A real woman’s sport.

“You’re late”

The girl with the helmet and a body as solid as an icebox barked as I wandered, bewildered, up to the group  seated rinkside.

“traffic–” I started to bluster.

She eyed me with a look so stinky, even Clint Eastwood would have shrank back a little.

I tried a different tactic.

“Yeah, well. You know. Can I still suit up?”

She seemed to like that all right. At least it didn’t seem that she was going to boot me straight out of town.

“Yeah. We just finished warm-ups. You been here before?”

I shook my head. She handed me a folder.

“Fill this out and give me your money.”

I thumbed through the contents. Lots of medical information. A release and hold harmless contract. Something about engaging in dangerous activity, I might get killed and they don’t want to get sued blah blah blah. Whatever. I signed.

Then I looked around the room. Most were built just as solid as my welcoming committee. They all had helmets. They all looked a lot like they could kick my ass. I’m pretty sure one of them growled. I’m pretty sure some were rabid. At least, that’s what it looked like with the mouthguards in.

But damn, get them in skates and they can kick your ass and look graceful while doing it. At least that’s how it seemed in warm-ups. We were sprinting, doing turns, skating backwards. They looped around me with reckless abandon. Skate on one foot backwards and jump turn? Right. I felt like it was puberty all over again. You know that part where you suddenly have absolutely no body awareness? Yeah.

Then they scrimmaged.

Lemme tell you one thing about roller derby: it’s hard to tell what the heck is going on. Much like Nascar, there’s a lot of circling. Much like football, there’s a lot of ass-kicking. And when those girls fall, they fall _hard_. But damn if they don’t get right back up and keep skating. And yelling.

“Who has the nails?”

“Seriously, who has the nails?”

“Cut your damn nails!”

This is no girl fight. This is woman brawling and there will be no scratching. Just straight up get-the-hell-out-of -my-way checking. This is no Macy’s sale, these bitches are real competitors.

Scary? Absolutely. Empowering? Hell yes. And you can bet your ass I’ll be there next week, trying to become even half the athlete these ladies are.

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