During my first minute of playing time during last Friday's expo bout against the Vette City Vixens, I took a bad fall. My knee pad slipped off, and I fell directly on my knee on the concrete. I didn't think anything serious had happened, but I also couldn't really get up on my own. The usual "oh no, there's an injury!" hush fell over the audience right when I was saying, "I'm fine. I'm okay!" Later, a couple people from the audience remarked that they heard me say that loud and clear and had to hold back giggles.
The paramedics gave me some ice and, at my prodding, said I could go back in the game if I felt okay in a few minutes. A few jams later, I realized my wrist was hurting pretty badly. The paramedics wrapped it for me and helped me put my wrist guard back on - I was going back in the game after half time! But, no... the knee swelled up and filled with fluid and the wrist swelled up and started aching. So, off to Urgent Care for some x-rays.
This is the point where those of you who really know me can applaud me for my restraint in not saying I was fine and going back in the game against all common sense. As for the rest of you, you can applaud my restraint a couple paragraphs from now.
While I was growing up, my family lived in Yellowstone National Park during the summers. My brother and I participated in a summer program for local kids. One year, we had flyfishing classes, and each kid got a certificate at the end of the class. I think Ross got "Biggest Fish" and "Most Fish." I got, and I quote, "This is to Certify that Briggette has completed the Mammoth Kids Summer Fly Fishing Program. In appreciation for her effort, she has been awarded the TRUE GRIT AWARD for continueing to fish despite painful and ghastly injuries sustained while traversing the treacherous Yallerstone Country." My most notable ghastly injury was when I impaled my shin on a stick while climbing a tree overhanging the water to free someone else's errant fly.
Similarly, at the end of my 9th grade track season, the coach presented each of us with a small object reminiscent of our performance. I got a half-full bottle of "No More Ouchies," a numbing antiseptic. That was the year I had growing problems with my knees and wasn't supposed to run if it hurt. If I told people it didn't hurt, that made it true, right?
My life's goal when I was younger was to run a marathon when I was 16. (My dad's a marathoner and Ironman. I don't just think up crazy stuff like that on my own.) So I started training during my junior year. Apparently when I was a baby, my bottom ribs didn't attach like they were supposed to and all the running (and a thousand crunches a day) made one of them start sticking out. A person with good sense probably would have stopped running. I wrapped Ace bandages around my torso and kept going. After the marathon, a piece of the rib had to be taken out.
And then two more marathons. Rugby (one concussion, minor sprains and bruises). Administrative assistant job (tendonitis). Roller derby (one concussion, minor sprains and bruises, back injury, damaged toenails).
So back to last Friday. My husband drove me to Urgent Care for knee and wrist x-rays; nothing is broken. I asked when I could start practicing again and the doctor said, "Let the pain be your guide." I could sense Jeff rolling his eyes, and I briefly thought, "Great, I can still play in Oklahoma next weekend!" The doctor ruled that out, but then she said again that I should let the pain be my guide and start practicing again when I felt better. But really, concrete numbers are the way to go - wait two weeks? Ice for 2 days? I can follow directions like that.
Let the pain be my guide? Please! If I waited until I felt 100%, I would never get to do anything! When have I ever done that? What I need is to somehow develop a stronger sense of self-preservation and a measure of the pain level at which normal people rest instead of pushing through. Any suggestions? Oh, wait, this is a derby audience. You've probably all received True Grit-style awards yourselves.
It's been 6 days since I practiced. You can applaud me for my restraint now.
PS - Here's a fun video. It's from DDG's B-team bout against Chattanooga last year. In the last few seconds, I call off the jam then get clocked in the head and get a concussion.
Thursday, March 25, 2010
Monday, March 15, 2010
There's nothing wrong with hitting someone when her back is turned
"And there's nothing wrong with hitting someone when his back is turned." I heard that quote on The Simpsons once, and how true it is in roller derby!
Last week, scrimmaging during practice, Cakeface Killa hit me about a hundred times in the same spot every single time I looked away for a millisecond. It was great! When a girl hits you with all she's got because she knows you can take it, it just warms your heart.
I've been thinking a lot lately about my old job. I worked as an administrative assistant for an associate dean in the College of Liberal Arts at Auburn. It was a busy, stressful job, and the day-to-day work was largely autonomous. When I first started, my boss would give fairly specific instructions on how I should do the work. As the days and months and years went on, she would just say, "Do this," and just count on me to get it done.
When I first started working, the job was just another job, my boss just another boss. As I learned to take the hits, so to speak - the incessant emails, the crazily complicated scheduling and rescheduling, the event planning, the budget tracking, the inevitable complaints found in all of academia - it became something more. Because my boss trusted me so much, I respected and admired her immensely, much more than anyone else I've ever worked for or with.
When the Burn City Rollers were just beginning to scrimmage, all of us still shaky and skating in a scattered pack, our hits were tentative and uncertain. None of us had played roller derby before and most hadn't played any contact sports. We were very earnest, though, and ready to be a real, seasoned team. One night, after our first week or so of scrimmaging, Lucy Ferocious laid me out. I remember I was on the outside curve of the turn closest to the skating rink entrance. Suddenly, I was on the floor wondering if I was still breathing!
And then, magically, I respected and admired Lucy more than anyone on our whole team. She didn't hold back and she didn't apologize. Her hitting me with all she had told me that the invincibility and intensity I feel inside was, at least a little, showing through.
Now, with DDG, a bunch of girls have just started scrimmaging in the past few months. At first, it's hard to hit them hard - they're so sweet in real life and they're focusing so hard on staying in position on the track. But, as soon as I knock one of those girls down when she's not looking, I hope she knows that I'm saying, "I believe in you. You are an amazing skater and a formidable teammate."
And I hope someday I can find another job working for someone who lets me figure out problems on my own. There's just something about getting knocked down or finishing a difficult assignment that makes a person try harder, get stronger, be more determined.
Last week, scrimmaging during practice, Cakeface Killa hit me about a hundred times in the same spot every single time I looked away for a millisecond. It was great! When a girl hits you with all she's got because she knows you can take it, it just warms your heart.
I've been thinking a lot lately about my old job. I worked as an administrative assistant for an associate dean in the College of Liberal Arts at Auburn. It was a busy, stressful job, and the day-to-day work was largely autonomous. When I first started, my boss would give fairly specific instructions on how I should do the work. As the days and months and years went on, she would just say, "Do this," and just count on me to get it done.
When I first started working, the job was just another job, my boss just another boss. As I learned to take the hits, so to speak - the incessant emails, the crazily complicated scheduling and rescheduling, the event planning, the budget tracking, the inevitable complaints found in all of academia - it became something more. Because my boss trusted me so much, I respected and admired her immensely, much more than anyone else I've ever worked for or with.
When the Burn City Rollers were just beginning to scrimmage, all of us still shaky and skating in a scattered pack, our hits were tentative and uncertain. None of us had played roller derby before and most hadn't played any contact sports. We were very earnest, though, and ready to be a real, seasoned team. One night, after our first week or so of scrimmaging, Lucy Ferocious laid me out. I remember I was on the outside curve of the turn closest to the skating rink entrance. Suddenly, I was on the floor wondering if I was still breathing!
And then, magically, I respected and admired Lucy more than anyone on our whole team. She didn't hold back and she didn't apologize. Her hitting me with all she had told me that the invincibility and intensity I feel inside was, at least a little, showing through.
Now, with DDG, a bunch of girls have just started scrimmaging in the past few months. At first, it's hard to hit them hard - they're so sweet in real life and they're focusing so hard on staying in position on the track. But, as soon as I knock one of those girls down when she's not looking, I hope she knows that I'm saying, "I believe in you. You are an amazing skater and a formidable teammate."
And I hope someday I can find another job working for someone who lets me figure out problems on my own. There's just something about getting knocked down or finishing a difficult assignment that makes a person try harder, get stronger, be more determined.
Tuesday, March 9, 2010
Fear... and loathing
It's so much easier to be afraid.
Today I had a whole free day stretching out in front of me - hours and hours to do whatever I wanted. I wanted to go running. But then, I started thinking, "What if my back starts hurting again? What if my shins hurt? I haven't run in weeks - it would be better if I started out with a short walk. I probably shouldn't go - I've had this cough all week and it's already harder to breathe than normal. Also, it's rainy. That will make my lungs hurt even more." I wanted, more than anything, to put my running shoes on and go for a very short, 10-minute jog. But, but, but. It was so much easier to think of all the reasons it would be better to stay in the house, read a book, drink some coffee. My body would thank me later, right?
When we do timed laps at practice, I feel the same fear. It's not a specific fear, and it's not a rational fear. We'll be doing "as many laps as you can in 5 minutes," and 2 minutes into it, I'll start thinking, "Oooh, I'm feeling good. I should go faster." And then somehow, it turns to "I could go faster. But what if I feel like I can't breathe when we're done? What if I get a cramp in my side? What if I'm tired at the 3-minute mark and have to slow down?" It's so much easier to keep coasting along at the same speed.
I know this happens to other girls; I've heard people say, "I could master crossovers if I wasn't afraid of falling, I could do turnaround stops if I wasn't afraid of pulling a muscle (that one was me, too, a few months ago), I could hit harder if I didn't dwell on how much it might hurt." Et cetera.
It's so much easier to be afraid.
Stay in the house, skip practice if you're feeling a little tired, just put your gear on and put in a halfhearted effort. But then! Such loathing! The day flies by, practice is over and you're not as sweaty as you should be, you didn't give any decent hits in the scrimmage, and you go home feeling the same as when you left.
One thing I love about roller derby is how it gives you a chance every practice, every scrimmage, every bout to overcome that insidious, sneaky fear that tells you to just play it safe, only push yourself just to your limits but not beyond them, and that will be good enough. The only way I've found to overcome that fear is to let the worst happen. Fall doing those crossovers. Do super-slow turnaround stops until you're dizzy. Hit harder and secretly admire your shoulder bruises when you get home.
It's so much easier to be afraid, but it's so much more rewarding to go all-out and not loathe yourself for wasting opportunities to get better, stronger, faster... less afraid and more like the person you want to be.
And now, philosophizing done, I've got to go stretch my back, ice my shins, and chug some cough syrup.
Today I had a whole free day stretching out in front of me - hours and hours to do whatever I wanted. I wanted to go running. But then, I started thinking, "What if my back starts hurting again? What if my shins hurt? I haven't run in weeks - it would be better if I started out with a short walk. I probably shouldn't go - I've had this cough all week and it's already harder to breathe than normal. Also, it's rainy. That will make my lungs hurt even more." I wanted, more than anything, to put my running shoes on and go for a very short, 10-minute jog. But, but, but. It was so much easier to think of all the reasons it would be better to stay in the house, read a book, drink some coffee. My body would thank me later, right?
When we do timed laps at practice, I feel the same fear. It's not a specific fear, and it's not a rational fear. We'll be doing "as many laps as you can in 5 minutes," and 2 minutes into it, I'll start thinking, "Oooh, I'm feeling good. I should go faster." And then somehow, it turns to "I could go faster. But what if I feel like I can't breathe when we're done? What if I get a cramp in my side? What if I'm tired at the 3-minute mark and have to slow down?" It's so much easier to keep coasting along at the same speed.
I know this happens to other girls; I've heard people say, "I could master crossovers if I wasn't afraid of falling, I could do turnaround stops if I wasn't afraid of pulling a muscle (that one was me, too, a few months ago), I could hit harder if I didn't dwell on how much it might hurt." Et cetera.
It's so much easier to be afraid.
Stay in the house, skip practice if you're feeling a little tired, just put your gear on and put in a halfhearted effort. But then! Such loathing! The day flies by, practice is over and you're not as sweaty as you should be, you didn't give any decent hits in the scrimmage, and you go home feeling the same as when you left.
One thing I love about roller derby is how it gives you a chance every practice, every scrimmage, every bout to overcome that insidious, sneaky fear that tells you to just play it safe, only push yourself just to your limits but not beyond them, and that will be good enough. The only way I've found to overcome that fear is to let the worst happen. Fall doing those crossovers. Do super-slow turnaround stops until you're dizzy. Hit harder and secretly admire your shoulder bruises when you get home.
It's so much easier to be afraid, but it's so much more rewarding to go all-out and not loathe yourself for wasting opportunities to get better, stronger, faster... less afraid and more like the person you want to be.
And now, philosophizing done, I've got to go stretch my back, ice my shins, and chug some cough syrup.
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