As I walked into the rink tonight, I was sick and anxious. I put on my skates first, lacing them up just like I always have done. Tonight was any old practice.
Except, of course, that it wasn't. It was the first time BCR has had a team skating practice in a month, the first time we've met as a team and skated together since what turned out to be our last bout of the 2011 season. A big win - sure, we went out on a good note - but it was awfully surprising to all of a sudden have all this time, and no derby to fill it with.
At first, it was a relief. The season had been hectic. I skated in every bout we had, every six hour drive, every marathon road trip back on the same night, and every late night crash in an unfamiliar hotel with the smell of bout still lingering in my hair.
It reminded me, though, of last year. In early October 2010, we made the difficult decision to close Belles 'n' Bombshells for good. As much as I've tried to move past that decision, the present situation was uncomfortably close. No practices for a month, people drifting off, forgetting about why derby was so important to the in the first place.
My anxiety returned. I've been angrier. My medications don't work as well. I've gained weight. A month off from skating has brought all kinds of bullshit that I was not even remotely interested in entertaining.
Tonight, a handful of my teammates and I strapped on our skates together again. The rink was mostly silent for the first few moments after we stepped onto the floor. Except for the rhythmic whoosh and scrape of wheels on coated concrete. Nobody needed to talk. I could see it in the way Amyn's eyes seemed to light up as she skated those first warmup laps. The way that Scar blazed past me on a corner, crouched low in derby stance and speeding around like she'd never quit skating. The way my own feet suddenly remembered the motions and my muscles started pushing smooth and deep through long crossovers. Ziggy grins like she hasn't done anything so wonderful this entire week, and in spite of her pregnancy, pushes herself just as hard as she always has. Sabrina bears down on her wheels, cuts hard, pushes herself - she's newly back with the team, and I can tell that the exuberant drive of returning hasn't worn off yet.
Tonight was not an endurance practice, and it was not a scrimmage. I still left with sweat in my hair, but not with the burnt-out-candle exhaustion of one of Trick's endurance fests or the last scrimmage before the weekend game.
It, though, was exactly what I needed. It came back to me, it all came back in rushes, like someone had broken a dam upstream.
We skated a 25 in 5, and even though my endurance was shot to shit after so much time off, my body settled into a rhythm. I sat back into it. I didn't worry a damn about my time, I just skated. I paced myself like I knew I needed to, and I didn't let up. My body took over and steered me through, reminding me ecstatically 'yes, you DO remember this!'
Later, there was an obstacle course. Weaving through tiny holes, hard cuts right on the inside and outside lines, jumps. The first few runs through were awkward for me, but then there was that rush of knowledge and remembrance. When I felt my muscles suddenly spring up, my knees reaching for my chest to extend the height of the jump, it was all still there. The knowledge that the harder I work, the better I'll be at this.
Liza is braver than I've ever seen her, asking questions and bounding delicately over the cones like a doe. LJ scoots in late and throws her gear on like she's been waiting her entire life just to do this. Broken wrist or not, she is here.
Like always, derby has been there. It's been a year since I came back to BCR, and I've never once regretted it, not even when it felt like every game was just another ass-kicking that I didn't want. Whether I wanted it or not, I went. Some people might say derby is a cruel mistress who runs hot and cold, who tells you to go to hell when you bring her flowers.
I guess the truth is that I'm the cruel mistress. Derby's still there waiting when I get done whining or taking my 'burnout breaks.'
Derby's still there, still willing to sharpen me, hone me into not only a better weapon for my team, but into a better person. It may not make sense to everyone, but it doesn't have to.
It makes sense to me. Toe stops grind and squeal against the floor as I whirl around to stop. My wheels skid and howl at every hockey stop. My skates bend left, right, as I juke around cones. I pick up speed for the jump and a breeze blows past me, a breeze that's part of me, part of the machine I become when I lace up eight wheels and tool around the track. My knees bend, my quads engage, my arms swing in perfect arcs as I swing out wide on the straightaways and dive close on the turns.
Nobody needs to talk.
