Making Yourself Better... for Who?

I'll tell you a secret about me: for most of my life, I have been hopelessly insecure. We're talking self-effacing to the point of neglecting my own needs because I don't think they're important. There's a million reasons for it, but the purpose of telling you is not so I can sit here and psychoanalyze myself.

When I started skating for the Belles, and especially after I became the Captain and primary pivot for the team, I had confidence that I could handle it for one reason and one reason only: because I almost always consider my own needs last, that makes me the consummate team player.

That was how I handled it during my first season as a skater. I devoted a lot more time to raising up the newer skaters to get them ready to bout than I did to improving my own skills. The team knew that I would teach them what I knew, and they knew that even if all they needed was a shoulder to cry on or someone to vent to, I'd be there for that too. I had a lot of teammates tell me that when it came to bout time, I was one of the most protective blockers we had, and that I was "the only one" helping them through the pack.

I guess that's just me; I value every one of my teammates to the point where I will do anything to protect them in the pack. Even as a pivot, I'll drop back to the back of the pack if nobody's helping the jammer. I'll try to run interference and sacrifice myself, taking blocks to keep that blocker from hitting my jammer.

Since I've transferred teams, that hasn't changed. One of my favorite things about roller derby is that it's this sisterhood, this family. BCR has that same ideal of team, and protecting your teammates, that I was scared I would never find after Belles went under. But this is roller derby; this is what we do.

I started skating with BCR (again) on October 5, 2010. Doing that, I quickly realized that I would be one of the weakest links. I was slow. My endurance was terrible. Things that my other teammates could do in their sleep, I didn't have the faintest clue about. That put me in a position I wasn't used to: how was I supposed to help people if I was at the bottom of the totem pole?

I learned an important lesson, and I learned it quickly: if you don't improve yourself, you're not any damn good at helping your team. How can I help a jammer get through the pack if I can't even keep up with the pack? How can I be aware of what's going on if I'm focusing on how much my muscles hurt, or trying to catch my breath?

I knew that I would have to get better as an athlete to play with my team. Why would you put someone on the roster if they can't keep up? For that reason, I've undertaken what I have; I've gone to more practices per week than I ever had with BnB. I've even started working out on my own when I'm not "required" to by a team practice.

This is a big deal for somebody who was never able to consider their own progress important on their last team. But it's made a big difference. My body is stronger, and more able to withstand what my team asks of it. My hits are better. My times on endurance exercises are improving. I don't run out of breath, and my leg muscles take a whole lot longer to turn into jello.

With that comes a whole new world of possibilities: if I pivot for BCR, I won't have to run the pack medium slow if I don't want to. If I want to chase a jammer down, I've got a lot better chance of getting her now. If I want to protect my jammer, I'm more stable, which means that I'm a more likely distraction or object of frustration for somebody who really wants to knock me down.

But it's been a revelation. I didn't get here by focusing on other people. I got here by working on me first. Without working on me, I wouldn't be of any use to my team, because I'd still be struggling.

I am by no means a perfect skater. But I've improved vastly in three months with BCR, way more than I thought possible. The best part is that it's a continual process. Now that my body is stronger, I can work on honing my instincts, understanding when to block without over-analyzing, understanding how to direct a team like this if I ever end up playing pivot again.

Maybe as important is the fact that, without even intending to, BCR has taught me something important about me, and about how I live my life. I've always thought it was selfless to put others before yourself. It is, but what I never wanted to realize is that it's kind of stupid to always put others before yourself. Doing that allowed me to develop bad mental habits; it allowed me to continue indulging in a mindset of total insecurity. It allowed me to continue devaluing myself to the point where I never worked on my own derby skills because I subconsciously didn't think I was worth it.

But I am. I haven't overcome the things I have in order to just fester at the bottom of the heap. I love this sport. I love my team. And the real sign that I love my team, the real selfless act, is the length that I will go to improve myself for BCR. The saying goes that you're only as strong as your weakest player. BCR has inspired me to eliminate my own weaknesses. Not just physical ones- mental ones too.

Speed can be improved. Endurance can be trained. New skills can be learned. What I think is truly priceless is the way that derby makes you into a better person. A better person for the benefit of others. We should all live our lives that way.