no use crying over spilled milk

no use crying over spilled milk: an English idiom meaning that dwelling on or being upset over past events is not productive

This is a silly idiom, like most idioms.  One that seems most silly considering the following post that I have been wanting to write for awhile now.

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There is crying in derby.  Lots of crying. There isn't supposed to be, but there sure fucking is.  As a derby girl, you hear this idiom a lot.  You hear it while getting ready for a hitting drill, while huddled up after a shit-show jam, while in the locker room coddling an injury, while quelling your nerves before you face that first relentless whistle.  But don't let this phrase fool you.  Those words can be said over and over, repeated like a mantra, but they still won't change the fact that there is crying in derby.  In fact, some of my most beloved derby moments involve crying, and I'm not talking about one small tear, I'm talking about breaking down and flailing around on the floor like a listless fish.

The first time I cried in derby was the single most cathartic experience I have ever had in all my life.  It was scrimmage night, mid August.  Our practice space was hotter than fuck, I had just barely drafted as a league skater. Despite my novice skills, they jammed me three jams in a row. I back-blocked walls that did nothing but shut me down, stabbing me with hit after hit.  Determined, I kept getting up, and kept getting up, and kept getting up. When I finally broke through, the jam was called off and I hurled myself to the side of the track. Collapsing to my knees, I started bawling tears of release, tears motivated by that feeling of utter death.  I had given every fiber of my body to those three jams, all I had left to give were tears, so I gave those too.  A fellow teammate came over and put her hand on my helmet, "no more jamming for you tonight, okay?" All I could do was remind myself that this was emptiness I felt, I wasn't dying, I simply felt empty for maybe even the first time in my life. It felt amazing. Empty and amazing.  It was unlike any experience I have ever had.

The second time I cried in derby was after I broke my ankle during yet another scrimmage.  But these tears were not of pain.  In fact, they weren't even shed when the break occurred.  After I got hit into a concrete wall, my ankle dangling there, I knew I had broken it, but I didn't feel pain, I didn't cry. Instead, I convinced myself it was nothing, I was resilient, superwoman even.  No no, the tears didn't come until I was in the ER room the next morning and the doctor told me I would be off skates for at least four months. Nooooo! Fuck you, not four months, I would surely parish.  I cried in front of the x-ray technician, cred like a small child who just lost her desert privilege.  Worse, I cried like a grieving widow in anticipation for the guilt and depression that was building, only to crash like a giant tsunami.  How would I ever survive without skating for four months?  In that moment, all I could do was cry, anticipating the darkness.

Over the course of my healing ankle break, my tears of loss turned into tears of anger and frustration.  These tears sometimes return at the silliest of times.  I recall one crappy practice, when my ankle would not behave for the life of me.  No matter what I wanted to be able to do, my ankle was not ready, nor willing, and then is when I cried for the third time in derby.  I am still not completely heeled, so it is frustrating to desire a certain level of skating, to set standards for myself, but be limited by a crap-ass injury.  After practice ended that night, I had come off the track, sat down on the bench and stewed in my emotions.  Two of my teammates made a light-hearted joke, trying to converse with me.  I chuckled once and then started crying, angry. "Don't cry, why are you crying?"  My fucking ankle! "Oh. We understand. Cry all you want sister, but it will get better."

The fourth time I cried in derby was out of hysterics.  The kind of tears that come when you laugh so hard your stomach hurts and you almost pee your pants.  Actually, this has happened more than once, and I am sure it will continue to happen. Once was during a black and white scrimmage, I was jamming.  Sometimes when I jam, I get into these particularly sneaky and evil moods, were my strategy turns shady and I get a crooked look on my face, a look that can easily burst into maniacal and tear-educing laughter.  So, there I was, I had just broken through the pack, awarded the title of lead jammer.  The other jammer was hot on my heels and I knew that if she were fed back into the pack or if the pack would simply slow down, I could get one or two points and call the jam off.  So, what did I do, I yelled to the opposing team, "hold, Black! hold, slow down!" And sure enough, it worked! I came off the track, clam and collected. Then the other team's bench coach pointed out what had happened, and I damn near broke my face giggling, I was laughing and crying so hard, I fell backwards and my skate hit my ass.  Karma is a bitch, but at least I got two more points than the other jammer.

These are just a few of my own tears.  Ask any derby girl, she'll confirm that there is crying in derby, that she too has shed tear after tear. There are tears of joy, of sorrow, of anger, of triumph, of depression, of love, of damn near anything.  Crying is one element that makes derby so real, so powerful.  Without crying there wouldn't be tens of thousands of passionate women (and men?) out there, rolling around on eight wheels, kicking ass and taking names.  Fuck idioms. There is crying in derby. Fuck tons of it.