Yesterday, everything was going wrong and I was feeling all sorts of discombobulated and sore from inactivity. So naturally, after going in to work on a holiday and getting a big headache, I was faced with the prospect of a 3-hour derby practice. Three straight hours of ass-melting squats after a week and a half of being sans skates. I entertained the possibility that maybe - just maybe - the coaches would take it easy on us, realize it'd been a while since we'd last been skating, and try to ease us back into this whole "derby" thing. Aw hell no!
I knew things were going to be rough when they repeatedly reminded us what time the practice started. The countdown became more and more threatening - "Ten minutes until 7:00 ladies, get out on the track!" ... "Five minutes until practice starts, where the hell is everyone?" ... "Two minutes until we start, y'all better get your asses on the track or we'll do more push-ups!!" And then it was time for 50 laps. Hands behind back, quick pace. Sigh.
Since I was already being spazzy, I decided to forget my mouthguard, to boot. I briefly considered using that as my excuse to duck out and go home - "Sorry ladies, real afraid of germs and breaking all my teeth, gotta go, catch ya next practice!" - but unfortunately my well-prepared, sports medicine-trained teammate had spare, brand new mouthguards in her bag. So instead of the lovely, white mouthguard that I can normally talk in, born in the dentist's office especially for my pearly whites, I had to deal with a hard, sharp, blue plastic tray that I wrapped my lips around and hoped would prevent me from injury. Every time I tried to speak I just drooled out the corner of my mouth. The next morning I woke up with cuts all along the inside of my lips, which nicely balanced out the huge calluses on my feet.
Welcome back, derby!