Ghost of a derby girl past

I carefully unload all my derby gear from my pink argyle Zuca bag.
It feels almost foreign, not skating for almost a year can do that to you.
I see the kids learning to skate, the jam skater practicing their pirouettes.
I'm nervous.
Like really nervous.

I put on my pads, and there is that familiar smell. even though I washed them before going out on the 9 month injury and they had aired out for my entire maternity leave.

The smell that can make anyone dry heave.  For a derby girl, well for some. It's a badge of honor.  It's proof that you work your ass off practice after practice.  the scuffmarks are reminders of the times you got knocked down and got back up.

I missed that.

Now, I must start over.  I'm back at the beginning, back at the bottom....and it sucks.

I'm not a derby athlete, not an athlete at all.  I consider myself a derby enthusiast.  God damn do I love this sport.

I sigh.

I get up on my toestops, wobbly, but I'm there.  I hit the hardwood floors....not bad. bearings need to be cleaned but not bad....Things start to come back.  Do I dare attempt a transition?  What the hell, why not.

Thank goodness for muscle memory :)

I relished in those 2 hours.  avoiding children. feeling that burn of derby stance.  turning left. clearing my mind. yearning to bout again.  but then remembering that I have to start all over. I'm back at the beginning, back at the bottom. Even though that is a mind fuck in it of itself.  the important thing is...

I'm back