Story by Ayan Jama
Photos by Annabelle Klachefsky
The end-of-the-year eighth grade trip to Portland’s historic Oaks Amusement Park was the last time I was on roller skates. Highlights of that trip: Carl Pagnano asked to hold my hand during the melodic couples skate, and I learned to skate backwards (or so I thought). At that time, I was confident on my skates, gliding between slower skaters and showing off whatever few, but I was sure glamorous, tricks I knew. However, upon walking into Springfield’s Skate World last Thursday, I knew I was in a different league on a different skate track and nobody would be holding my hand or gliding anywhere.
Inspired by the movie Whip It, I decided I’d participate in the first annual roller derby clinic hosted by Ophelia’s Place and the Emerald City Roller Girls. The clinic was intended to give interested bystanders a chance to get on the track themselves and learn the nitty-gritty details of derby.
Greeted by women of all heights, shapes, and sizes sporting neon muscle shirts to checkered hot pants and wild hair somehow contained under brightly polished helmets, I was wowed. Their skates, all decorated and worn-in, showed the stories of their roller derby careers. Some were barely scuffed up, while others seemed to be hanging on by only a few pieces of duct tape.
The self-appointed derby names were code for individual personas. There was Super Cake, a teacher by day and derby girl by night, and also Burnadeath 451°, a petite woman with a warm smile and sharp skate skills. With such rough and tumble names combined with the hard-knock reputation of the sport, one might think these instructors’ personalities would border on crazy, aggressive, or just plain mean. I mean, who names themselves Tickler Pink if there isn’t some kind of meanness under all that pink stuff? Wrong.
Lady Lumps, the event coordinator, hollered at us to head out onto the track: warm-ups. With a racing heart, I stood up for the first time in eight years on my in-line skates. Arms out for balance, knee pads on for protection, I gulped and made my way out to the track. As my feet made contact with the slippery smoothness of the floor I immediately became a rag doll, jerking and swaying back and forth to keep my balance. The only thing I could think was: Please, do not be the first to fall!
After a few practice laps, we were summoned to the center to stretch and meet the team more formally. As the ladies went around saying their derby names and occupations, I couldn’t help but stand in awe: mothers, teachers, academic advisors, and students! This wasn’t what I thought since I’d never given much thought to the fact that these women might lead normal lives outside the ferocious sport
The group of participants were divided into four groups that would each focus on a different skill of the roller derby game. I began learning the most crucial element of any game that requires wheels: stopping and starting. Now normally when we think of stopping on skates, we picture ourselves running into the fuzzy lined walls of the rink, but apparently that is not the proper way a derby girl stops.
The style we learned was called the “T start and stop” and it consisted of placing your feet in a T-shape, with the back foot acting as the top of the letter. The heel of the front foot is placed in the arch of the back foot to create the rest of the letter. If you’re doing it correctly, you will have the appearance of a professional ballerina. I can assure you, I did not.
As I continued to practice the art of the T-start and stop (something I still can’t figure out) I began to watch the women around me drop like flies. Each time, the team would clap loudly and applaud their fall, which while being a confidence booster doesn’t change the fact that your backside is most likely bruised to hell. The little voice in my head came back as I watched the woman next to me tumble: “Do not fall, Ayan. Do NOT fall.”
As I glided out to make my final attempt at mastering this damn stop and start sequence, I quickly realized I was going too fast and had not mastered anything at all. In a split second I was soaring sky high, looking down at the ground with a look of pure horror and pain on my face. As my bony body made first contact with the smooth blue floor, I felt as though my hip had shattered and my wrists had snapped in two.
Although stunned and shocked from the horrible falling experience, I proceeded to get back and keep participating in the final three groups: skating tricks, balancing tips, and agility. Each group lasted for about twenty minutes, half of which we spent falling, laughing, joking, and, of course, skating. As the evening wrapped up the four groups were asked to participate in a relay race to showcase our new found talents. My team decided on the most appropriate derby name we could think of: Las Diablas. Being the hellions I knew we were, we came in second but cheered like we had won first. I even managed to skate quickly down to the center cones, stop, and come back, all without falling.
After various group photos and heart-felled goodbyes I reflected on my night and decided I was taking away three vital lessons from this experience. First, I should have worn wrist guards. Second, the taller you are the further you fall. And third, when you do fall, which you will, laughter makes it better.
See our coverage of the 2011 roller derby season opener.
Originally published on February 14, 2011.
