Terrifying

I’m afraid. Afraid of what, you may ask, to which I risk responding with a sort of helpless moan. Afraid of what? You even have to ask! The world! The people in it! The constant threat of pain--mental, emotional, and physical! I’d like to keep my feelings and my body unbruised, thank you very much. So, naturally, I’ve chosen to join a roller derby team. This is fine.

It was my move to Paris last summer that finally made me give the sport a go. I wanted to find a community of my own in the new city, and a bit of exercise always does a body good. Plus, you know, girl power. I figured the basic skills leftover from childhood figure roller skating would give me a leg-up on fellow newbies, or “fresh meat” in derby terms. It’s a gentle occupation.

I should’ve taken my experience as a figure roller skater as a stadium-length red flag (pictured above, second from the left). The one time I competed, I finished 6th place--out of 6. The jumps and twirls seemed unreasonably dangerous to me. I couldn’t commit to launching myself across the hardwood floor, whose sole purpose appeared to be the cracking open of adolescent skulls. So I fumbled my way through a routine set to The Phantom of the Opera’s theme track, limiting my leaps to 1-inch bunny hops and hoping majestic sweeps of my arms would make up for the lack of altitude. They did not. 

Figure roller skating was one of many sports I attempted as a kid, constantly trying to measure up to my athletic brothers and lose weight (because what every 9 year-old should be worried about is how many Weight Watchers “flex points” she has left that week). When I swam competitively, they had to make a special allowance for me to jump from the side of the pool, since the diving platform was too scary. During my equestrian years, my coach had to remind me not to yelp every time we went over a jump, as it startled the horse. I switched to dressage. The one physical activity I could stick with was jogging, where the injury risk of running in a straight line is relatively low. Fear has always been my main athletic hang-up. That, and a lack of competitive spirit--why can’t we all win? 

Roller derby, though, now this would be different. It may consist of hip-checking each other to the ground at high speeds, but it’s fine! You have a helmet! If I could’ve worn a helmet, knee pads, wrist guards, elbow pads, and a mouth guard during figure roller skating, I would’ve flown across the rink like Tessa Virtue and Scott Moir. I can be courageous if there’s a proper safety protocol.

And yet, the floor remains as menacing as when it was when I was a bare-headed 10 year old. At one of our practices, after the fourth time I’d lost my balance at the breeze of a passing blocker, a derby coach asked, mais tu as peur de quoi?--’but what are you afraid of?’ I responded, tout!--’everything!’ Ah, he said, thoughtfully. Just, ah. I’m sure he had an encouraging response in mind had I responded with a fear of falling or hurting myself, but everything? How could he fix everything? The man’s not Oprah.

Now, the thing about being afraid of it all is that one fear sparks another and another and another, becoming a Rube Goldberg machine of interconnected insecurities. My mental state resembles the breakfast scene in Pee-Wee’s Big Adventure. Here’s an idea of it: I’m scared to hurt myself. Pee-Wee lights up a candle. I screw up a maneuver due to this fear. That candle begins to burn a rope connected to an anvil. My screwed up maneuver trips a teammate, and I am now scared the teammate is mad at me. The anvil falls on a lever, which launches a tiny ferris wheel. Now scared of both harming myself and my relationship with my teammates, I make nervous mistakes for two hours straight, and fear I won’t be invited to drinks after practice. The tiny ferris wheel knocks an egg through a tube. At the bar, convinced I’ve received a pity invitation, I’m scared to draw attention to myself. The egg lands at the feet of a dipper bird toy, which begins to crack the egg with its beak. Sitting quietly with my beer, surrounded by players who regret the day I joined the team, who noticed every stumble, who think I’m quiet and boring, my deepest fear is realized--I’m back in middle school, being rejected by the cool kids. The egg cracks open, falling into the hot pan beneath it, and ding! Breakfast is ready. Bon appétit. 

The logical part of my brain is aware that every one of the fears listed above is unfounded, except for the one about hurting myself, even if the emotional part can’t hear above its own emergency alarm. My team continues to dig up encouragement for me, pulling from an endless reserve of misplaced optimism. 

The hope is that with time and experience my fear will subside, my self-confidence will grow, my friendships will strengthen, my acne will clear up, my irritable bowel syndrome will improve...you get it. Unfortunately, I have little precedent to go on, as I dropped pretty much every activity that freaked me out in the past, but, well, maybe this time? I feel about ready to join Sally Bowles onstage, bemoaning my personal hangups alongside her jilted love life:

Something's bound to begin,
It's got to happen, happen sometime
Maybe this time I'll win.

So, I have not quit derby yet. I even have a derby name: Tennessee Frisky, number 901. Frisky for short, though the French call me Tennessee, or Mrs. Frisky if ya nasty. (Nobody calls me Mrs. Frisky.)  I’ve heard that courage isn’t measured by a lack of fear but by what you do in spite of it. If unfounded fears count, catastrophizing and agonizing over the smallest detail, then I’m basically a superhero. I’ll wait patiently for my medal of valor.

...But I’m worried it’ll get stolen in the mail.  

Thanks y’all,