Decisions

I miss derby.  Mostly.

Like this morning when I dropped my kids off at school, amid the other crazy SUV- and mini-van-driving moms.  Those who refused to follow the rules set by the school on how to properly drive in the correct area to drop their precious children off, those people almost got ran into by MY crazy mini-van-driving ass!

I was completely enraged!  I couldn’t believe that they weren’t following the simple rules set forth by the school!  What made them think they’re so damn special?  Where were the refs here?

Had Team Zebra been there, surely the other moms would have gotten penalties for cutting the track, stop blocking, clockwise driving, and illegal procedure.  And one would have gotten a major blocking out of bounds (not me, BTW).

I came home and realized that I had my derby vision back!  You see, when I retired several months ago, I was so burnt out on derby that I didn’t think I would ever think of day-to-day in derby vision ever again.  I just wanted to be a mom, wife, worker, and student.  I wanted to get my laundry done (still hasn’t happened), do a bunch of fun things with my kids (one trip to the zoo and one vacation to West Virginia that was literally a disaster), and just be home at night (apparently to just sit and watch TV).

I didn’t want to worry about derby drama, schedules, making the roster, washing my pads and jerseys, clipping my finger and toenails, or how much longer my knees would hold out.  I mean, I had done that dance for three years.  THREE YEARS!  Three whole years of my life that I had practiced, traveled, and beat up my body.  Three years of smelly wrists, because no matter how much you scrub, that smell never ever comes out if you regularly wear those wrist guards (which you totally should).  It took two months after retirement to get that stench off of my skin!  That shit should be used in negotiation tactics.  Shut off the power, blare the Spice Girls “Wannabe” and filter in derby stench through the ducts.  I don’t think even the most hardened, psychopathic criminal could withstand that!

As the stench and time have passed, I find my mind going to all places derby more often.  I miss the exercise that derby gave me.  My ass can no longer have a quarter bounced off it and I notice that I now get winded just drudging laundry up and down the stairs.   I miss the actual game, strategy and the excitement of bouting.  While I still see my closer friends who were also teammates, I miss the ones that I don’t get to see regularly.   It’s almost like I have been removed from the inner circle of a big group of friends I once had.  Sure, they are mostly still friendly, but it’s not the same.  I miss being a part of something bigger than myself.  I miss the release of aggression from practice and that moment where something I have been working on is finally perfected and then used in a bout.  I miss the feel of winning and the sadness of losing.  I miss being able to be proud of my bruises, since now it’s just because I am clumsy off skates and not because I went up against a bigger or better opponent.  I guess to sum it up, I miss my passion for derby and sharing that same passion with so many others.  Being a fan is fun, but it’s not the same.

As much as I miss derby now, I missed my family more then.  The time that I gave to derby was time away from my four sons and now husband.  I have gotten to know my kids and their friends.  I have been an ear for them, a cheerleader, a shoulder to cry on, and a safe place to stay.  I know that they were impressed and proud of their derby mom, but I think they like their stay at home mom even more.  This is my oldest son’s last year of high school, and I get to be here for that.  And I know when he graduates, our extended derby family will still be here to help celebrate.  Then, after that, who knows….maybe I will decide to play again.

For now I take it day by day.  When I stop to think about the balance of what I miss most, yes it sucks all the way around, but I know I made the right decision for my husband, sons, step-sons, and “adopted” kids (aka whichever kid walks in my door).  My blood still runs hot with derby, and the fire is slowly getting stronger but that’s a fire for the backburner for now.

In the meantime, say a prayer for those idiot drivers, moronic slow-movers in the store, and anyone who comes between me and my families.