So practice was a frustrating pile of crap today–wait, no, let me start over. Practice was excellent today, because it was led by Morty, and Morty is excellent, and there was agility, and new stops to learn, and a bunch of Tilted skaters there to watch and learn from, and other such hoorayness. But it was crap for me because I didn’t effing do it because shin splints and blerrrg.
It started off well enough. I was wearing my lucky pants. I got in some decent lateral cuts when I was messing around before warmups. I even managed to find a better headspace: life outside of derby is full of big ol’ changes right now, so when I started gearing up I was all I AM HAVING FEELS and then my inner grownup was all YOU ARE GOING TO HAVE TO COMPARTMENTALIZE THAT SHIT and happily, I did. I hit the track focused. That was cool.
Then we warmed up. Two-lap leads: okay. In a pace line: okay. Crossing over: okay. But it was all on the outside, so no momentum bursts from skating the track, and there were like ten zillion of us, so it went onnn, and my stupid-ass piece-of-shit shins were like
and cramped up like they haven’t done since Bacon, and I was like
and finished warmups because I am stubborn. Then I went with everyone to the middle to stretch and massaged the stabby parts and tried not to cry or barf.
We did a worm after that. It was moving at a decent clip, but not that quickly, but when your shin muscles feel like they’re being yanked from the inside every time you try to do something crazy like pick up your feet, it’s pretty effing hard to step through. So I missed a step, and had to t-stop to get back to my spot, which hurt, and had to step through and then accelerate, which hurt, and then I wiped out (how? no idea!), which didn’t hurt, and got up, which did, and I was like
I went to the outside in hopes of skating it out and realized that was Not On, so I skated over to the fridge, grabbed an ice pack, and plopped my sullen ass down. Zwack asked what was up and pointed out that ice probably wouldn’t help with shin splints, but rolling them out with a stick that looks like should come with a safeword (which Laurie thankfully had brought with her) and slapping on some Tiger Balm probably would.
Well, we didn’t have any Tiger Balm, but we had some Bengay. Old Bengay. That expired seven years ago. Because I am Sherlock fucking Holmes up in here, I concluded that trying something was better than trying nothing, so I busted out the tube and promptly covered my hands, arms and face in what can only be described as Bengay lube because as it turned out, the liquid part had separated from the solid part, and the former escaped before the latter even knew the cap was off. Word to the wise: it’s the liquid part that makes the burning sensation. I now know this thing, and I pass it on in hopes that you, Dear Reader, need not learn it from experience.
It was thus that I spent practice: sidelined, rolling my shins with what by all appearances ought to be a sex toy, stinking of old-balls Bengay and tingling like a mofo.
In case you were wondering, that is not how I prefer to spend practice. As Zwack pointed out, “You don’t give up often, do you?” In point of fact I have never given up at a practice; barring the one time I went home because I fell backwards onto my head (BALLER), I have skated out every.single.challenge I’ve faced in the last seventeen months. So being sidelined for something I thought I’d beaten two months ago? Rationally, I recognize that it was really not that big of a deal, but emotionally, I am all
Y’know? ‘Cause I Worked to get better than I was at Bacon, and today I wasn’t better, and I couldn’t safely practice to improve, and that really pisses me off.
So I’m sulking, and digging out my Tiger Balm, and planning a long bubble bath during which I will play some whiny-ass Pandora station and blub. I cry when I’m mad. It’s annoying. *shrugs* Then I’ll get my shit together for the next practice and make sure it goes better. Maybe I’ll come up with a safeword for that roller stick. You just never know.