My wife and kid

I am not now and never have been married (although I have officiated two weddings, with two more scheduled for this year).

But I've had a wife since 2008. That's when The Rehabiliskater presented me with a ring shaped like a roller skate that she had made out of clay and asked me to be her Derby Wife. I typically translate this for people outside of the derby world as "best friend on skates."

I wrote an ode to her in 2010, just before her first attempt at retirement. (If you know Rehab, you know she's back to skating. And officiating. And she's also just started a small business. While going for her doctorate. The more things change, the more they stay the same, I guess.)

At some point in 2012, Zeldangerous posted something on Facebook about late-night baking (this is not a euphemism). Rehab and I have both been known to randomly decide to make cookies or bread or some other such thing right before bed (or when we should be sleeping). Rehab suggested that this shared trait was a reason that we should adopt Zelda. And that's how I got my kid.

(People have asked if Zelda is actually my child. I am only 11 years older than she is! No, we are not related by blood.)

Wife, kid, and me at Zelda's first bout, Happy Wheels, December 2012.

I have been single for a long time, and I sometimes wonder if I will ever have a family of my own (in the traditional sense). But then I realize that I already have one (in a really not traditional sense), and maybe that's enough. It has seen me through some really hard times and brought me ridiculous amounts of joy and amusement.

Rehab was a Partner in Awesome, a Red Notebook Conspirator, and has been a frequent adventure buddy. Zelda and her boyfriend (a fellow official) accompanied me on my trip to see the first sunrise of 2014 at the easternmost point in the U.S. They've both been postal ninjas with me.

I met my wife and my kid at Happy Wheels. We've spent countless hours there together over the years. Our league is trying to buy the rink before it goes out on the open market, because a regular buyer would likely repurpose the space. We have until March 7 to come up with the down payment.

Every little bit helps. You can read more about the Capital Campaign and make a tax-deductible donation online (every little bit helps!) here.

Sisters

While people often use the word "sisters" metaphorically when talking about roller derby, I want to talk about my actual biological sisters today.

Roller derby doesn't particularly interest either of my sisters.

Big Sis Kelly lived in Tennessee when I first got involved with roller derby. When she found out about the broken ankle that earned my name -- and that I intended to come back and put wheels on my feet as soon as a doctor cleared me -- she made me promise I would quit if I ever got another serious injury.

Big Sis Kelly, back in the day.

I will never forget how we got lost in Newark, NJ, for more than an hour trying to find the venue for a Garden State Rollergirls game when she came up to visit shortly after I started playing roller derby. (We ended up finding it...about two jams before half-time.)

Li'l Sis Kelly came with Dad to the game I played in against the Hudson Valley Horrors, and she accompanied me to the championship games of WFTDA Eastern Regionals in 2010 (that's what they were called then).

Lil Sis Kelly came to watch my second game. Hyde Park Roller Magic, 2008.

Both Sisters Kelly parked in a rather sketchy part of Yonkers to attend a doubleheader I officiated a couple of years ago. (Big Sis says she doesn't think I should officiate there again because of the venue's location.)

And then they both came to watch a doubleheader at home a couple of years ago when they came up to Maine to visit for Labor Day weekend.

My sisters may not totally get the rules or strategies, but they know roller derby is important to me. Their willingness to be there, to support this thing that means so much to me, is one of the most meaningful signs of their love they could give to me. Well, that and when they get in a photo booth with me:

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Roller derby has been a huge part of my life for the last decade. My league is trying to buy the rink where I do most of my skating before it goes out on the open market, because a regular buyer would likely repurpose the space. You can read more about the Capital Campaign and make a tax-deductible donation online (every little bit helps!) here.

There's a very short timeline to raise the money the league needs for the down payment. The deadline is 3/7, the day after I turn 37. I see some magic and luck in that. To help do my part, I'm going to write about the tremendous influence derby has had on my life until we hit the deadline.

BIRTHDAY!

I love birthdays. Especially mine. I have some seriously grand adventures on my birthday, often involving acrobatic things like trampolines and/or trapezes.

From my 31st birthday, which I call the "Birthday of Awesome."

This year's birthday adventure is going to involve a sensory deprivation tank, a scavenger hunt, and a concert by my favorite band.

If you've been following my posts recently, you're probably wondering what the hell this has to do with roller derby. The answer: Not much.

Except this: If you are inclined to give me any sort of birthday present, I ask you to consider donating to Maine Roller Derby's Capital Campaign so that my league can purchase the rink where we skate (and I take Derby Lite classes) before it goes up for sale on the open market.

We need to raise enough money for the down payment by March 7 (the day after my birthday). That's a lot of money in a small amount of time. But every gift -- large or small -- helps get us closer to that goal. You can make a tax-deductible donation online here.

Pa Kelly

My dad got a real kick out of seeing me play roller derby.

My dad and I had a kind of complicated relationship. We couldn't always find ways to talk to each other or things to talk about. (My mom used to say it was because I was so much like him. She may have had a point.)

He was living in Tennessee when I first found roller derby, but he came up for a visit to see me play in my second game. It is one of few times I can say for sure that I felt like he was proud of me, and that means a lot.

Almost two years ago, I was on my way to my Power Hour Derby Lite class when I got a call from my sister. Dad had collapsed in the kitchen. She didn't know much, because she was on her way home from work herself. She said she'd call me when she knew more. I knew I'd be in for a trip home to New York the next morning, so I pulled over to turn around and wait for more information. But then I reconsidered. Skating my face off for an hour would at least distract me from the anxiety of waiting and worrying, so I went to class.

That hour of skating helped keep me sane and together, so that when my sister called later that night to say that Dad had died (that I'd missed my chance to say goodbye, that I'd missed my chance to say so many things), I was at least capable of driving home.

Once there, I saw a notification that my BFRef had posted pictures to the Mini Graceless Tumblr. Even amid the shock and pain of losing the only parent I had left, it made me smile. I messaged my friend to tell him so and to thank him. He spent the next hour just chatting with me, reminding me that there are good people who care about me. If you think that sounds like a small thing, you are very, very wrong.

When I came back to Power Hour the next week, several of my classmates hugged me before warmups. When our instructor found out why, she offered another big hug. It may seem obvious for people to reach out in comfort when a friend is grieving, especially a loss as big as a parent, but having been down this road a few times, I know that grief is a weird thing that makes a lot of people uncomfortable. Not everyone is able to offer support.

Skating has been a tremendous outlet for all of the grief and regret I've had to carry since my dad died (and Mom, too). I don't know where I'd be without it. Likewise, I can't imagine living my life as an adult orphan without the love of my skating community.

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Roller derby has been a huge part of my life for the last decade. My league is trying to buy the rink where I do most of my skating before it goes out on the open market, because a regular buyer would likely repurpose the space. You can read more about the Capital Campaign and make a tax-deductible donation online (every little bit helps!) here.

There's a very short timeline to raise the money the league needs for the down payment. The deadline is 3/7, the day after I turn 37. I see some magic and luck in that. To help do my part, I'm going to write about the tremendous influence derby has had on my life until we hit the deadline.

Ma Kelly

My mom and me, a couple of years before I discovered roller derby.

Maine Roller Derby was about 15 months old the afternoon I got a call from my sister while I was at work. She never called me during the day, so I knew something was very wrong. Mom was at the emergency room and the doctors there had (correctly) determined that she had a mass on her lung that they thought (incorrectly) was pressing on her heart. I remember saying "Okay" a lot during that phone call, telling my sister I would leave for New York as soon as I could. I started crying when I pulled my boss out of a meeting to tell him I had to go and why. I went home, packed up my pets, and emailed several people from the league to let them know what was going on. I still had a suitcase full of merch from our last fundraiser in my apartment. I told them where I left the spare key, so someone could come get it. Then I drove the 300 miles back to the house I'd grown up in.

My mom never got to see me play roller derby, even though the second of the three games I played in was a mere 40-minute drive from her house. (It was a year later, and she was very weak then. She wouldn't have been able to sit so long.) And even though I think my fascination with derby surprised her, she did seem to enjoy it and the impact it had on me.

My mom took this picture at the park across the street from her house shortly before we found out about her lung cancer.

My mom fought lung cancer for two and a half years. In that time, I transitioned from playing to reffing, changed employers, moved an hour north. I made that long drive to New York often.

I have only ever missed three of Maine Roller Derby's home games in the history of the league. One while I was helping to care for Mom a couple of weeks before she died, the second just days afterward. (The third was for my writing partner's wedding.)

My mom's death was the single most difficult and painful experience of my life. Skating helped. My derby family helped -- in fact, many of them went on to be Partners in Awesome*.

And although my mom never got to see me participate in roller derby, never got to skate with me, Box o'Ma did.

Me and Box o'Ma skating the Green Belt trail in South Portland.

Box o'Ma at WFTDA Eastern Regionals, 2010.

Me and Box o'Ma at Happy Wheels, the rink my league is trying to buy before it goes up for sale on the open market.

It's been almost six and a half years since my mom died. I think I probably would have found a way through my grief even without roller derby, but it would have been a lot harder and lonelier.


* I call all the people who helped with the Misadventures of Box o'Ma my Partners in Awesome, because they were so much more than "partners in crime."


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Roller derby has been a huge part of my life for the last decade. My league is trying to buy the rink where I do most of my skating before it goes out on the open market, because a regular buyer would likely repurpose the space. You can read more about the Capital Campaign and make a tax-deductible donation online (every little bit helps!) here.

There's a very short timeline to raise the money the league needs for the down payment. The deadline is 3/7, the day after I turn 37. I see some magic and luck in that. To help do my part, I'm going to write about the tremendous influence derby has had on my life until we hit the deadline.

Fun and fitness!

I never regretted my decision to become a roller derby ref instead of a player. There's no question that reffing was a better fit for me in pretty much every way. Except for this: I really did love to skate hard and figure out new things on my wheels. When you officiate, you don't always have the opportunity to focus on your skating skills.

But then something amazing happened. A retired skater started offering Derby Lite classes at the rink where my league does most of its skating. Derby Lite's tagline is "Roller Skating for Fun and Fitness" and it couldn't be more true. I. Love. It. It's all the things I missed about playing roller derby (endurance and skills and just a chance to skate more) and none of the things I didn't like (hitting people). 

Derby Lite is the reason I can transition to the left, skate backwards with any kind of speed or confidence, cross-over backwards, and plow stop instead of the "plow slow-down" I did for years. And I love endurance drills. I love sprinting. (I hate running. Always have. But I love to SKATE FAST with a minimum of obstacles in my way.)

(c) Brianne Seekins Photography. This is me participating in my first-ever cheerleader pyramid to celebrate Derby Lite's 6th birthday in 2013.

I am willing to drive more than two hours round trip to spend one hour on my skates at Derby Lite. I am willing to get up an hour early so I can get out of work early enough to make it to class on time. When I've considered other jobs or major life changes that might make me move somewhere else, I look to see if there's a nearby city that offers Derby Lite. Most places have roller derby leagues, but not that many have skating for fun and fitness. Public open skates just don't cut it.

Derby Lite has also expanded my derby family. As with roller derby, I have met so many incredible humans through Derby Lite. Roller skating can be a difficult and humbling experience. Trying to do anything with eight wheels on your feet is going to take practice. The retired skater who brought Derby Lite to us often says, "If you're moving, you're perfect." (A motto that I carry with me when I'm struggling off my skates, too.)

I can't imagine what my life -- who I -- would be like without roller derby. But I also can't imagine either without Derby Lite.


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Roller derby has been a huge part of my life for the last decade. My league is trying to buy the rink where I do most of my skating (including Derby Lite!) before it goes out on the open market, because a regular buyer would likely repurpose the space. You can read more about the Capital Campaign and make a tax-deductible donation online (every little bit helps!) here.

There's a very short timeline to raise the money the league needs for the down payment. The deadline is 3/7, the day after I turn 37. I see some magic and luck in that. To help do my part, I'm going to write about the tremendous influence derby has had on my life until we hit the deadline.

That time Hank Green wore my tutu and that other time Ruth of All Evil and I found Aerofighters at a rink in Rhode Island

In the world of roller derby in northern New England, I'm kind of known for my tutus. All three doll likenesses of me wear them:

So, when John Green tweeted that he was looking for a tutu for the first stop on the Tour de Nerdfighting back in 2012, Ruth of All Evil made sure I saw it:

@graceless880, GET ON THIS. RT @realjohngreen: does anyone coming to the show tonight in Wellesley, MA have a tutu that would fit, say, me?

— Ruth of All Evil (@ruthofallevil) January 10, 2012

Which led to this exchange:

@graceless880 AWESOME! THANKS! Tell the people at the bookstore that YOU HAVE THE TUTUS.

— John Green (@johngreen) January 10, 2012

 ...And then this happened:

I have photographic proof of @hankgreen wearing @graceless880's tutu. Thanks for a great show, Hank & @realjohngreen! pic.twitter.com/X2uvy06u

— Ruth of All Evil (@ruthofallevil) January 11, 2012

Interestingly, the person who would go on to be my BFRef was also at this event, but we barely knew each other at the time. 

A little more than a year later, Ruth of All Evil and I were in southern Rhode Island to officiate a game between Maine Roller Derby's Port Authorities and the Rhode Island Riveters. Evil came running up to me, "Graceless, they have nerdfighters!" 

I looked at her uncomprehendingly. "...Someone's wearing a Pizza John shirt?"

And then she pointed out the game at the far edge of the rink, which led to this:

.@graceless880 and I found #nerdfighters in a roller rink in Rhode Island! Roller derby refs love @realjohngreen pic.twitter.com/wTerPJdPmO

— Ruth of All Evil (@ruthofallevil) March 24, 2013

When another official received his Pizza John shirt in the mail in December, he posted a picture of it to my Facebook timeline because he knows I am a die-hard nerdfighter even though I don't think we've ever had a conversation about it.

Nerdfighteria -- like roller derby -- is a huge part of who I am, a huge part of what got me through losing my mom six and a half years ago and then my dad almost two years ago. That rink in Rhode Island with the Aerofighters game closed last year, and several rinks in my state are closing or have closed down already. As of June, the Portland Happy Wheels -- which is home to three roller derby leagues, a skating fitness class, and more than 30,000 people who skate at public events -- will be one of only three remaining rinks in the state. It would be devastating to our community if we lost this facility.

Maine Roller Derby, a certified nonprofit, is trying to raise enough money for a down payment to purchase Happy Wheels before it is sold on the open market.

We hope that other nerdfighters will help us meet our goals:

• To sustain the personal, athletic, and professional development of women in southern Maine;
• To maintain a supportive athletic community for LGBT and other athletes who face discrimination in other sporting ventures; and
• To sustain roller skating, a physical activity that promotes healthy lifestyles in people of diverse backgrounds, in southern Maine.

You can read more about the Capital Campaign and make a tax-deductible donation online here.

That time I was semi-stalked at Bubba's Sulky Lounge because of Neil Gaiman

Way back in the beginning of time when I played roller derby, I would always sign up to be in charge of merch at fundraisers because I don't like talking to strangers, but I'm willing to take someone's money and hand them something they want in exchange. I used to get bored, so I'd bring a book.

I was reading Good Omens at the second-ever Lucky Lass Throwdown eight years ago when some guy came up to the table and said, "So, you like Neil Gaiman?" It was the beginning of an incredibly awkward evening where he kept coming on to me, and I kept turning him down. Eventually, he asked for a picture together (which was especially weird since another skater took the picture with her phone and he didn't know her, so there was no way he was going to get it).

When I got home that night, I wrote Neil Gaiman a letter about how it was all his fault this guy semi-stalked me, complete with a copy of the picture and footnotes. I made sure to tell him this all happened at Bubba's Sulky Lounge, because it's one of those names that makes for good storytelling and had the bonus of being fact.

Three months later, I got a postcard back with a note from Neil himself:

Why, yes, I do keep this postcard matted and framed on my library wall. It's from NEIL GAIMAN -- who happens to be my favorite writer -- for crying out loud.

On the back was a note from Neil's assistant Cat (not the one who eventually went on to play roller derby) asking how much it would cost to sponsor a roller derby team. At the time, my very new league wasn't good at following up on offers of sponsorship from the assistants of amazingly talented writers.

Our league has grown and changed a lot in the last eight years -- recently becoming a non-profit, continuing to raise our all-star team up in its international rankings, adding two home teams, talking seriously about developing a youth league, and more.

Unfortunately, our league also faces a huge challenge right now. We need to raise money for a down payment to purchase the rink where we skate or risk it being sold on the open market. Historically, when that has happened with other rinks in our state, they end up closing or being repurposed. As of June, the Portland Happy Wheels -- which is home to three roller derby leagues, a skating fitness class, and more than 30,000 people who skate at public events -- will be one of only three remaining rinks in the state. It would be devastating to our community if we lost this facility.

Neil, you considered sponsoring one of our teams eight years ago. Might you consider sponsoring skating in Southern Maine now? My league-mates would love to talk with you in more depth about this opportunity and how you might be able to help us keep this vibrant, empowering community alive. You can contact them at trip@mainerollerderby.com or visit our website here.

Ten. Years.

I count the day I broke my ankle -- March 28, 2006 -- as my derbyversary. Do the math. That's ten years coming up next month.

(Because I like contextualizing things like this: Graceless Kelly is old enough to be in fourth grade now. HOW IS THAT POSSIBLE?)

I acted as team manager for nine games before I played in my first (of three) games. I have now officiated 174 games, plus a whole lot of scrimmages. I was Maine Roller Derby's first-ever Skater of the Month. I was NERDerby's first-ever Raging Zebra. I've been recognized as MVP Ref, Mama Zebra, and Ms. Chutzpah for Derby Lite's 2013 intermediate class. I had a song written about me. And three different people have made doll likenesses of me (one of whom has been to Montreal, Ft. Lauderdale, Germany, and Iceland).

Derby has brought so many good people into my life -- and I've managed to hold onto quite a few of them. People who helped me have adventures with my mom's ashes, who helped me fill a red Moleskine notebook with magic, people who have helped me be a better skater, official, and human.

In the last decade I've gone from mid-20s to mid-30s. Lost several pets, my last two grandparents, and both of my parents. I've moved and changed jobs a couple of times. Visited Iceland (I even got to ref a practice for Roller Derby Iceland!). Read hundreds of books, and written a couple, too. Had my heart broken in so many ways, but always managed to put it back together (mostly with help and thanks in no small part to strapping eight wheels to my feet). Conquered fears and had so many adventures.

And four weeks from now, I'm going to celebrate. I've rented Happy Wheels for two hours. I'm going to do a bunch of skating, and I'm going to eat cake. It's going to be glorious. I'm inviting most everyone who has positively impacted my derby life in some way (playing, officiating, and/or skating Derby Lite). I can hardly wait.

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Roller derby has been a huge part of my life for the last decade. My league is trying to buy the rink where I do most of my skating before it goes out on the open market, because a regular buyer would likely repurpose the space. You can read more about the Capital Campaign and make a tax-deductible donation online (every little bit helps!) here.

There's a very short timeline to raise the money the league needs for the down payment. The deadline is 3/7, the day after I turn 37. I see some magic and luck in that. To help do my part, I'm going to write about the tremendous influence derby has had on my life until we hit the deadline.

Reffing isn't a second choice for me

Every time I see this flyer, all I can think is, "Oh, dear. That's my butt." I mean, it's well-covered, but still. It's a weird thing to have your butt on a flyer.

I've been a roller derby official for more than seven years. I've reffed 125 games on skates and almost 50 off, which isn't a ton for that span of time, but considering my dislike for tournaments and devoting too much of my life to derby travel, that's not so bad.

When I first found roller derby, I wasn't aware of a single female official. I spent two years working my butt off learning how to play roller derby. I wasn't particularly fast or agile, and although I have a competitive streak, I found that I wasn't particularly aggressive either. I didn't really like hitting people. I thought maybe it was just because they were people I knew, that once I scrimmaged against strangers it would be different. But it wasn't. I liked the skating part but not much else.

There are so many reasons I decided to stop playing roller derby and become a ref. More than I could count on all my fingers and all my toes. I am sure there were some people who thought then (and maybe still think now) that I became a ref because I wasn't very good at playing roller derby. Officiating is often treated as the back up plan for people who, for whatever reason, can't commit to playing. But it wasn't like that for me. It's the right choice I just happened to take a circuitous route to get to.

I love being a roller derby official. It appeals to my analytical brain, my sense of fairness and order. It's hard and constantly changing. The various positions (on and off skates) require a tremendous range of skills and talents.

But it's no easy gig. There's a lot of pressure to do your job (whatever it happens to be) well, to ensure fairness. We talk a lot about safety, but usually we're just recognizing when something unsafe has happened and trying to get people to cool off and refocus before it escalates.

Being a female official adds an extra layer of complication. It can be hard to get skaters and other officials to recognize your authority. (Oddly, my height has also played into that. I'm 5'5", but apparently that's pretty short in the world of roller derby officials. I have never been patted on the head, but I know at least one official who has and I've definitely experienced metaphorical head patting.)

And officials get injuries, too. I've collided with plenty of skaters and other refs; one incident a few years ago led to a concussion. I managed to stretch out a tendon in my neck/shoulder area last year that caused an incredible amount of pain and kept me from reffing on skates for 11 months.

But I'm back to reffing on skates at least part-time now, and I don't see myself giving any of it up any time soon. My league is holding a recruitment event for officials this Monday (see above flyer for details!), and I'm excited at the prospect of gaining some new people on our crew.
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Roller derby has been a huge part of my life for the last decade. My league is trying to buy the rink where I do most of my skating before it goes out on the open market, because a regular buyer would likely repurpose the space. You can read more about the Capital Campaign and donate online (every little bit helps!) here.

There's a very short timeline to raise the money the league needs for the down payment. The deadline is 3/7, the day after I turn 37. I see some magic and luck in that. To help do my part, I'm going to write about the tremendous influence derby has had on my life until we hit the deadline.

The birth of Graceless Kelly

That's me on the left, obsessing about a skate even before I ever put any on.

First: A birthday party at Upskate New York, where I fell after skating too fast over a warped part of the floor. Almost bit through my lip. Stood up and some strange lady who'd seen it asked if I was okay. I nodded excessively, but my friend's older brother was standing behind her. He went pale (because I was bleeding) and when he asked the same question, I started bawling. I spent the rest of the party sitting on the elevated light-up dance floor, legs dangling between the railings, watching other people skate while I iced my face.

Later: Third grade. I have pink Hug-a-Bunch roller skates that I got for Christmas. I am a pretty odd and solitary kid. I mostly stay inside watching TV or reading (or both at the same time). But I go out to the back porch, draw a hopscotch board with chalk from one of Mom's broken ceramics molds, and put on my skates. Because I also love jumping rope, I grab the jump rope. I slow-motion jump rope WHILE completing the hopscotch board ON roller skates.*

Eighth grade: The National Junior Honor Society takes a trip to go rollerskating one evening. A girl named Norma tries to teach me to cross-over. I fall down and trip another kid from the honor society with my sprawling.

Most of the things that stand out are the falls and injuries, the gracelessness. But not all of the things. What stands out most is how much I loved to skate. I didn't do it all that often, but I always enjoyed it and kept coming back, even after I repeatedly hurt myself doing it. For a kid who didn't get out and do much, who always felt afraid of things and people, that's a pretty big deal.

It should have been no surprise that when I was in my mid-20s and saw a clip about a reality TV show following a roller derby league in Texas that I would be completely enraptured with the very idea of roller derby. I knew it was something I needed to do the same way I knew before I could even write sentences that writing is a part of me.

At the time, the closest league was in Boston, a couple hours away. I would've been willing to do that kind of crazy commute (even though I am very much anti-commuting after spending 10 hours a week in the car going to school and work my first two years of college). I would've been willing to do just about anything. And then I heard that some women in Southern Maine wanted to form a roller derby league of their own.

Another memory: I want to go to the meeting about forming a roller derby league in my own backyard, but I am terrified to go alone (I still get freaked out by strangers) and know that I will just not go if I don't have a buddy. I ask two co-workers who have no interest in roller derby themselves to accompany me. They do.

At our first meeting, we are split into "teams" based on when we are available to "practice." My team decides to go to the next Tuesday night open skate at the local rink. In my excitement, I have already bought some skates, but they aren't right. They are like the rentals, high boot and way too heavy. I try to remember what Norma taught me all those years ago about cross-overs. I fall down again. Fracture my right distal fibula. But I don't know it. I don't want to look like a baby, so I keep skating on and off for the next hour and a half. When I get home, I have a limp. "Must've sprained it," I think until the next morning when I can't put any weight on it without screaming in pain. I call my boss, who brings me to get an X-ray. They confirm the fracture. We stop at the pharmacy to fill the pain prescription, but I have him bring me directly back to the office, because we have a major grant report due at the end of the week, and I am going to finish it.

I hobble in on crutches and one of the girls who went to the initial meeting with me points and laughs. "Roller derby?" she says.

"Not exactly," I respond.

But that's how I decided what my name should be: Graceless Kelly. The girl who falls down and gets back up, no matter how long it takes or how much it hurts.

A little more than a month from now, I will celebrate my 10th derbyversary at the same rink where I fell and broke my ankle. My league is trying to buy that rink before it goes out on the open market, because a regular buyer would likely repurpose the space (just like the rinks I skated in as a child or the one in New Jersey where I used to skate with a friend each time I came home in my early derby days). You can read more about the Capital Campaign and donate online (if you are so inclined) here.

There's a very short timeline to raise the money the league needs for the down payment. The deadline is 3/7, the day after I turn 37. I see some magic and luck in that. Just like I saw some magic and luck in the sport of roller derby when it caught my eye a decade ago.

Roller derby has been one of the biggest influences on my life. Over the next couple of weeks, I'm going to write more about how and why, and the importance of this campaign.











* With no protective gear and no supervision of any kind, of course. I wonder where everyone was. I feel like I did this more than once, but maybe it was all the same day. In any case, I didn't fall or even hurt myself. Must've had a guardian angel looking out for me big-time.