In writing the other two entries about my first bout, I mostly excluded the pieces involving my dear friend and derby mentor, Tera Bites, because there is just so much to say.
Having had the pleasure of sitting beside her watching games, I can tell you she yells without restraint – running the gamut of commentary from enthusiastic praise all the way to “What the f*** are you doing?” directed to skaters and refs, her team and the opponent. She’s always accurate and fast with these words and she is loud. I totally love it and listening to her while watching has taught me so much more than I could have learned watching alone.
Leading up to the big day, I was already feeling anxious and inadequate about her watching me play. What freaked me out most was being on the other side of her real-time feedback and knowing I would probably even hear it during the game. Of course, I couldn’t tell her that. First, I knew I needed whatever advice and criticism she had for me and, second, I didn’t want her to change anything just because I was, um, Tera-fied. I just hoped that I would do well enough to make her feel good about helping me, to prove I wasn’t a waste of her time.
I planned to battle these concerns by symbolically keeping her close that day. Part good juju, part homage to her awesomeness (and my fandom), and part recognition that she is missing from the track – I incorporated her into my boutfit.
Tera’s likeness, including her inspiring words that got me through my final skills test, are on my helmet.
I wrote her number on my leg.
Perhaps most subtle (but also most meaningful) were my arm bands. When she found out that my number shared two digits with her own (which was unbelievably not a scheme on my part), she gave her arm bands to me right away and encouraged me to cover the one and the zero and wear them. When she put them on me (still bearing her number), I swear I almost swooned. When I used a black sharpie to make them say my number, it felt like a betrayal.
Did I really think this would help? Yes. I already do this for practice because she is on my helmet all the time. I can’t explain why but it makes me push a little harder, have a little more confidence. It’s like Obi-Wan Kenobi speaking into Luke’s mind to “use the force.”
When Tera arrived at the venue, she was uncharacteristically serene. We were able to share a few moments where she gave me some final words of encouragement and advice.
Take it jam by jam. Get to the front. Find a buddy. Don’t give up the inside. Know where both jammers are.
We sat together during the first bout where the coaching continued as we watched, mostly in the form of, “Don’t do that.”
Once my game started, I did hear her yelling just I expected I would – I heard her cheering for me! A lot! It was wonderful and bizarre and amazing after spending years anonymously cheering for her. I didn’t even hear her yell “what the f*** are you doing?” at me which was a huge victory! In the second half, she requested a “shout out” for me that was so personal and authentic, revealing both her joy for me and her heartbreak at not being able to skate herself.
Me & the amazing Tera Bites
As I write this and all of the emotions flood back, I don’t think I have been clear as to why Tera is so important to my derby life. In short, I wouldn’t be here without her. Yes, I had been cheering her on for years as a fan and found myself starstruck in her presence but, right before I finally passed my test, I quit. Not in words to the league (I was still trying to figure those out), but in my head and in my heart. My husband knew I was done and maybe a couple of others suspected it. I am sure Tera knew because, at the end, I wasn’t pushing through it so much as she was carrying me. Her words to me the night I finally passed that test, “Skate because I can’t,” changed my heart. After all she had done (and continues to do) to help me, giving up would have been a slap in her face. Quitting now would be totally offensive. I made it through my darkest derby hour because of her and now I need to keep going for both of us.
At the end of the night, she posted this, along with our awesome photographer’s best photo of me from the game, on Facebook. It felt like my biggest achievement to date.
Check out Ellen debuting in her first bout, going for it, and leaving it all on the track. I’ve gotten to watch her since her very first practice and I am so proud at what she has been able to accomplish.
Cinder Block 