“Why I love roller derby” writing contest finalist:

“How Roller Derby Ruined my Life, Saved my Soul, and Gave me Great Pecs” by Zarathrustya

There were tears in my vinegar.

At least there would have been if I could have even gotten the goddamn pickle jar open.

It was November 2008 and I was standing in my kitchen sobbing like a widow because I couldn’t open a jar of sweet baby gherkins.  In my defense, the frustration being directed at the jar was merely the culmination of a sports arena-sized well of emotion filled by my recently failed engagement of three years.  For the record (what girl doesn’t keep score?), it was my decision to end the relationship of nearly 4½ years, but only because it has spiraled and completely disintegrated over the last year into something completely volatile and unhealthy for both parties.  I can say with the utmost certainty, however, that the fault lay surprisingly enough not with either party but with roller derby.  Before your eyeroll completes its 360, allow me to elaborate as briefly yet entirely as I can.

Grievous mistakes were made on both sides, true, but the person who made the decision to end the relationship barely held semblance to the shy, nervous and reserved 17 year old I began the relationship as.  The recurring complaint I received from my fiancé during the year I began roller derby was that I was “never home anymore,” or that he never got to see me because I was always out with my teammates (read: newfound family).  We practiced two days a week and I sometimes went out with the team afterwards, but not to an ungodly hour as I was under constant pressure to come home.  Soon the tables turned, we developed opposite schedules and before long I felt as though I were sleeping next to a stranger.

It wasn’t until I was doing some recent self-examining that I came to fully realize what my ex truly meant.  I wasn’t the one who was never home any more; rather it was quiet little Mary K, the failed artist with a serious self image problem and no voice or direction of her own who was making fewer and fewer appearances.  She packed her shit and signed the lease over to her stronger, more assertive and self-assured counterpart, Zarathrustya.  Roller derby ruined my life, but it was no life worth living.  My first steps as Zara were as shaky as my first crossovers, but once I found my balance and my true self with the help of this empowering sport and my empowered teammates as my role models, I changed as a woman, into a woman.  One with my own voice, my own dreams, my own goals, and the means and confidence to achieve them.

Now I open all my own pickle jars.

“Why I love roller derby” writing contest finalist:

“Frightening Giants” by 9lb Hammer

Why do I love roller derby? Because my legs are stacked like a professional wrestler’s, and I can do fifty pushups at once. Because I am barely five feet tall, yet my presence frightens giants. Because I am allowed to—even supposed to!—thrust my shoulder into girls’ chests and knock them over.

Because before roller derby, I had never been part of a team.

Before skating, I spent my lonely life studying, playing with my three cats, and wondering if there were any surprises left. All my friends read the same books, talked about the same theorists, and drank the same bottles of wine. Every morning, I woke up, put on some mascara, and taught the same composition classes over and over. In the afternoons, I would let the din of the Game Show Network background my reading of Victorian literature and trashy magazines. At night, I would scour the internet for indie music shows and balk at the mileage.

I would curl up on my futon and wonder if God existed. I would get bored and cut my own hair (a bad, bad idea). I wondered if I would make close friends (or find a cute boyfriend) in this college town of sorority skirts and Ray-bans.

Before derby, I lived life for myself, and I lived life for nothing.

When I started skating, I didn’t befriend my teammates immediately. I didn’t go out after practice, and I didn’t facebook tag pictures of my volcanic leg bruises. I tried to keep my distance. This roller derby thing was just something to fill up two hours on a Monday and Wednesday night.

And then everything changed.

At the request of my future derby wife, I started going out with the team, especially if pizza was involved. When I played my first scrimmage in mental-rentals, I kept up with the pack. I felt like I was part of something bigger than myself. When I accidentally tripped our team’s jammer, she forgave me immediately.

My teammates told tales of motherhood, drug abuse, and broken families. When my chin bounced off the floor one practice, a teammate told me that it was okay to cry, as long as it wasn’t from a hit. I got to know and to love girls I would have never met off skates.

Before derby, I could not have told anyone that my doctor tested me for kidney disease, and the test came back positive. I would have never told anyone that having diabetes for twenty-three years has led to a daily Prozac habit.

But after getting comfortable, I had a team to confide in. I had girls who drove me to the emergency room when my bladder stopped working. I met people who loved me for the mess that I was; I met people who believed in me.

I love derby because now I accept what I have always been: a short girl with a proclivity for literature comprehension, high blood sugars, and the Game Show Network.

I love derby because now that short girl has legs as strong as wolverines.

I love derby because our team has a hair studio sponsorship that prevents me from making bad late-night style decisions.

I love derby because now I know that God exists, and she is definitely wearing a pair of pink Riedell roller skates.

I love derby because skating has taught me how to frighten the giants that once frightened me.