Being a Girl Jock Saved My Soul
I am not a disciplined person in many respects, so “working out” in the traditional sense - at a gym, using equipment - is anathema to me. I am super social, Enneagram 7, The Enthusiast, team oriented - the only workouts that truly work for me are with friends & teammates. Something about the accountability of meeting up with people I care about and the intense dopamine hit for my extroverted brain and heart WORKS ITS MAGIC. When I woke up this morning, it was grey, rainy, soft light barely filtering through the window of my bedroom. Not Tricia-is-going-to-pop-out-of bed weather, to say the least. But. I knew that I had booked a personal training session (money motivates me, for sure) and that I’d get to see two of my best friends for the workout. That is enough to motivate me to drag my ass out of bed. I joked that by this point in our workout series (day two!), I would have bagged out even if I’d given myself new year resolution type pep talks about starting fresh and self care. Because I know myself. I am friendship-motivated. Period.
I’ve played a range of team sports my whole life - softball, basketball, roller derby - because that combination of feminism, friendship, physicality and team work is the perfect blend that inspires me to show up as my authentic and enthusiastic self. I am competitive, by nature, but I direct most of that drive toward judging myself harshly; I am my own worst critic, a thousand times over. Playing with friends reminds me to prioritize fun and relationships, to stay loose, open-hearted and not judge my own performance as an athlete above all else.
When I started roller derby at the age of 44, I was among the oldest players on my team. I figured, “This’ll be fun! I already know how to skate!” I had grown up disco roller skating; there had been a roller rink walking distance from our house when I was a kid. I could backwards skate smoothly. I was fast - I remember the thrill of speed and the cooling sensation of air on my face as I zoomed around the rink. Even as a young adult, I’d roller-skated to college multiple times a week, rolling through the streets from Oakland to U.C. Berkeley as part of my morning commute.
As comfortable as I was on quad skates, I was NOT ready for roller derby skating. I could still backwards skate with the fluidity of a girl backwards skating with a cute boy during couples skate, but that seemed to be the only skill that carried over. I had to re-learn everything I’d known about skating - learning to fall without injuring myself, popping back up after a fall, how to hit my friends (safely) and channel my aggression to the point that I was effective as a blocker, but didn’t foul out every game. Endurance, pushing through pain, figuring out how to work with teammates on the track while chaos happened all around me - my body slow to react, my mind often confused. Yet, I believed I could do hard things because my teammates had my back. Their arms braced me and their hips met mine to form a solid wall - their bodies pressed against mine - we were stronger together - and their words - “You got this!” “Don’t give up!” “Use that booty!”- motivated me to keep going.
Learning to play derby was an act of humility. I had to intentionally release my ego, to ignore my perfectionistic drive to always be the best at everything I did.
I chose to override the voice inside me that tells me NOT to try new things (especially sports) unless I am very, very good at it - instantly. I showed up every week and made my peace with being slower, less flexible, less agile both mentally and physically than many of my teammates. I could create space for this “practice of humility” because my parenting and work life felt mostly positive and my sense of self was expansive enough that I could make room for failure and resilience.
At this point in my life, it is harder to purposely make myself vulnerable in that way. Years later, during the pandemic, I was in the thrall of multiple family crises and suffered an extended episode of depression. Our wise parenting coach, Meghan Leahy, listened to my pain, witnessed my fear and hopelessness and gave me a homework assignment: return to playing sports. The pandemic had unceremoniously stripped me of my team sports, but I understand that I needed to move my body, to stretch mentally and physically, to start to rebuild community. I took up basketball again, then softball. Based on many decades as a girl jock, my body knew what to do. The recovery of my spirit followed.
