This Post Brought To You By The Letter “S”

Skating… scrimmage… shins… stops… Sherlock… how essy!

There was scrimmage yesterday. I skated in it. And finished! That’s a first since… October, maybe? God, that feels like forever ago. No wonder I feel so derby-weird.

Physical therapy is a wonderful thing. By the end of scrimmage yesterday, I was still feeling good. Tired, yes, but there’s nothing wrong with tired. My shins didn’t much like the warm-up, but with good stretching, massaging, and visualizing efforts, they made it through the scrimmage like champs. I even jammed. Twice. And got lead jammer. Twice.

Did I mention that we did the 25-in-5 after a bunch of stops and knee slides the day before the scrimmage? Because we did. I got it in five flat, which is slower than my best time, but at least I was able to do it. I feel like I have a very long way to go before I have my pre-shinjury confidence levels back, but I’m still skating, and that’s something.

So. Good derby weekend. Lots of skating. And now, a little GPOY:

(P.S. for my fellow Sherlockians out there: YOU GUISE! Series three! Sets, readings, grapes: do you have feels? Discuss!)

Keeping Score

Welp, I’m still off skates. I NSOed at our scrimmage on Saturday (scorekeeper for the Red Team). My leaguemates were out there all

and I was at the NSO table staring at my ref like my life depended on it, except between jams, when I was all

Le sigh.

NSOing is cool, though. Learned a lot, got to be useful, met excellent refs and NSOs: a victory for Upfish, as Brad Neely would say. Also, my peeps are improving at hitting, ’cause that scrimmage was bersekaheimer. I saw one skater get hit, fall, spin out, and crash into the wall at Turn Four. Twice. Another smashed into the barrier under the NSO table. Is every scrimmage like that, or do I not notice because I’m in it?

After the scrimmage, I was lucky enough to talk with another leaguemate NSO who’s injured, and wise, and a badass. We commiserated about being hamstrung (figuratively), and she had some great advice about being patient with myself and accepting the pace of my recovery. I’m very grateful for her validation. ❤

So that was Saturday. Sunday, I embraced the crapful place I was in; I watched Champs from my couch and ate a lot of deep-fried shit. If you want to know what rock bottom tastes like, it’s batter-dipped deep-fried mac and cheese balls, chocolate chip pumpkin bread, and beer. My subconscious wants me to weigh as much as my self-hatred, maybe?

I’ve been freaking out about losing my hard-earned derby fitness, and my inflating waistline, and my imperfect adherence to my PT/taping regimen, and my crap nutrition choices, and feeling that I’m letting my teammates down by doing so poorly, and hating myself pretty hard for all of it, which has only increased the shitstupidity of my choices, which has kept the cycle going, and… bleargh. There really is something magical about accepting the suck, though, because I woke up Different this morning. I went from being all

to feeling a big ol’ dose of

It’s a process. I’ve fucked up. I’ll fuck up again. But that’s fine: the important thing, in some ways the only important thing, is that I keep going. However imperfectly. However deep-fried. Just keep going.

ScrimmageLock

Whoa. Things got a little intense there, eh? Thanks for bearing with me. Here’s the fluff post I meant to write yesterday. In honor of Saturday’s upcoming scrimmage (SQUEE), let’s do a post about scrimmage times, as portrayed through Sherlock references. Whee!

When I see photos or footage of myself during a scrimmage:

When Coach tries to explain a strategy more complex than “wall up for defense and fuck shit up on offense”:

How I feel at the end of a jam that ran the full two minutes:

When I’m jamming and the other jammer tries to scrap with me before the double whistle:

When people on my team take me out, especially when I’m jamming:

And, finally, what I do after the scrimmage:

Floating Thoughts About Monday’s Scrimmage

The first several times I did scrimmage drills, I had absolutely no idea what was going on. Where was their jammer? Our jammer? Where was I supposed to be? Why was I always on the ground and why were there so many people everywhere and oh God I was definitely going to be eaten by wolves get up get up get up!
 

I’m pretty sure our coaches were doing this, internally.

 
Red Cabin (BEST CABIN) scrimmaged three times on Monday. The first time, I got no penalties, and didn’t really do anything. Rumble pointed out that she’d rather see us DO something and make a mistake than be so cautious, so I showed more initiative after that. I got three majors, so, y’know, room for improvement, but I did stuff! *fistpump*
 
Especially in the last two jams, I noticed that things “clicked” better. When the jammer was coming around, I knew where she was. When our walls fell apart, I could see where I needed to go to put them back together. Was I always able to do anything useful with these observations? Nah. But just being able to make them is progress, and I’ll take it. 
 
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When I came out of one of the jams, one of the coaches (I think it was Full Nelson) asked me if I’d had fun. There being a clear Right Answer to that question, I offered a hesitant, “Yes?”
 
I lied, and I didn’t.
 
I lied in that I didn’t have fun, exactly. I’m not good at “fun”. I’m too intense, too AAH MOTHALAND!, too afraid of letting my team down. I’m unreliable enough when I’m concentrating; if I start having fun, who knows what might happen?
 

Which one of you blockers put my calculator in Jell-O? B3? B2? Dammit, Pivot, I know it was you!

 
I didn’t lie in that for me, concentrating on derby is… dare I say it… fun? Or my version of it, at least? I love the challenge. When our last scrimmage ended, my reaction was, “NOOO we’re just finding our groove we have to keep playing!” I had that reaction despite being utterly physically wiped: it just didn’t matter. My heart wasn’t done yet.
 
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I jammed twice. The first time, I never got through the pack. I fought, but I couldn’t find the “friendly side”. Derp.
 
The second time, I went to the box on a low block major, which I got from the floor (LIKE A BOSS). I was released at the start of the next jam and, thanks to having the best blockers evar, made an initial pass and completed a scoring pass. I didn’t realize that, though, so when I got back to the bench, Full Nelson was all, “Nice job!”, and I was all, “Eh,” and she was all, “You got all five points!”, and I was all,
 

WHUUUT

 
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On Monday night, I had a dream that I was jamming. When I jam in my dreams, I’m all *jazz hands*
 

BIFF! POW! ZOINKS!

 
Sadly, real life looks more like this:
 

I’m pretty sure this is not what they meant when they sung, “We all need somebody to lean on.”

 
Except the cushions are blockers, and unlike the cat, I do not remain vertical. I’ma work on that.