My kid asked me the other morning on my first sip of coffee "what does winning mean?"
Anyone who knows me well can attest I am utterly useless prior to that first mouthful or two of my beloved caffeine. I barely know what day it is or whether I remembered to put on pants at that point, let alone answer such queries.
Truth is, I've been considering this for a while. What my response would be when this question came, whether it was as he got more into my bouts or had his own experiences on a team someday. Our goal as parents is to answer them both as honestly and speaking from as much personal experience as is possible.
Until this year I have never been a member of a team, with the exception of the Alan/Kate attempting to raise two freakishly energetic and exasperatingly inquisitive children who are 19 months apart and not go insane in the process team. My pre-derby background is comprised of tons of dance, choreography and a few years of karate. Of course there was some competition in karate tournaments but nothing like the dynamics of being part of a competitive team, figuring out how you fit in and what contribution you can offer to the overall efficiency of the team.
Stating the obvious, in competitive sports there are two teams. With the exception of a tie, one is going to win and the other lose. Does that make the team with less points efforts any less valuable?
I guess if I had to define it I would say for me winning is a matter of committing. Choosing over and over to work harder than you think possible. Accepting your teammates completely. Embracing them as individuals, respecting them and learning to work with them. Suspending ego and allowing yourself to learn from them with no jealousy. Not being embarrassed of being wrong or making mistakes, and not allowing those concerns to interfere with your performance. To be passionate and bold, yet maintain calm and a sense of humor when things go terribly wrong. Holding onto the things that went well, acknowledging what wasn't optimal and improving on it. Having no regrets at the end of practice or a bout. Getting yourself in motion and committing, over and over again, particularly when you are challenged to the point beyond what you think is attainable. Getting my tired ass to practice when every fiber of my being is begging me to sit down, have a cocktail, be still and silent either on my porch or in a nice bath after a day of chasing the crumbsnatchers around, breaking up spats, deciphering exactly what is causing them to flail and screech like frustrated, earsplittingly vocal yet non-communicative fish out of water and just generally preventing them from killing themselves.
I think the strength of a team is each member doing their personal best, working together to achieve a common goal. But within that common goal (which in competitive sports is obviously winning the game) I find there are layers of personal goals, unique to each player.
I'm in awe of the athleticism of my teammates, and just in general of a lot of the skaters in the league. It seems unattainable to me, that aggression and self confidence. I catch myself questioning why I should even play if I'm nowhere near that level. I often feel disheartened I didn't attempt derby sooner, when I was younger, with less bodily wear and tear, parental exhaustion and haze on my body and mind.
The truth is I love this. Completely. Love the amount of fears my journey has forced me to confront, the things I never thought personally possible. Love the physicality and strategy involved. But yet there are times I find myself wanting to give up because in this lifetime I just won't ever be at their level.
Then I think of all the opportunities this experience offers me. All the wonderful people I've met. And I think of what I would say to my kids if they adopted this defeatist, negative attitude about something they love to do. I think of my beautiful, crazy curled Oona, in her happiest moments or upon waking just stopping, throwing her hands in the air and with a beaming smile that could melt tungsten yelling "Number 40eeeeeee!!!!! Bowskiiiiiii!!!!" then proceeding to spread her legs wide, go up on her toes and yell "Tomahawk stop!!!! Yeah!!" I think of Aldo, his eyes twinkling, coming up to me at half-time and hugging me, kissing me with his soft little face and wacky cowlicks, telling me I'm awesomesauce as he fondles my knee pads or helmet.
I think of how terrified I was of falling when I started scrimmaging in February. How hitting another skater while you both are moving and in close proximity to a bunch of other bodies on wheels seemed so completely counter intuitive. How my right leg was numb for months and heavy to lift, screaming at me and threatening to give out each time I took a hit, attempted to deliver a hit or fell. I skated like that for two months because I just couldn't bear missing an opportunity to be on skates and with my leaguemates. It wasn't until the last bout in August that I came home and realized I had felt no pain. Confronting my fears of falling or being hit have been huge for me, both in skating and life. I can say I'm working through them nicely, and lately my biggest fear is not being quick or fast thinking enough in my responses and missing a chance to interfere with the opposing jammer, whether it's attempting a hit or just getting in front of her so a teammate can.
I can't believe it's been a year since I tried out for the league. Tryouts were September 10 last year. I never thought I'd make it. It's still amazing to me that I was drafted to a home team and I have actually skated in bouts. I'm coming up on my 5th on September 16th.
This morning at practice we had to skate 25 laps in 5 minutes, while pushing another skater the whole time. As I took my turn pushing the lovely and effervescent Damé Sangre around, alternating between heavy breaths and laughing like a hyena I knew I was in exactly the right place. There was nothing else I'd rather be doing, no random thoughts or doubts cluttering my thinking. Just the absolute joy of the moment, digging in and working hard.
25 laps pushing Damé in about 4:41!!!
Anyone who knows me well can attest I am utterly useless prior to that first mouthful or two of my beloved caffeine. I barely know what day it is or whether I remembered to put on pants at that point, let alone answer such queries.
Truth is, I've been considering this for a while. What my response would be when this question came, whether it was as he got more into my bouts or had his own experiences on a team someday. Our goal as parents is to answer them both as honestly and speaking from as much personal experience as is possible.
Stating the obvious, in competitive sports there are two teams. With the exception of a tie, one is going to win and the other lose. Does that make the team with less points efforts any less valuable?
I guess if I had to define it I would say for me winning is a matter of committing. Choosing over and over to work harder than you think possible. Accepting your teammates completely. Embracing them as individuals, respecting them and learning to work with them. Suspending ego and allowing yourself to learn from them with no jealousy. Not being embarrassed of being wrong or making mistakes, and not allowing those concerns to interfere with your performance. To be passionate and bold, yet maintain calm and a sense of humor when things go terribly wrong. Holding onto the things that went well, acknowledging what wasn't optimal and improving on it. Having no regrets at the end of practice or a bout. Getting yourself in motion and committing, over and over again, particularly when you are challenged to the point beyond what you think is attainable. Getting my tired ass to practice when every fiber of my being is begging me to sit down, have a cocktail, be still and silent either on my porch or in a nice bath after a day of chasing the crumbsnatchers around, breaking up spats, deciphering exactly what is causing them to flail and screech like frustrated, earsplittingly vocal yet non-communicative fish out of water and just generally preventing them from killing themselves.
I think the strength of a team is each member doing their personal best, working together to achieve a common goal. But within that common goal (which in competitive sports is obviously winning the game) I find there are layers of personal goals, unique to each player.
I'm in awe of the athleticism of my teammates, and just in general of a lot of the skaters in the league. It seems unattainable to me, that aggression and self confidence. I catch myself questioning why I should even play if I'm nowhere near that level. I often feel disheartened I didn't attempt derby sooner, when I was younger, with less bodily wear and tear, parental exhaustion and haze on my body and mind.
The truth is I love this. Completely. Love the amount of fears my journey has forced me to confront, the things I never thought personally possible. Love the physicality and strategy involved. But yet there are times I find myself wanting to give up because in this lifetime I just won't ever be at their level.
Then I think of all the opportunities this experience offers me. All the wonderful people I've met. And I think of what I would say to my kids if they adopted this defeatist, negative attitude about something they love to do. I think of my beautiful, crazy curled Oona, in her happiest moments or upon waking just stopping, throwing her hands in the air and with a beaming smile that could melt tungsten yelling "Number 40eeeeeee!!!!! Bowskiiiiiii!!!!" then proceeding to spread her legs wide, go up on her toes and yell "Tomahawk stop!!!! Yeah!!" I think of Aldo, his eyes twinkling, coming up to me at half-time and hugging me, kissing me with his soft little face and wacky cowlicks, telling me I'm awesomesauce as he fondles my knee pads or helmet.I think of how terrified I was of falling when I started scrimmaging in February. How hitting another skater while you both are moving and in close proximity to a bunch of other bodies on wheels seemed so completely counter intuitive. How my right leg was numb for months and heavy to lift, screaming at me and threatening to give out each time I took a hit, attempted to deliver a hit or fell. I skated like that for two months because I just couldn't bear missing an opportunity to be on skates and with my leaguemates. It wasn't until the last bout in August that I came home and realized I had felt no pain. Confronting my fears of falling or being hit have been huge for me, both in skating and life. I can say I'm working through them nicely, and lately my biggest fear is not being quick or fast thinking enough in my responses and missing a chance to interfere with the opposing jammer, whether it's attempting a hit or just getting in front of her so a teammate can.
I can't believe it's been a year since I tried out for the league. Tryouts were September 10 last year. I never thought I'd make it. It's still amazing to me that I was drafted to a home team and I have actually skated in bouts. I'm coming up on my 5th on September 16th.
This morning at practice we had to skate 25 laps in 5 minutes, while pushing another skater the whole time. As I took my turn pushing the lovely and effervescent Damé Sangre around, alternating between heavy breaths and laughing like a hyena I knew I was in exactly the right place. There was nothing else I'd rather be doing, no random thoughts or doubts cluttering my thinking. Just the absolute joy of the moment, digging in and working hard.
25 laps pushing Damé in about 4:41!!!
