The Life of a Derby Widow

Hi, my name is Col. Panic (Ret.), and I am a Derby Widow™.

Well, not really. I came back to rollerderby for three (technically four) practices on May, to help out the Big Easy Rollergirls with their bout against Orange County. These days, the zeeba herd is thin. Henry Roll-ins and The Countess are gone, Luna Skategood was out of town, and for that particular weekend, despite borrowing one jammer ref from OC and two pack refs from Mobile, they were still one jammer ref short.

Col. Panic to the rescue.

Overall, it seemed as though I never left, with two exceptions:
1) The noobs. A good number of new skaters have joined since I left in December. They show promise.
2) The callouses, or distinct lack thereof. When you skate counter-clockwise in an oval, 2-3 times a week, for an hour or two each session, you tend to develop very specific callouses, protecting you from the beast/the monster – a common spot for a heinous blister – the ball of your right foot.

The bout was hard, fast-paced, and close. I really wish I had been on the outside on this one. Alas, no. Kerry McClain, superfan, took some great photos, as per usual.

Anyways, since Bea is on the travel team, she spent the weekend in Austin and played them on Sunday. Originally, the both of we (oh, my grandmother would be so proud of me for using that phrase) were to go, and stay with Andre and Leigh. I was very much looking forward to getting out of town (even if for a weekend), watching a derby bout, and getting to meet my nieces (one of which is destined to be ninja).

I’ve been pretty inundated with work and life in general, and was looking forward to a break. Unfortunately, the undertow caught me and dragged me to sea (where the drowning people go).

So, I spent this weekend working, but it was a huge push, and I’m basically at shore. Finally.

I apparently also missed Bea drinking Jameson’s. While 3 shots does not a whiskey drinker make, it does lead one down the path to salvation and righteousness.

At least it would seem I have found one to lend my gear to long enough for him to get the derby fever: a bicycle mechanic named Jon. I’m hoping he will be worthy of, and want the name, Jacques Hughes.

So, until BERG is in another bind, this is Col. Panic, retiring. Again.