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A group of women in Austin, Texas, my adopted hometown, reinvented and rejuvenated roller derby about 2000. I went to see my first live roller derby bout courtesy of an old friend who skates as a referee for banked track. Banked track roller derby kept true to the original, incorporating theatrics with athletics.

“I always wanted to do this,” I said to my friend during halftime while he hawked T-shirts and safety-checked the track. He told me about a group who play flat track roller derby for recreation. Insulted, I shook my head.

“No! I want to do this!”

He laughed. “We’re old.”

During the rest of the bout I watched the girls closely, thinking I can do that; I’m fit; I compete in triathlons. It's like riding a bike. I researched opportunities to get back on my skates on my journey to be a real roller girl. I planned to go to the weekly adult skate night at the local rink to brush up on my skills. With a few months’ practice I'd show everyone that women in their fifties can skate as well as youngsters.

My first evening at the rink almost shattered both my illusions and my tailbone. The skaters who sped past barely noticed me as I tried—with little success and much trepidation—to keep up with the crowd. After I fell, hard, someone skated over and showed me how to crouch down. “Thanks,” I said, mortified. After skating for several hours, I could keep up with the slower skaters.

Not one to be deterred, I returned week after week, discovering that skating for hours still provided me comfort and time to meditate. Months later, I felt ready for the next step.

I found the recreation league my friend had mentioned, led by professional flat-track roller girls. Flat-track roller derby had split off from banked-track right there in Austin, and by the time I connected with the league, I had acquired what were listed as the prerequisite skills. I could skate in one direction without falling. The endurance I had developed from my triathlon training, as well as my months at the rink, helped me hide my lack of skills. All I had was persistence.

I went over the columns of skills for each level—Primary, C & B—each progressively more challenging as skaters improved skills and moved up to full roller derby bouts. I had a lot to learn. I decided to go visit, watch a practice, and sign up.

As I entered the rink, I noticed the variety of women entering with me. They ranged from large to small—the most body differences I'd ever seen in a group of women. I was impressed by their loud voices, so excited and engaged, discussing their personal lives and bodies as the women put on all sorts of equipment. Nobody seemed to notice me. None of the women were anywhere near my age. The head trainer took the paperwork I'd printed off the webpage and gave me a list of equipment to buy.

I returned the next week, lacing up my new skates with all the excitement of a preteen. I even had a new roller-derby name—Olive Roil. Wearing a helmet and gear, including a mouthguard, camouflaged my age. I did not want to be treated differently. The trainer knew from my registration form, but she never acknowledged the difference nor expected any less of me than she did of other girls. That alone gave me the extra confidence to continue toward my goal.

The first day on the rink—which was three months into the league’s session—I could barely keep up. A patient trainer took me aside and repeated the most important instruction, the one to which I had the hardest time training my body to conform. Bend your knees. Crouch down. I tried. I fell. My only skill was endurance. By the end of the two-hour workout, I could keep up with some of the girls who got tired and slowed down. The next day I could hardly move. My level of athleticism had not prepared me for two hours of lunging. I had to hold onto something to sit down on the toilet, my legs and thighs hurt so much.

Week after week, month after month, I went to my thrice-weekly training sessions. Others came and went, either quitting or moving up. After Primary came level C, where the women learned contact and hitting, engaging in monthly scrimmages. It took me six months to get up the nerve to try out for that level. After tryouts, I expected the head trainer to let me know why I failed and give me a list of specific skills on which I needed to work. But I passed! I had gained six pages of skills without realizing it.

Ladies and Gentlemen: OLIVE ROIL!!

My first day in level C was deja vu. I fell. Someone took me aside and told me I'd hurt myself more if I did not get low! My knees hurt. My hips hurt. My head hurt. After practice, the five new girls gathered to commiserate. I noticed two approaches. Some girls jumped right in until they improved. Another group stayed back and worried and wondered if and when they wanted to scrimmage. I decided it was now or never. The only other older skater I'd met had just turned 42. I was pushing 56. I had no time to dally. I told the others I was going to scrimmage.

Each month the trainers divided the skaters into two teams. My first bout, I had a great captain. She recognized the variety of skills and energy in our group, making sure we all got to take part successfully. Everyone helped and encouraged each other. My skill level ranked at the bottom. During extra practices, several girls taught me to hit and take hits. I knew how to fall from my months in Primary—but being hit and knocked off balance unaware put me back at square one. I fell, hard. The girl helping me, a teenager younger than my children, yelled at me to “Get up!”  That's crucial in a bout, she said. I practiced for hours, getting up quickly being the biggest challenge. Soon I thought, I got this.

Then came my first roller derby bout. I had two strengths: stamina and lack of experience. The other team had some mean hitters who could knock anyone down. But I said, in our strategy session, “I can get in their way." Now I had committed. Our team of ten had a couple of jammers, the fastest, most agile girls who scored by circling around and passing the pack. The rest of us were blockers.

Bout day everything seemed brighter on the rink. The audience came in to the accompaniment of loud rock music and occasional bulletins from the announcer. We warmed up for 15 minutes, skating as a team, with my captain skating alongside me for encouragement. Then came the team introductions. I heard my skate name, Olive Roil, over the speaker system as I skated out from the pack, hands in the air. That was my moment.

I returned to the pack and followed my team to the referees for the equipment and safety checks.

Each two-minute jam has a different lineup, chosen by the captain in advance. I skated in four jams that day—eight out of the bout’s 40 minutes. Lining up for my first jam, I went over in my mind the strategy of skating by the inside line and getting in the way. Then the whistles sounded and I was out on the track. It did not go as planned. I hit the ground almost immediately, watching the pack skate away from me from my spot on the floor.I struggled to my feet—then spent most of my skating time trying to catch the pack. How do you tell what’s going on while trying to look behind and over both shoulders and stay low? My first time on the track during a bout increased, exponentially, my respect for the work and skill that goes into roller derby. No wonder the best skaters dedicated so much time to the sport!

There are two teams of five women on the track for each jam: four blockers and one jammer for each team. The jammer scores. The rest of us help her while striving to thwart the opposition’s jammer. So during each jam, ten skaters are whipping in, out, and around, trying to keep in bounds while knocking each other out of the way. I managed to block a couple of times, but it was mostly due to my teammates that we won our bout. Then I watched the next bout, featuring B-level women, who had achieved professional-level skills. Watching them play further increased my respect for the dedication required to play this demanding sport.

Each month I improved. Skating in bouts taught me what to work on in practice and class. Over my year at level C, I became competent at holding the inside line, which is the best place for a jammer to pass since it's the shortest distance in an oval. After months of practice, I could stick to that position and block anyone trying to get by.

One of the highlights of my derby career came when an opponent told me she'd been assigned to knock me out of the way. That told me that I’d learned one position well enough to be considered a threat. I scrimmaged eight times over my 18-month career in roller derby, each time improving my skills. I had become a roller girl, not only playing in the recreational league but also volunteering at professional bouts. And I finally understood that to be good at this demanding sport takes years of commitment. I played for fun. Others play to compete or for sheer love of the sport. There’s room for everyone in roller derby. All of my respect goes to the athletes, and their hard work which developed the sport so I could have my little adventure.

You’re On, Olive

I never made it to level B. My joints did not allow it. After my left knee refused to bend, impeding my movement and interfering with practice drills, I went to a sports injury doctor—who, consulting my X-rays, gave me the unhappy news that I had two tears in my meniscus and arthritis from injuries in my youth. It took me awhile to accept that my roller derby career needed to end, but it is true that older arthritic joints cannot heal as easily as young joints. A cortisone shot reduced the swelling, making it possible for me to walk up and down stairs. Now, fifteen years later, I'm almost as good as new. I went back to the more gentle sport of triathlons. But I don't regret any of it.

At age sixty I got surprisingly good at yoga, a discipline that helps joints. I heard about extreme yoga, which is much more challenging. I realigned my broken spine, had some serious surgeries, and won my age division in my last triathlon. I’m 70 now. I can’t run far. Yet. It’s never too late, especially for a roller girl.
 

The Angle of Falling Light

by Beverly Gologorsky

    Set during the 'forever wars' that followed 9/11, The Angle of Falling Light movingly explores the demons that survivors must wrestle with in the wake of tragedy. Beverly Gologorsky brings us a great cast of characters, at their center three working-class women trying to shape lives of their own in a world that seems to promise them nothing but deadening repetition. Brave and faltering, they face daunting conundrums of love, care, and the pull of freedom. How do we live past the terrible knowledge that we cannot always help those we cherish the most? Are we still entitled to seek happiness? Knowing how easily disaster can strike the vulnerable, how do we dare to take the risks required for a satisfying life? Is such a thing even possible in a society hooked on war, dangerous drugs, and hatred of the 'other’? Alongside the unforgettable trio of Nina and her two daughters (the beautiful but heedless Marla and shy, determined Tessa—barely an adult, but forced to pick up the pieces when her home life shatters), we also spend time with Rhonda, an 80-something artist whose struggle to stay independent in the face of physical limitations and family pressure complements Tessa’s quest to become a photographer. Gologorsky’s unsparing vision of the bleakness so rampant in a nation addicted to combat and inequality only renders more compelling her portraits of these women bound and determined to make a way from no ways. Available from Bookshop, Amazon, and your local independent bookstore.

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