DOANVILLE, Ohio — Crash!
As another skater’s butt slams against the hardwood floor of the rink, yells of “Good fall!” echo throughout the arena. I refocus my efforts to make sure that I’m not the next one to fall victim to the skates.
For 10 weeks I practiced with the Appalachian Hell Betties to learn more about the sport of roller derby and the people it attracts. I wanted to discover what kind of person decides to strap on a pair of wheely death traps and play a full contact sport. I wanted to know how women find inner strength by circling a track as a group. I wanted to know if I could make the grade or if I’d skate away crying.
Practicing with the Hell Betties
When I arrived at Dow’s Rollarena on Elm Rock Road, the parking lot was empty. Not to worry — soon dozens of new skaters filled the pale blue rink inside as part of Athens Ohio Roller Derby’s Learn to Skate program: 10 weeks of skate lessons and derby instruction for skaters with all levels of experience.
As I circled around the rink, women continued to file in, grab a pair of skates, and strap on knee pads, elbow pads, wrist guards, and helmets. My knees and elbows were already itchy from the pads, and practice hadn’t even started yet. Somehow the pads felt too tight and too loose at the same time.
When one of the coaches blew her whistle, we ambled into a crooked circle in the center of the rink. Skaters appeared to range between ages 20 and 50. Some people looked comfortable standing in their skates, while others (like me) kept fidgeting to regain their balance. I tried to pay attention to what the coaches were saying, but most of my energy was focused on keeping my feet in one place.
Three women stood in front of us. Each wore an AORD jersey, a slim-fitting black top with red flames coming up from the hem and “AORD” printed in thick white letters across the chest. They moved as if they were born on their skates. All us new skaters — they call us “tots” — gawked as they expertly spun, swerved, and slid into position on their skates.
They introduced themselves as Leanimal (Lee-animal), the current AORD president; Family Jewls, the head coach of the Learn to Skate program, and Trixxter, the treasurer of AORD.
Everyone goes by their derby name; it’s rare to hear members refer to each other by their legal names, and everyone seems surprised when they do. I had already auditioned my name in my head, but new members can’t claim a name until they’ve been on the team for 60 days. The AORD board must approve the name to ensure that it isn’t already taken or too similar to existing names.
Leanimal, Family Jewls and Trixxter laid out the plan for the first day: learning to balance and getting comfortable in the skates. Part of me hoped that we would go straight into full-speed races around the track. Instead we worked on simple skills like side-steps, turns and squats, and — most importantly — how to fall. Falling is inevitable in roller derby; it’s a full-contact sport played on wheels. To play is to fall, so the best one can do is learn how to fall safely so that you don’t injure yourself or the skaters around you.
By the end of that day, I conquered falling many times, which is how I learned that the real problem is getting back up. Leg muscles I never knew I had growled as I hobbled out of the first practice, knowing I would be sore the next morning.
Thank you, ibuprofen. But aside from needing to schedule extra time for walking to class, I was hooked.
Each week we tots learned a new set of skills that had previously seemed impossible to master. Running on our toes, jumping over cones and skating sideways. With each new skill I learned a little bit more about the technique and strategy involved in roller derby.
Meet the Skaters
The Athens Ohio Roller Derby league was founded in 2010 by Jessica Beckford — known on the track as Madam Kracka Le Whipski — and 12 of her teammates. Their goal was to introduce a new sport to Athens and to empower people of all races, communities, gender expression, sexual orientation, ages and body types.
The league is open to all who identify as women+ — in other words, anyone who isn’t a cisgender man. The minimum skating age is 18; the oldest skater is 60, and ages range from anywhere in between.
“There is no cap on age,” Leanimal said. “Anybody, if you want to do it, we will teach you how to do it.”
You don’t have to compete in bouts to be a part of the league. Whether as a skater, a ref or even a nonskating official, AORD has positions for anyone who wants to participate.
AORD is completely skater-run, which makes it unique among derby leagues. There is no separate entity that organizes the bouts or plans practices.
“Everything we do is done by the people who are on the track, either the refs or the skaters or the coaches,” said Leanimal. “We do everything, and I don’t think that enough people know that every production we put on is by us. And we all have full-time jobs. We have families, plus we play derby.”
For Leanimal, derby was a way to reclaim her own identity. After moving to Athens, she was adjusting to being a new mom. By the time her daughter was 1, Leanimal had lost herself in the consuming nature of motherhood. After three years, Leanimal resolved that something had to change. After seeing a flier for the Learn to Skate program, she decided to attend a practice. She was immediately hooked: After that first practice, Leanimal bought a full set of gear, skates, pads and a helmet.
“After three years of losing myself, I finally decided, ‘This is enough, now I have something of my own,’” Leanimal said
She may have been hooked, but Leanimal said that starting roller derby in her 40s wasn’t easy. During her time in Learn to Skate, she pulled a thigh muscle once and muscles in her groin twice.
Despite these setbacks Leanimal persevered. She became AORD’s treasurer after only six months on the team and was elected its president of AORD after her first season, succeeding Family Jewls.
Like Leanimal, she was immediately hooked on derby when she joined in 2011. It’s the people who make the Hell Betties something special, she said.
“What I’ve found is, in our league we’ve been very fortunate to have a good community where we help one another through life situations,” she said. “It could be something derby-related, it could be an injury, it could be helping someone move, it could be helping someone paint their house. You’ve got a group of people who are willing and wanting to help.”
The Tots
Among my fellow Tots was Emily, the first one to stand up after every water break, excited and ready to start the next drill. She threw herself into every new skill with determination, practicing each step until she mastered it.
When the coaches introduce a new skill, like skating backward, the two of us will exchange glances of humorous disbelief. They expect us to be able to do that? The first time we watched Family Jewls demonstrate a jump, we actually laughed out loud. The idea that we would be able to get both skates off the ground, jump over a cone, and land without going splat, felt laughable.
Every new skill looked impossible; it looks crazy to even try. But then we tried. At first we fell, but then we succeeded. That was the running theme at every derby practice: “Yes, you can.”
“Even if you’re not necessarily doing it right, everyone’s like, you’re still doing a great job,” Emily said. “And then they correct your form, and they say, ‘OK, try that again.’”
Then there is Sarah, who claimed she joined roller derby because “I wanted to f*** people up” but always has a smile for anyone who looks her way. Sarah founded and is a pharmacist at the nonprofit Rising Sun Pharmacy. It’s good work, but the job can be incredibly stressful. Sarah took to the skates at 49 to relieve some of that anxiety, meet new people, and get out more. She had no experience skating and fell often, but nothing ever stopped her from getting back up and giving it her all.
Sarah’s favorite part of Learn to Skate was playing sock derby, which is basically derby without skates. In our socks, we formed a wall to block other players from breaking through. Sarah and I partnered up, planting our feet firmly on the floor (well, as firmly as we could in socks) and pushed our sides against each other to form a seam. Meanwhile, another tot shoved from behind, trying to wiggle between us. Connected at the shoulder and hip, Sarah and I laughed as we held our ground, fighting against the slip and slide of our socks.
For safety’s sake, Learn to Skate didn’t offer many opportunities to experience the full-contact aspects of roller derby. It wouldn’t be smart to send a group of new skaters out to be knocked around like bingo balls in a cage. However, activities like sock derby allowed for a modified version of contact.
Watching Derby for the First Time
The Hell Betties’ last bout of the season, Rollergeist, was a Halloween-themed double header. The Hell Betties were competing against Cincinnati Roller Derby and the Black Diamond Betties, AORD’s B-team, were facing Chemical Valley Roller Derby.
Hell Betties home games are held in the gym of the Athens Community Center. Members of AORD create their own playing field, measuring out and marking the outline of the derby track with brightly colored tape placed meticulously on the gym floor.
As I walked into the gym, I saw rows of metal folding chairs steadily being filled with the growing crowd. Players and audience members alike dressed up for the occasion, whether it’s with dramatic makeup, patterned leggings, or a simple witch’s hat. Even the refs were decked out, rolling on their skates and chatting with the players before the start of the bout.
It turns out derby names aren’t just reserved for players — each of the refs has their own catchy moniker. My personal favorite was “Stray Taco.”
After a few minutes of warm-up, the skaters lined up on the starting line, called the “jam line.” One of the refs blew their whistle, and the game was on.
Each bout is split into two 30-minute periods composed of two-minute “jams.” Each team has five players on the track at a time. Four of the players play defense as “blockers,” who together form the “pack.” The fifth player, the “jammer,” is the only player who can score points for their team. Jammers are easily identified on the track by their distinctive helmet covers — players call it the “panty” — with a large star adorning each side.
When the jam starts, both jammers try to pass the opposing team’s blockers. The first jammer to make it past the pack is designated as the “lead jammer.” After the first lap, the jammers earn one point for every opposing blocker they pass. For example, if the jammer passes all four blockers, their team gets four points. If they manage to get past only one blocker before the jam is up, the team gets one point.
If the lead jammer thinks that the other team is getting the upper hand, they can stop the jam at any time by tapping their fists to their hips.
As I watched, I was taken aback by how scrappy the Hell Betties are. A group of four to ten skaters at a time could be wrestling in a pack as they slowly roll around the circle. They shove and push, and slip and slide, until one lucky jammer breaks through the line. Once through, the jammer is gone like a shot, racing around the track to wrestle their way through the blockers again.
Roller derby would be exhausting even if players didn’t have wheels on their feet. The skaters clash again and again, constantly scrambling for purchase on the hardwood floor.
Despite the aggressive and taxing nature of the sport, the women who have joined roller derby are some of the nicest people around. The sport is unique, not only because of its wheels and full contact, but because of its inclusivity and community.
Learning to Skate
By week six of Learn to Skate, we had moved past sock derby to practicing blocking a jammer while in skates. In just six weeks, tots with no previous skating experience had transformed into skaters who could hold their ground while being shoved from behind.
As Learn to Skate continued, we tots grew more and more advanced in our skills on skates. We learned how to walk on our toe stops, how to jump and how to spin. We even practiced skating backwards, something I found particularly frightening.
The moment we really began to feel like a team was when we began pack skating. When the coaches told us to “pack it up,” we huddled up into a tight group on the track. Once we began skating, we had to stick together to keep from getting separated. Everyone was connected, with hands touching arms and backs. When someone faltered, the pack provided steadiness to help them regain their balance. If someone started falling behind, they could “hitch a ride” by holding onto the hips of a stronger skater.
Derby was different from other sports I had played. There was no sense of competition to be better than your teammates, only to better yourself. Everyone worked together to ensure that we moved as one cohesive unit. No one was trying to show off or beat their way to the front of the pack.
And no one’s parents were forcing them to play a sport they don’t like. Everyone at practice was excited and wanted to be there.
“I know when I was a kid doing sports it was always like, ‘Mom I don’t want to go,’” said Trixxter. “But now it’s like, ‘I get to skate now!’”
