Maybe I don't fail at roller derby after all
Once again, the Saturday Night DJ asked to switch with me, so I had another of those rare Friday nights off. For the longest time, a girl in my (soon to be former) roller derby league was waxing ecstatic about a speed skating class in a rink about 50 miles away from where I live. The classes were on Friday nights, when I couldn't take them. Until tonight.
I arrived right before the start of class, 7pm. At the desk, the coach collecting money gives me a rundown on what the class is about. "And what is your name?" he asks me. I tell him. "Good to meet you, Cynthia," he says, handing me a schedule and fliers about the class.
Much to my chagrin, I managed to leave my water at home, and there are no working vending machines. Upon asking a father if he knew of any in the building, he tells me he normally brings a 24-pack, but forgot tonight. "I only have one for my little girl," he apologizes, "but I was going to run to the store, I can get you a bottle." I usually don't ask favors from strangers, but I knew I was going to be worked hard, so I agreed. Twenty minutes later, when he comes back with Poland Spring bottle in hand, I thank him, reaching for my wallet. He tells me not to worry about it. "Next time," he says.
The class starts. Students consist of about a half-dozen preteen girls, 8 or 10 guys from the rink's hockey league, two derby girls from another league, and me. Everyone is on inlines except for me and the derby girls. Another coach takes me aside, introduces himself. "You keep coming here, you're only going to get better," he says. To my delight, I discover that starting next week, they're going to have a session on Sunday afternoons as well. I could use it, and it would serve me better than the Open Skate where I have to constantly avoid brats who can't skate.
But back to the topic on hand, he tells me that he keeps an eye on all the skaters and our progress. I nod. He gives me a few pointers, and everyone begins their warm-up laps. He tells me to try to keep up with him and another derby girl skating behind him. I do my best, but fall behind in places. Another coach blows his whistle and waves me over.
"You're not really skating," he says helpfully, "you're just lifting your feet. That's inhibiting your speed." He demonstrates for me how I should be skating, which is hard to describe in a blog, but the idea is using my feet to glide instead of just lifting them up and putting them down, as if running. After working with me for a minute or two, I return to the track to follow his suggestion. It's hard to get used to, but I manage to do it--with my right foot anyway. Damn left side still giving me problems. I tell the coaches this, as well as the whole Left Knee Saga; they respond by encouraging me to come to more classes to work on it.
After a water break, everyone does races of sorts. I say "of sorts" because they're not really races; they're groups of 4 or 5 skaters that do as many laps as the coaches instruct them to. I'm talking to the first coach about my progress and the Left Knee Saga, when another coach instructs me to take my place in line; it's my turn.
"I don't think I'm as fast as everyone else," I say, slightly nervous.
"Just do your best."
So I do. As I said, I do go slower than everyone else. But I'm trying to glide now, so that's the first step. I strike up a conversation with the derby girls; tell them I'm most likely going to be a free agent as of April 1. They invite me to come down to practice whenever I feel I'm ready. Their league holds practice in this same rink, so I may just do that. We race a few more times, then it's something called barrels i.e. skating in circles.
At the end of practice, the coach who first worked with me talks with me a bit. He wants me to work on my crossovers as well as gliding. He says I can do it off my skates, so I have to remember to do that. I tell him I want to be here most Sundays beginning in April, and he says he looks forward to my coming back.
I leave the rink into pouring rain, but I feel better about my skating than I have in a month. It feels good to leave a practice and feel that I actually accomplished something.
I arrived right before the start of class, 7pm. At the desk, the coach collecting money gives me a rundown on what the class is about. "And what is your name?" he asks me. I tell him. "Good to meet you, Cynthia," he says, handing me a schedule and fliers about the class.
Much to my chagrin, I managed to leave my water at home, and there are no working vending machines. Upon asking a father if he knew of any in the building, he tells me he normally brings a 24-pack, but forgot tonight. "I only have one for my little girl," he apologizes, "but I was going to run to the store, I can get you a bottle." I usually don't ask favors from strangers, but I knew I was going to be worked hard, so I agreed. Twenty minutes later, when he comes back with Poland Spring bottle in hand, I thank him, reaching for my wallet. He tells me not to worry about it. "Next time," he says.
The class starts. Students consist of about a half-dozen preteen girls, 8 or 10 guys from the rink's hockey league, two derby girls from another league, and me. Everyone is on inlines except for me and the derby girls. Another coach takes me aside, introduces himself. "You keep coming here, you're only going to get better," he says. To my delight, I discover that starting next week, they're going to have a session on Sunday afternoons as well. I could use it, and it would serve me better than the Open Skate where I have to constantly avoid brats who can't skate.
But back to the topic on hand, he tells me that he keeps an eye on all the skaters and our progress. I nod. He gives me a few pointers, and everyone begins their warm-up laps. He tells me to try to keep up with him and another derby girl skating behind him. I do my best, but fall behind in places. Another coach blows his whistle and waves me over.
"You're not really skating," he says helpfully, "you're just lifting your feet. That's inhibiting your speed." He demonstrates for me how I should be skating, which is hard to describe in a blog, but the idea is using my feet to glide instead of just lifting them up and putting them down, as if running. After working with me for a minute or two, I return to the track to follow his suggestion. It's hard to get used to, but I manage to do it--with my right foot anyway. Damn left side still giving me problems. I tell the coaches this, as well as the whole Left Knee Saga; they respond by encouraging me to come to more classes to work on it.
After a water break, everyone does races of sorts. I say "of sorts" because they're not really races; they're groups of 4 or 5 skaters that do as many laps as the coaches instruct them to. I'm talking to the first coach about my progress and the Left Knee Saga, when another coach instructs me to take my place in line; it's my turn.
"I don't think I'm as fast as everyone else," I say, slightly nervous.
"Just do your best."
So I do. As I said, I do go slower than everyone else. But I'm trying to glide now, so that's the first step. I strike up a conversation with the derby girls; tell them I'm most likely going to be a free agent as of April 1. They invite me to come down to practice whenever I feel I'm ready. Their league holds practice in this same rink, so I may just do that. We race a few more times, then it's something called barrels i.e. skating in circles.
At the end of practice, the coach who first worked with me talks with me a bit. He wants me to work on my crossovers as well as gliding. He says I can do it off my skates, so I have to remember to do that. I tell him I want to be here most Sundays beginning in April, and he says he looks forward to my coming back.
I leave the rink into pouring rain, but I feel better about my skating than I have in a month. It feels good to leave a practice and feel that I actually accomplished something.