Past lives and reflex memory

Liz and I went skating tonight, as we'd been planning (and failing) to do for the past several weeks. I hadn't laced up my skates in at least eight months, and was worried I'd forgotten even the simplest moves. I wobbled my way onto the floor, though, and instinct took over. I was zooming around the rink just like I'd done at hundreds of endurance practices in my four years as a roller girl. My feet knew when to cross over, my arms knew which way to move, and everything fell into the familiar rhythm. I dodged the rexers, fresh meat newbies, and birthday party attendees who clogged the floor, and sweated out all my stresses for an hour or so. I showed Liz how to skate backwards, and paused to run on my toe stops for a while. It felt pretty terrific to be back.

I don't miss roller derby. I've never looked back since the moment I quit, and have completely washed my hands of the league since handing over team treasurer duties in mid-2009. I joined the Rose City Rollers in October, 2005, a few months after moving to Portland. I knew almost no one here, and needed friends. I showed up to a few practices, and once I made it clear I'd keep coming back, friendships began to form. I'm not an athlete. I never played a sport in my life, but something drew me to derby. It felt like home, and my team became an urban family to me. Like a regular family, we weren't always friendly or even civil, but out on the track, we loved each other.

When it came time to quit, I was apprehensive. The sport was no longer making me happy. What began as 90% joy and 10% misery had become the opposite, and I was tired of turning down opportunities to hang out with actual friends to practice with women who barely tolerated me. However, roller derby was my identity. To this day, nothing intrigues somebody like discovering I was a roller girl. I was afraid that without that tidbit of information, people would no longer find me as interesting as they once did. Still, I had to take the chance to save my sanity. Girls were beginning to get nasty injuries that were previously unheard of, and the three month leave I took while buying my house made me the happiest I'd been in months. Though I haven't skated in a pack or even set foot at a derby bout in almost two years, part of me will always be Apoc. I'm glad she still knows how to skate.


*Photo by Skippy Steve

And if the memories alone won't work, I can always watch the documentary that Brian Burk made about me in 2008: