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Until I started doing derby, drum corps has been the hardest physical activity I'd been involved in. We ran. A lot. While breathing. In tempo. I remember one time that the horn players were told that the next one of us to drop our horns lower than where they should be would be forced to stand there while the rest of the corps ran a lap around the field. A couple of soprano players (trumpet sized bugle) dropped their angle and we all had to run while they stood there, knowing that they had let everyone else down by not doing their part. We spent all summer perfecting an 11 minute show. We did push-ups and practiced in the rain. Recently, I pulled out my old tour video and watched it.
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| Yes, that's really me. No, my hair isn't that short anymore. |
It's amazing how tan I was after that summer (and I did use sunscreen all summer but when you're outside all day, you end up getting tan regardless) and how awful my hair looks short. The other amazing thing is how tight of a team we were by the time we got to quarter finals. We laid it all out on the field and gave our best performance. Our coaches and staff told us to be proud of ourselves because we didn't hold back and that no matter what, no one would ever be able to take away the feeling that we were having. No score would ever change what we had done.
Fast-forward to a couple of years ago, long past my time doing drum corps. This fall is my fourth session in Debs. I've been hesitant about blogging because there is just so much to say that I don't know if I can even manage to get it all out. There have been some really awesome things like making it through sections of our jumping drills or managing to do real push-ups. But there have also been things that have gotten to me like freaking out over being timed to do as many laps as possible in 5 minutes or the fact that skating wasn't my priority this past summer. Yet there have been some amazing changes this session that I have seen in myself.
Our first on skates practice, we were told to be ready at 4pm, meaning on skates and in gear and ready to go. Since a couple of people showed up just a little before 4, they weren't ready. So the rest of us did push-ups and crunches until they were ready. My mind went straight back to those moments in drum corps when we had to do similar. It sucks to do them but it sucks even more to be the person who is causing it to be done. It hasn't happened since and while I know I mentally groaned, I didn't get bent out of shape for having to do it.
The day we did skill assessments, I was in my head even before I got to practice. I was convinced last year that I would make it into the contact ready group. I didn't. It took all year to figure out that it was because of my priorities (job is higher than derby in most cases) prevented me from being consistent in my training. By not being at practice every week, I wasn't able to build on what I was learning. In some ways, I was having to start at the same point every time instead of moving forward. I wasn't sure I could handle another session in the pink (beginner) group. Not that I don't have things to work on but I know I've moved past being terrified of being on wheels. As we worked through the different skill evaluations, I realized that we were oddly numbered at times. I ended up doing some of the drills more than once (one of them, the falling drill, I wanted to do again for my own peace of mind to show myself that I can do better double knee falls than I had done). Instead of letting someone finish on their own, I skated with them because even if we don't compete, we are a team. I know how many times it's helped me complete something when there's been someone else doing it besides me.
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| Non-skating bruise, but look at the pretty purple. |
This was all a couple of weeks ago and I've since had my first contact practice. I think we were all eager and nervous about starting. I say this with confidence because we were thinking too much. Before we gave and received our first hits, we worked on driving, or pushing, someone right next to us. When we were simply skating next to each other with slimy spines (like a cat, leaning completely up against each other), we had no problems. Yet as soon as we were suppose to do something else, we all started to have issues, the main one being that we were no longer slimy.
It's hard sometimes to not think about something new. There's the question of where my weight goes and am I steering with the correct foot. Eventually, we'll get to the point where we just do it without thinking. Even now, we shouldn't think because it causes us to doubt ourselves.
Tonight, my husband and I went to a parkour class. As we drove down, he asked what was on my mind as I seemed inside my head. This wasn't a good sign. When we started to do warm-ups, I noticed that I was inside my head. I have no idea where I was in it, but I was definitely inside of it. I wondered if I should just stop then and not continue with class but it seems there's a strong streak of stubbornness in my family. Hoping that once I was working my body, I would get out of my head, I went ahead. We were working on vaults and there were a lot of us. In theory, vaults are easy. Especially when you use your upper body a lot, which I don't. I probably do more than others since I work in theatre but most of my power is in my legs.
The first vaults we ran through went well enough.
I'm still not confident enough about doing a speed vault, so I tend to do safety vaults, and I'm sure I could probably go faster on them. Then we got to the vault I hate most. I hate this vault more than I hate any of the plyometrics we've done in derby. This vault is difficult and awkward. The kong vault. Now for guys, it's not nearly as awkward but I am well endowed. Additionally, as a woman, my body is built differently than a man's so I can't just do what they do. I avoided going to the vault classes for a month once because they were focusing on kong vaults. That's how much I hate them. As we were reviewing them and working through an obstacle course, I was at the end of the line (there may have been one person behind me). This way, I would hopefully get some distance before a line of teenage boys (and my husband) got behind me, watching me struggle with this vault. I know from derby that I shouldn't care what others think and that I shouldn't compare myself to others but it's hard. It's hard watching these teenage punks (and my husband) effortlessly do something that seems impossible to me.
Easy, right? Except for that whole "getting your knees between your arms" bit, which I struggle with a lot. Sometimes I mentally blame derby because so much of what we do needs our knees apart (no really! for balance and stuff) that it's weird to have my knees together. There's also an exercise we do for derby called frog leaps (I also hate these, but not nearly as much as I hate kong vaults) where our arms are between our legs. I'm pretty sure I'm giving my body mixed messages (ie, fall in parkour, slap the ground and have your hands open; four point fall in derby, tuck in your fingers so no one rolls over them) but I'm hoping the differences in gear and environment is keeping too many wires from getting crossed.
Tonight, I got one-ish kong vault looking thing. I attempted a second and I was in my head, so much so that my instructors noticed. At least if I was freaking out over something specific (vaulting over bars is scary; I don't want to do a face plant), I could at least figure out a way to deal with it. Instead, I was simply wandering around in my head as though I was lost. As I struggled doing this a second time, on a higher beam, I got more frustrated. It's been a month since I'd gone to class (work/home life getting in the way) and I tend to be really hard on myself even when I know my circumstances. The more frustrated I got, the harder it became. A comment was then made about watching my shins. I know it was suppose to be playful but I was way past the point of frustration. That ended up being the end of class for me. I walked away and calmed down enough to come back and watch what everyone else was doing. I was far too self-conscious to try anything else. One of the boys in the class did ask if I was okay, making sure I hadn't gotten hurt. How does one explain a bruised ego to a teenage boy though? It's not that I don't think they'd understand but more that I think they wouldn't understand the point. It's much easier in the abstract to say that I'm not going to be so hard on myself and that I know that it's something that takes time and work. When trying to do so in reality, sometimes frustration wins out.
Yet again, it all leads back to drum corps. If I can learn how to play a baritone bugle (I'm a flute player) in less than six months to successfully march in a drum corps, then I can certainly try roller skating. If I can go from not being able to stand, on carpet, in the worst skates (roller rink rentals) ever to learning to hit other women in two and a half years, then I can try parkour. In some ways, drum corps was easy. I'd done marching band and I studied music. I'd never done it so intensely, in the heat, never really knowing what state I was in, but I had a background that made it easier. Before I went to a roller rink on Valentine's day 2010, I don't think I'd ever put on skates. Maybe once at a family reunion a million years ago (the late 1980s) and if I did, I probably stayed on the grass and didn't actually skate on them. The most physical activity I'd done to that point was drum corps and work. I took a little bit of karate in college so I knew I had some form of coordination but that was about it.
That means for parkour, I'm already doing a physical activity in roller derby. I have a background there. I know how to move my body, mostly. I understand the importance of landing on the balls of my feet and bending my knees. There is a foundation. In my childhood, I didn't play on the monkey bars and do the crazy bar flips. I was afraid of heights and deemed such activities a sure sign of insanity. When we had a gymnastics unit in elementary school gym class, I could do a front roll and that was about it. Already, I've moved leaps and bounds ahead of where I was when I started parkour in June. If I can be working on cartwheels and vaults and jumping at walls on purpose in less than 5 months, how much more will I be able to do in two and a half years? I'm guessing it'll be a lot more.
