So this past Thursday was a unique day in my practice history, because I just utterly lost.my.shit.
It’s not like I’ve never been frustrated before; this is derby, after all, and I am an irritable bastard. Frustration is part of the package. Usually, though, I get frustrated (almost universally with myself), and then I’m like
and then I get back to doing something. Anything. Even if it’s barely a thing at all, even if it’s sitting on the couch, even if it’s trying to massage my shins into submission and accidentally exploding a tube of Bengay on myself, I don’t give up: I change course.
Thursday, “changing course” meant “getting the fuck out of dodge and crying in the parking lot like a slapped schoolchild.”
Huh. I’ve been skating for nearly two years, but that’s never happened before. Why Thursday?
–Because since I got back on the track three weeks ago, I’ve had days where my shins did not act up at all, and I’ve had uncomfortable-but-work-through-able shin days, and I’ve had days where my shins were all you are having a bad problem and you will not go to space today.
–Because that thing I just described? That has left me feeling bugshit crazy. Like, “GURL, we talked about this, you were gonna stop smokin that crack” crazy. That is not a fun way to feel, particularly when you are on roller skates around a bunch of other people and it feels like someone is trying to rip your shins apart from the inside.
–Because Morty was coaching, and I heart Morty, and I wanted to be all “look Morty look how hard I worked on getting better look I can cross over all the way around the track now LOOOOOOK,” because apparently I am a two-year-old who just wants someone I admire to be proud of me, but instead my shins went “YOU WILL NOT GO TO SPACE TODAY” and I fell way short of my best–or even mediocrest–performance.
–Because I feel like I should be a better skater by now, even when I’m at my best, and I was so miserably far from even that modest level. Ugh.
–Because I started dealing with this shin stuff in June and it’s January of THE NEXT YEAR and it’s still pwning my ass.
So, TL;DR: I HAVE TOO MANY FEEEEEEEEEEEEEEELS.
However, as my dad used to tell me when I had small-child meltdowns in public, “Nobody came here to hear you cry.” The real question here is, Now What? Certainly the least stressful option would be to quit derby, but that isn’t an option any more than robotic shins are an option (COME ON PEOPLE THIS IS THE FUTURE WHERE ARE MY ROBOTIC SHINS).
I think I’m going to put together a list of soothing things to focus on when the injury frustration gets to be too much. I may do this while on the couch at practice today. First item: there is no shame in watching practice instead of skating. No, really. There’s not. Stop hating yourself. (Anyone else having flashbacks to siblings grabbing your hand and smacking you upside the head with it while chanting, “Stop hitting yourself, stop hitting yourself?” No? Okay. Just one of those grew-up-in-the-sticks Midwestern things, then.)