularly well in.
I also gained a derby wife. I'd known her before- in fact, she'd left BCR to form BnB because of one reason or another (the waters are fairly murky there, and I don't feel like I'll ever get the full picture). I didn't know her very well when she'd skated for BCR because she was always injured or absent, but I sort of admired her from afar. She had the reckless courage, the fast speed, the smarts as a jammer, the same sort of rebellious who-gives-a-damn attitude that I wished I could have shown the team, because it was much closer to my real personality. I didn't know what I was getting into. I looked up to her immensely, starblind to the fact that there were obvious hints of what would happen later.
That one person was to become the source for some of the best and worst moments I had as BnB's captain (and later Vice President, and later President). This, of course, is my opinion on it, but I had her back constantly - when her (rather) abrasive personality pissed people off, I was there trying to find common ground and fix it. When she made a decision, I supported it- not blindly, but after a real attempt to understand her reasoning. I gave honest advice when she had problems, and, as Vice President, I helped her do everything she couldn't handle on her own because of one reason or another. I was the Matron of Honor in her wedding.
But even that wasn't enough. As I came to discover, when someone feels unconfident and unimportant (mind you, my own judgment is creeping in again here), they will often react very differently than I did towards BCR. And rather than drawing into herself (as I did), my derby wife lashed out at other people. It seemed like a new person was on her shitlist every week, and the best that I could do was avoid being that person if I could.
As people will, eventually, our team got tired of it. We fought more than we talked at meetings, and in text messages. My derby wife (who had a number of things on her back because no one else had wanted those responsibilities) began to jealously guard what power she had (again, opinion). I even began to feel like she was resentful towards me because the girls were more comfortable talking to me (I tend to be fairly even tempered) than risking pissing off my DW on one of her unpredictable days.
I tried to support it still, until things got to the breaking point. Short summary: trash talk on the track had girls feeling physically threatened and uncomfortable; skaters tired of the bad attitude and constant negativity; we skated three skaters short at a bout because of irreconcilable differences with those three skaters and the President; those three skaters eventually left and formed their own competing league in our small city. I pass no judgment on them for doing that as, had I been in the same situation, I probably would have quit to.
Life has a way of making you look at things you don't want to deal with, and this was one of those occasions. When the complaints about my derby wife started rolling in to me from all sides, I had to consider them carefully- especially given that close friends, people who were the opposite of overdramatic, were getting their feelings hurt, and dangerously close to leaving the team and the sport. I had to admit to them and myself that yes, my derby wife had also made me feel absolutely terrible sometimes, tearing down my self esteem seemingly only for the hell of it, or, more likely, because of a lack of confidence in herself. I don't know; perhaps I shouldn't psychoanalyze, but having dealt with an emotionally abusive parent kind of gives me an insight into this kind of behavior.
I won't go so far as to say what one girl did- that our then-President was a "cancer" on the league. I will go so far as to say that what happened next broke my heart and forever changed my perception of my derby wife. It was obvious that things were going downhill, and we needed to have new elections for our league quickly before things deteriorated any further. I offered to take over as president, and was elected so- and after that, everything between me and my derby wife changed. She all but stopped talking to me, and anything that I did get from her was passive-aggressive, nastily implying that we were trying to force her out of the league or that I had made a power grab.
That wasn't the worst part though- it went far beyond simple personal politics. The fact was, my derby wife had single-handedly allowed three skaters to walk off the team because of issues with her, hurt the feelings of FAR more skaters that had remained out of loyalty to the rest of the team, gotten our last THREE bouts canceled because of her inattention to important details (like making certain those bouts were scheduled in the first place before they were put on the schedule), plagiarized both our logo AND a bout poster... and through it all, refused to admit that she had done anything wrong. No apologies, no reparations, nothing but self-righteous, defiant anger. Anyone who said anything against her was "jumping on the bandwagon." No matter how sensibly they said it, my derby wife responded as though we'd cussed her out and run over her dog.
We voted to close our league on October 5. It was a long, messy emotional road for all of us to walk to, but we were at peace when we voted to do what we did. Or, I should say, those of us who showed up were at peace. My derby wife was the only remaining member of the league who chose not to attend that meeting, because, in her words, she "couldn't watch the league abandon what she'd worked for." Even until the end, she refused to acknowledge any wrongdoing, and showed a complete lack of respect for her teammates by making it abundantly clear that none of our opinions mattered- that, above all else, she would be right before she would be humble.
I wish I could say that ended it. I attended a BCR fresh meat night the very night after we shut down our league. I was nervous, worried about the reception, but found it fun, welcoming, difficult... and a welcome relief after an entire month of not skating. Throughout October, I continued to receive nasty, passive-aggressive texts and e-mails from my derby wife talking about how we had stabbed her in the back and abandoned her.
But I put it all on the track. She'd never believed in me, and for that reason, my performance plateaued. Because she never trusted me as captain, even though she'd picked me for the job, because she thought I was a shitty pivot, but had me play the position in every jam because she nor anyone else really wanted to, because she thought I had awful endurance and agility, but would never construct a practice based around anything but jammer skills (did I mention she was the coach too?)... for all those reasons, I went out to BCR's practices, and I skated like hell. I skated like I'd never known before.
It's been exhausting, it's been painful, and yes, I AM still behind. But the important part is that now I see: nobody's judging me for that. They're judging me for the fact that I'm interested in being here and being a part of the team, they're judging me for the fact that even if I'm finishing things slower than they do, I'm still finishing them, they're judging me for asking questions because I REALLY want to learn how to be better.
Almost a year to date after I left the Burn City Rollers last year, here I am again. To say that things have changed wildly in a year is a huge understatement. But I'll keep what I have now: I've still got my derby wife- in fact, I've got two, and both of them believe in me, which is something new. I'm a part of a cohesive, amazing team of tough and admirable women. I am a hard hitter, but not as hard as I could be. I am a stable skater, but not as agile or as fast as I could be. Now it's time to build, to reach that potential. For the first time in my two years of either reffing or skating in this sport, I have the full confidence that the framework for that is in place; it only remains to me to make what I will of myself.
Everybody said we needed good kneepads from the start of the sport, but I figured I could wait it out. Not so much, as I found out from the grapefruit-sized bruises on my left knee and a sudden and very painful tingling sensation every time I tried to kneel. Couple that with terrible skates, rapidly weakening knees, and confidence that melted away every time I fell and needed ice for it, and I suddenly started to feel my dream of roller derby disappearing into the mist.
I won't say it was BCR's fault that I got so disillusioned with reffing, either. Yes, there was some tension between team and refs, and I think that's undeniable, but it's derby- it happens. It felt bigger in my head at the time because I was so unhappy having to watch the team and their skills pass me by. I wanted to be out there, but I felt like I wouldn't be welcomed because I was weak. I didn't feel like the team believed in me, but I think it's much more likely that I didn't believe in myself. Derby's psychological- if I felt that way, they could read it on me sure as the sun rises. And what do you do with a skater who's that uncertain of herself?
That's why I thought Belles 'n' Bombshells would be the smart answer. And when I walked in and found people who welcomed me with open arms, people who didn't snap at me when tempers got high during practice. I found people who saw that I already had some skating skill, and who were impressed. People who looked to me for advice, and asked me questions, people who helped me open myself up. I felt valued, important. And I finally began to believe again- if I start over with this team from the ground up, I told myself at the time, I'll finally get to live the dream, instead of constantly struggling to make up lost ground with BCR. Couple that with the amazing friends I made on the team (and still love today), and I was sold.
That was how I left my first team. No pomp, no circumstance, I just disappeared around Christmas and didn't come back to any more of their practices. I didn't regret that at the time, though I've since cleared the air.
The year since then has been an eye opener. A huge one. I improved by leaps and bounds as a skater through my first few months at it. I broke psychological boundaries that I had had since the first time I went to a derby practice. I was proud of myself. I was named captain of our team (not because of anything special skating-style wise- just that I knew the rules, having been a ref). I wasn't so sure about it myself until midway through the season when I realized the unexpected. Girls looked up to me. They believed in my leadership and respected me enough to vote me as MVP of a bout that I didn't play particularly well in.
I also gained a derby wife. I'd known her before- in fact, she'd left BCR to form BnB because of one reason or another (the waters are fairly murky there, and I don't feel like I'll ever get the full picture). I didn't know her very well when she'd skated for BCR because she was always injured or absent, but I sort of admired her from afar. She had the reckless courage, the fast speed, the smarts as a jammer, the same sort of rebellious who-gives-a-damn attitude that I wished I could have shown the team, because it was much closer to my real personality. I didn't know what I was getting into. I looked up to her immensely, starblind to the fact that there were obvious hints of what would happen later.
That one person was to become the source for some of the best and worst moments I had as BnB's captain (and later Vice President, and later President). This, of course, is my opinion on it, but I had her back constantly - when her (rather) abrasive personality pissed people off, I was there trying to find common ground and fix it. When she made a decision, I supported it- not blindly, but after a real attempt to understand her reasoning. I gave honest advice when she had problems, and, as Vice President, I helped her do everything she couldn't handle on her own because of one reason or another. I was the Matron of Honor in her wedding.
But even that wasn't enough. As I came to discover, when someone feels unconfident and unimportant (mind you, my own judgment is creeping in again here), they will often react very differently than I did towards BCR. And rather than drawing into herself (as I did), my derby wife lashed out at other people. It seemed like a new person was on her shitlist every week, and the best that I could do was avoid being that person if I could.
As people will, eventually, our team got tired of it. We fought more than we talked at meetings, and in text messages. My derby wife (who had a number of things on her back because no one else had wanted those responsibilities) began to jealously guard what power she had (again, opinion). I even began to feel like she was resentful towards me because the girls were more comfortable talking to me (I tend to be fairly even tempered) than risking pissing off my DW on one of her unpredictable days.
I tried to support it still, until things got to the breaking point. Short summary: trash talk on the track had girls feeling physically threatened and uncomfortable; skaters tired of the bad attitude and constant negativity; we skated three skaters short at a bout because of irreconcilable differences with those three skaters and the President; those three skaters eventually left and formed their own competing league in our small city. I pass no judgment on them for doing that as, had I been in the same situation, I probably would have quit to.
Life has a way of making you look at things you don't want to deal with, and this was one of those occasions. When the complaints about my derby wife started rolling in to me from all sides, I had to consider them carefully- especially given that close friends, people who were the opposite of overdramatic, were getting their feelings hurt, and dangerously close to leaving the team and the sport. I had to admit to them and myself that yes, my derby wife had also made me feel absolutely terrible sometimes, tearing down my self esteem seemingly only for the hell of it, or, more likely, because of a lack of confidence in herself. I don't know; perhaps I shouldn't psychoanalyze, but having dealt with an emotionally abusive parent kind of gives me an insight into this kind of behavior.
I won't go so far as to say what one girl did- that our then-President was a "cancer" on the league. I will go so far as to say that what happened next broke my heart and forever changed my perception of my derby wife. It was obvious that things were going downhill, and we needed to have new elections for our league quickly before things deteriorated any further. I offered to take over as president, and was elected so- and after that, everything between me and my derby wife changed. She all but stopped talking to me, and anything that I did get from her was passive-aggressive, nastily implying that we were trying to force her out of the league or that I had made a power grab.
That wasn't the worst part though- it went far beyond simple personal politics. The fact was, my derby wife had single-handedly allowed three skaters to walk off the team because of issues with her, hurt the feelings of FAR more skaters that had remained out of loyalty to the rest of the team, gotten our last THREE bouts canceled because of her inattention to important details (like making certain those bouts were scheduled in the first place before they were put on the schedule), plagiarized both our logo AND a bout poster... and through it all, refused to admit that she had done anything wrong. No apologies, no reparations, nothing but self-righteous, defiant anger. Anyone who said anything against her was "jumping on the bandwagon." No matter how sensibly they said it, my derby wife responded as though we'd cussed her out and run over her dog.
We voted to close our league on October 5. It was a long, messy emotional road for all of us to walk to, but we were at peace when we voted to do what we did. Or, I should say, those of us who showed up were at peace. My derby wife was the only remaining member of the league who chose not to attend that meeting, because, in her words, she "couldn't watch the league abandon what she'd worked for." Even until the end, she refused to acknowledge any wrongdoing, and showed a complete lack of respect for her teammates by making it abundantly clear that none of our opinions mattered- that, above all else, she would be right before she would be humble.
I wish I could say that ended it. I attended a BCR fresh meat night the very night after we shut down our league. I was nervous, worried about the reception, but found it fun, welcoming, difficult... and a welcome relief after an entire month of not skating. Throughout October, I continued to receive nasty, passive-aggressive texts and e-mails from my derby wife talking about how we had stabbed her in the back and abandoned her.
But I put it all on the track. She'd never believed in me, and for that reason, my performance plateaued. Because she never trusted me as captain, even though she'd picked me for the job, because she thought I was a shitty pivot, but had me play the position in every jam because she nor anyone else really wanted to, because she thought I had awful endurance and agility, but would never construct a practice based around anything but jammer skills (did I mention she was the coach too?)... for all those reasons, I went out to BCR's practices, and I skated like hell. I skated like I'd never known before.
It's been exhausting, it's been painful, and yes, I AM still behind. But the important part is that now I see: nobody's judging me for that. They're judging me for the fact that I'm interested in being here and being a part of the team, they're judging me for the fact that even if I'm finishing things slower than they do, I'm still finishing them, they're judging me for asking questions because I REALLY want to learn how to be better.
Almost a year to date after I left the Burn City Rollers last year, here I am again. To say that things have changed wildly in a year is a huge understatement. But I'll keep what I have now: I've still got my derby wife- in fact, I've got two, and both of them believe in me, which is something new. I'm a part of a cohesive, amazing team of tough and admirable women. I am a hard hitter, but not as hard as I could be. I am a stable skater, but not as agile or as fast as I could be. Now it's time to build, to reach that potential. For the first time in my two years of either reffing or skating in this sport, I have the full confidence that the framework for that is in place; it only remains to me to make what I will of myself.
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