So I'm this Queer Derby Chick

I'm sure I'll have occasion to expound upon all the things I love about roller derby. Over the next two plus weeks, I'll hopefully have the good fortune to skate in two (or even three!) pride parades, and play in a fabulously queer bout. This would be appear to be an opportune time to share some of the reasons that I, a queer woman, love derby.

The main reason that my hobby is what it is is that it's freakin' awesome. Plenty of folks (myself included) have deep, emotional connections to things they do, but I don't want to fall into the trap of treating every personal action as a profound act of healing or whatever.

Still, here's a story:

I was interviewing for a job doing research work at a field station; walking transects through bogs and marshes in the middle of summer, etc,. One of the folks asking the questions wanted to know whether I was tough enough to do this sort of work. So, I responded by telling him about hiking through everywhere, about walking on mats of vegetation floating above nearly freezing water, about strapping a fifty pound backpack onto my hundred-and-thirty pound frame on the hottest day of the year, donning a respirator, gloves, long-sleeved shirt and pants to spray pesticide along rocky trails. That sort of thing. After which, with a glazed look, this guy said something to the effect of 'yes, but have you done anything tough? We're looking for someone tough.' The two of us repeated the cycle for what seemed like five minutes.

The next day, I was talking to my advisor (who I swear to this day is one of the smartest and sweetest guys on the planet). 'Did you know that if you wear a skirt, people will think you're not tough?' 'Really? That seems far-fetched. Are you sure you didn't just misunderstand things?'

I don't like that story so much.

Back to derby. When I finally dragged myself to a bout back in Madison (go Mad Rollin' Dolls!), I was amazed. In part, the sport was awesome, although I didn't really figure that all out until I started actually playing. What initially caught my eye was the crowd. Here there were players' parents, grandparents, and small children, bikers, creepy guys (they're everywhere), and every 5th queer person I knew in town, all hanging out together, and having a fabulous time watching amazing skaters, divas in platform heels, and some guy in S&M gear (one of many mascots). At halftime, there was belly dancing. Or drag kings. Or school age children trying to hit various mascots with foam clubs. Where had this been all my life, and why hadn't the president of it issued me a personal invitation?

When I moved out East, I started playing. I certainly didn't feel like a badass. Partly, this was due to the fact that I couldn't roller skate (by which, I mean that I typically held on to the wall). In time, I got to know my teammates, and I slowly learned how to skate (and in turn, play). I don't know that folks who meet us outside derby consider most of us tough, despite the fact that, y'know, we are.

Derby girls (and yes, we call ourselves girls... perhaps that's another post) get to pick out alter egos. I've seen Annie Cockledeux, I've skated against Emma Scoldman (uniform number: 0 gods, 0 masters), and been entertained by the fabulous Miss Ida Feltersnatch. It's a playful sport. Derby girls wear as much (or as little) makeup as we feel like it, and show as much (or as little) skin as we feel like. Much to my surprise, there are a lot of folks that seem genuinely intimidated by us. Aside from occasionally getting harassed by minor authority figures (A pack of women wearing stripy socks! Send me reinforcements before it's too late!), it's actually been a pretty common experience for strangers to tell me I'm tough, or otherwise seem a bit overwhelmed by my wiry frame towering over them, dripping glitter and sweat in their general direction.

These are not reactions that I, or most women, get outside of roller derby. Particularly, as a trans woman, and as a femme lesbian, I revel in all of it.

In addition to the many, many levels on which I understand the actual sport, I have another reason for loving derby. There are five players on each team. It's abundantly clear that (unless the ref messed up and called a penalty on one or more of your teammates) that there are four women out there who have your back. It also becomes clear pretty quickly that there are five women out there who want to fuck your shit up. They will try to do so. Repeatedly.

I have learned to get back up. I am very good at getting back up. When I step onto the track, I get thrown around, hit, kicked (it's not supposed to happen, but wev) and generally put on the ground. I have learned: 1) to fight to stay up, and 2) to get the fuck back up. When I'm at home, fans cheer me when I get back up, something that didn't really happen in my life a few years ago. Regardless of where I'm skating, at the end of the controlled violence, there are hugs, beer, and food. Again, compared to my run as a queer woman, the hugs and beer are a welcome change of pace. It may be violent, but it's still a game. A game among family.