In Which I Go To The Gym And Meet A Future Roller Girl

So I was at the gym today hip checking a punching bag, when I heard a sort of high pitched squealing.  I looked over and-- wait, maybe I should explain what the heck hip checking is for the non derby-initiated.

Basically, it's where one derby girl slams her hips into the mid-thigh area of another derby girl, putting her on the floor.  It's one of the more powerful legal blocking moves you can do in derby because you can put your whole weight and momentum behind the swing, and for taller, more, um, padded women like me who have a larger "battering ram" to use it can be really, really effective.  Here's a stellar example of this move:



Ouch.  So yeah, really effective.

Or at least, it can be really effective when it's done correctly, which is why when I'm at the gym doing my weight workout I often stop by the punching bags for a little off-skates practicing of my form.  I'm still in many ways a derby novice, but I've noticed a big improvement in the quality of my hip checks since I started practicing my timing against the bag.  Also it's yet another activity that keeps my ego from getting overinflated. 

The punching bags are located in a room with a full wall of glass windows that look out onto the main floor of the gym, and trust me when I say that I tend to attract a bit of attention.  I'm a red-faced, sweaty woman squatting in the middle of an otherwise empty room, slamming my rear into a punching bag over and over again.  Since I'm not dressed in anything roller derby related and hip checks aren't exactly a staple of most martial arts, basically I just look like I'm either practicing horribly bad dance moves or really, really don't understand the art of self-defense.  Let's just say that personal dignity is not one of the things I'm working on during my visits to the gym.

Anyway, so I was merrily hip checking away when I heard something I can only describe as what the Wicked Witch of The West would have sounded like on helium.  I glanced over and there was a little girl, young enough to still be a bit unsteady on her feet, with her entire face smashed up against the glass watching me.  Her mother smiled at me and gave me a little wave from her perch on a bench across the hall.  Every time I landed a particularly good hit and the bag swung out in an arc, the little girl would bounce up and down on her chubby legs and let loose with another enthusiastic shriek of glee. 

She was adorable.

So I may have a few bruises from my workout today, because I spent a good half an hour hitting that bag as hard as I possibly could to really make it fly.  There's nothing so inspiring as an adoring fan-- especially when that adoring fan is three feet tall, has blond ringlets and is still cutting teeth. 

Eventually she had to leave for her nap time, and I finished the rest of my workout upstairs on the track.  But I think I need to hire a small children cheering section for future bouts; they are really great motivators!

~Jess

In Which I Cook Things And Almost Show Off My Underwear

Today was a Cooking Day, also known as a Holy-Crap-I've-Got-Way-Too-Much-Stuff-From-The-Farm-Share-In-Our-Fridge-And-I-Must-Do-Something-With-It-Before-It-Goes Bad Day.  So I cooked a whole lot of things.  I made cornbread, which, okay, didn't use up anything in the fridge but dang it, it's cornbread, and I made tomato mozzarella basil salad and steamed green beans (though they started out purple, they steam up green and taste just like the regular kind) and spiced rum blackberry cobbler, which is basically regular cobbler with a fourth of a cup of Kraken Spiced Rum in it for extra awesomeness.  And then I retreated from my steamy kitchen and collapsed in a little heap on my couch. 

A giant bowl of blackberry cobbler topped with vanilla ice cream went a long way towards restoring my energy levels.  Also it was delicious.

Connor spent his Labor Day (of course) having seizures.  He had three today despite a morning dose of Lorazepam, thereby confirming our he's-going-into-another-seizure-cycle theory.  Thankfully they were all relatively short, but he didn't really want to do a whole lot today and I can't say I blame him.  He played with his keyboard for a little while, we read a few books together and did some kneeling and standing work, but otherwise he mostly spent the day conked out.  I hope he musters up some energy for school tomorrow or it's going to be a long morning for him. 

So that's your usual depressing seizure report.  I swear these things are getting to be so routine that the blog is starting to sound like a broken record.  Connor needs to get back to more exciting things, like being ridiculously cute and plotting world domination.  I'm sure if he figured out how to harness his power of adorableness for evil the world's governments wouldn't stand a chance.

So anyway, I also went to the YMCA today where I did my usual weight routine.  I've been going in two or three times a week for a couple of months now, and I'm really starting to see a difference in my roller derby performance.  Derby exercises a very specific group of muscles and neglects others, which can increase the risk of knee injuries.  There's also the problem that you exercise your legs unevenly; derby involves a whole lot of "skate fast and turn left," which means that some girls who don't do any cross training actually end up with one leg much, much stronger than the other and in extreme conditions a less than flattering condition I'll refer to as UBCS-- Uneven Butt Cheek Syndrome.  I would like to avoid both injury and UBCS as long as I possibly can, so the weight room sounded like a pretty good idea.

There have been a number of embarrassing moments in the gym of course, like a couple of weeks ago when I picked up a thick barbell (the kind used for grip work) to move it out of my rack and accidentally dropped it with a tremendous clang, not only making the entire gym look in my direction but also leaving a glorious barbell end-shaped set of bruises on my inner thigh. 

Then there was the near-miss the day before yesterday when I glanced in the mirror, keys in hand, literally on my way out the door of our house to discover that the pair of white basketball shorts I'd borrowed from Jer to work out in were old enough that they'd somehow become translucent and blatantly displayed my teal undies in all their cotton, comfort-fit glory.  Whee! 

But despite a variety of near-disasters and the loss of a good portion of my personal dignity, I've continued going to the weight room, where most of the single guys of a certain variety (the ones who always do their workouts where they get the best view of the ladies in the machine room) have finally figured out that even if I'm the only chick in the free weight room (and I'm almost always the only chick in the free weight room-- at least in the squat racks) I'm there to actually lift weights and, despite their best efforts, not to make prolonged, sexy sexy eye contact in the mirror with them while they're doing their exaggerated barbell curls.  Even the persistent ones generally figure this out and drift off once I start doing squats.  Squats, when done correctly, generally make people look like they aren't getting enough fiber in their diet.  I am no exception to this rule.

I'm not sure that my cobbled-together routine hits everything I should be working out, but I just found out that the army post offers personal trainer sessions for free!  So I think I may try giving their number a call to see if I can get somebody with a little more expertise to work out a great roller derby cross training schedule just for me.  In the meantime I'll keep doing what I'm doing now in the hopes that it will make me a better player. 

And also to avoid that whole butt cheek thing.  Especially if I want to keep wearing teal undies.

~Jess