This blog does not have a lot to do with Roller Derby other than that I can't play for about 3 weeks due to the "Tired Diver Toe."
Enjoy the story of the Tired Diver Toe...
How the “Tired Diver Toe” Got its Name
I’ve spent my entire life in, on and around the water in some fashion or another. Something some may find odd since I was raised in Northwestern Pennsylvania far from the coast. The first memories I have of immersing myself in the wet stuff outside of the bath tub is one sunny afternoon when I followed my older sister and her friend through the tall grass that grew on our acre of land to a body of water where they swam and I followed. I must have been about 3 years old and was “swimming” in what seemed like a large river to me just a few yards from the neighbor’s cattle who were drinking from the same water with their large pink tongues. My love affair with water began on that day.
In the years that followed I would find myself swimming anywhere I could; Edinboro Lake, Lake Erie, bacteria infested rivers that landed me in the hospital, friend’s swimming pools, the community pool, the university pool, McDowell High School
on the M.I.S.T. swim team or the YMCA. That was just the first 18 years of life. After that I would become a member of the Indiana University of Pennsylvania Water Polo Team, move to Ocean City, Maryland to live at “the beach,” move to Japan where I was surrounded by water and learned to sail and surf then to my current residence of Madison, Wisconsin…a city built around two lakes.
I did everything with water and swimming pools; swam on swim teams, played water polo, taught swim lessons, lifeguarded, trained lifeguards, managed pools, did aqua aerobics…there was no limit-except one- SCUBA diving. I’m not sure if my irrational fear of SCUBA stemmed from my first session of lifeguard training with a guy named Leo who trained us in depth on the possible fatal encounters we may have with SCUBA divers or from some other experience, but all I knew is breathing under water was not natural. It was a fear that I knew I had to conquer, because I was headed to the Great Barrier Reef and my need to see what was down there was far greater than my fear of breathing under water.
Off to the marina I went to enroll myself in the base’s SCUBA program, which I would complete just weeks before heading Down Under. As I embarked on this journey I showed no fear. I studied hard, read the book, and immersed myself in all aspects of the class. No one knew I was scared to death, and I was actually enjoying myself most of the time. The 1-foot visibility in the bay was scary, but I had learned to navigate with my compass and really I knew I couldn’t get that lost. I was fighting an awful pain in my right foot that felt like I’d broken something, yet I persevered and said nothing until we got to one portion of the training out there in the cold water of the Green Bay. My instructor said, “Now we must practice the tired diver tow.” I looked at him with relief and blurted, “Oh thank goodness it has a name. My tired diver toe hurts so badly…what are we going to do to relieve it.” He looked at me puzzled, and I was confused as well. Why wouldn’t he tell me the magical cure to make my foot stop throbbing with pain? He paused and I told him again about my “tired diver toe.” He chuckled and explained that the tow he was referring to is actually the other kind and we were going to drag our “tired diver” buddies 50 meters to prove we can help out in an emergency…hence the name, “tired diver tow.” As my foot throbs I thought, “well that is just great…my problem is unique.”
In the following months I enjoyed the most spectacular trip to Australia where I dove deep into the sea to find Nemo, giant clams, sea turtles, sharks and millions of beautiful tropical fish. I battled a pain in my foot that I fondly referred to as the “tired diver toe” off and on throughout many activities. I discovered that running was no longer a viable activity for me so I headed to the Yokosuka Naval Hospital where I was told the real name for my ailment is “Metataralgia” or an inflammation of the joints. The Doc gave me a metatarsal pad and said it will make everything better…it didn’t. I waited until I moved to Wisconsin where I saw a podiatrist who with one feel of my foot gave the “tired diver toe” a real name again: Morton’s Neuroma. I didn’t know who Morton was, but I was glad to finally have a name for my ailment. We tried inserts in my shoes, cortisone shots to the infected nerve and nothing worked. I was sick of it. I wanted it out. I scheduled the surgery for Veteran’s Day, 2008, which brings me to today. Three days after the surgery and the damn Morton’s Neuroma is no longer a part of me…it sits on my coffee table in a small vial of phermeldahide so I can keep a close eye on that nemesis.
That, my friends, concludes the tale of the “Tired Diver Toe."
Friday, November 14, 2008
Sunday, November 9, 2008
Random Ramblings Part One
The following article will be published in the Roller Derby Magazine: Five on Five in the next issue. Purchase at www.fiveonfivemag.com for more great roller derby related articles!
Random Ramblings of an Aspiring Derby Girl
Part One: The Transformation from “Regular Girl” to “Derby Girl”
By: Cannonball-Z
Becoming a derby girl is something most do not dream of as a child, but it is a desire that burns inside of you as a void until it is fulfilled. The huge gaping hole in your soul remains unnoticed until it is consumed by roller derby. An overwhelming sense of belonging hit me like a veteran derby girl the second I laced up my wobbly-wheeled rental skates for try outs.
The idea of playing Roller Derby occurred to me while working for the U.S. Navy in Yokosuka, Japan. In this unlikely scenario I met my dear friend, Allison, who convinced me to start skating again at the small rink on the base. Allison’s sister happens to be Shutter Speed of the Grand Raggidy Roller Girls, and many tales of derby would be told during our sessions. During one of our “jam sessions” we concluded there was no reason we could not bring derby to Yokosuka knowing plenty of women in the Navy who would make excellent derby girls. We approached, or shall I say pestered, the athletic director with the idea. We just about had him convinced, at least in our minds, when the base decided they were closing the rink in order to build a power plant in its place. Dreams of roller derby crushed; tears shed.
Fast Forward (pun intended) several months to my unpredictable move to Madison, WI which is home to the famed Mad Rollin Dolls. Hopes of becoming a derby girl revived I marked the date of try outs on my calendar.
Two enormous events in my life would collide in June of 2008. My big chance to become a derby girl had arrived; Saturday, June 28th, 2008. It just so happened to be the exact same weekend that my boyfriend’s family was there to help us move into our newly purchased home in Madison. It is our first home, my lease was up on Monday, I had to work a special event and roller derby try-outs were that day. Thoughts that raced through my mind, “Ok I can do this; being in several places at once is my specialty. I can do this. No I can’t; it is just too much. I have to help them pack my things, load the truck, paint the house, unpack the things; after all it is my stuff.” Dreams of Roller Derby crushed; tears shed.
Enter my dear boyfriend, Kris. He volunteered to continue packing and cleaning without me enabling me to try out provided I could weasel my way out of work early. Not surprisingly in this state the weather was awful and I was released from the slow special event early. I high tailed it to the rink and made it just in time for day one. After being called back for day two, I was again faced with a struggle. The family was there, the Ryder truck was ready to go, the stuff was not packed, the lease was up at noon the next day, and there was DERBY. Once again all moving efforts on my part were abandoned for several hours to venture out on eight wheels in hopes of making it. Later that day in the midst of moving I got THE phone call. The family was visibly frustrated by my noticeable absence, but I had made it to the next phase: 12-14 weeks of Baby Doll Boot Camp.
Practice Wednesdays, Saturdays and Sundays for the next 12 weeks was to include conditioning, endurance, technique, learning to play roller derby and much bonding with my fellow “Baby Dolls.”
At the time of writing this article I am down to four remaining Baby Doll practices before the draft. As we head into the draft I am filled with many mixed emotions; sadness knowing some of my fellow Baby Dolls will not make a team, fear of rejection, excitement, nervousness, but most of all I am filled with self pride. Having been through boot camp for the U.S. Army I can honestly say Baby Doll Boot Camp is just as challenging mentally, physically and emotionally; just not as many hours. Whether I become a bonafide derby girl or not this experience has forever transformed me and my feet.
Coming Next Issue: Diary of a Derby Girl-Part Two: The Draft
Random Ramblings of an Aspiring Derby Girl
Part One: The Transformation from “Regular Girl” to “Derby Girl”
By: Cannonball-Z
Becoming a derby girl is something most do not dream of as a child, but it is a desire that burns inside of you as a void until it is fulfilled. The huge gaping hole in your soul remains unnoticed until it is consumed by roller derby. An overwhelming sense of belonging hit me like a veteran derby girl the second I laced up my wobbly-wheeled rental skates for try outs.
The idea of playing Roller Derby occurred to me while working for the U.S. Navy in Yokosuka, Japan. In this unlikely scenario I met my dear friend, Allison, who convinced me to start skating again at the small rink on the base. Allison’s sister happens to be Shutter Speed of the Grand Raggidy Roller Girls, and many tales of derby would be told during our sessions. During one of our “jam sessions” we concluded there was no reason we could not bring derby to Yokosuka knowing plenty of women in the Navy who would make excellent derby girls. We approached, or shall I say pestered, the athletic director with the idea. We just about had him convinced, at least in our minds, when the base decided they were closing the rink in order to build a power plant in its place. Dreams of roller derby crushed; tears shed.
Fast Forward (pun intended) several months to my unpredictable move to Madison, WI which is home to the famed Mad Rollin Dolls. Hopes of becoming a derby girl revived I marked the date of try outs on my calendar.
Two enormous events in my life would collide in June of 2008. My big chance to become a derby girl had arrived; Saturday, June 28th, 2008. It just so happened to be the exact same weekend that my boyfriend’s family was there to help us move into our newly purchased home in Madison. It is our first home, my lease was up on Monday, I had to work a special event and roller derby try-outs were that day. Thoughts that raced through my mind, “Ok I can do this; being in several places at once is my specialty. I can do this. No I can’t; it is just too much. I have to help them pack my things, load the truck, paint the house, unpack the things; after all it is my stuff.” Dreams of Roller Derby crushed; tears shed.
Enter my dear boyfriend, Kris. He volunteered to continue packing and cleaning without me enabling me to try out provided I could weasel my way out of work early. Not surprisingly in this state the weather was awful and I was released from the slow special event early. I high tailed it to the rink and made it just in time for day one. After being called back for day two, I was again faced with a struggle. The family was there, the Ryder truck was ready to go, the stuff was not packed, the lease was up at noon the next day, and there was DERBY. Once again all moving efforts on my part were abandoned for several hours to venture out on eight wheels in hopes of making it. Later that day in the midst of moving I got THE phone call. The family was visibly frustrated by my noticeable absence, but I had made it to the next phase: 12-14 weeks of Baby Doll Boot Camp.
Practice Wednesdays, Saturdays and Sundays for the next 12 weeks was to include conditioning, endurance, technique, learning to play roller derby and much bonding with my fellow “Baby Dolls.”
At the time of writing this article I am down to four remaining Baby Doll practices before the draft. As we head into the draft I am filled with many mixed emotions; sadness knowing some of my fellow Baby Dolls will not make a team, fear of rejection, excitement, nervousness, but most of all I am filled with self pride. Having been through boot camp for the U.S. Army I can honestly say Baby Doll Boot Camp is just as challenging mentally, physically and emotionally; just not as many hours. Whether I become a bonafide derby girl or not this experience has forever transformed me and my feet.
Coming Next Issue: Diary of a Derby Girl-Part Two: The Draft
Random Ramblings Part 2
The following article will be published in issue 3 of Five on Five Magazine...the best magazine all about Roller Derby. Order your subscription at www.fiveonfivemag.com
Random Ramblings of a Rookie Derby Girl
Part Two: The Draft
By: Cannonball-Z, Member of Mad Rollin Dolls
The fateful day arrived -- Thursday, September 25th. I awoke, realizing that in less than 24 hours I would either be a derby girl or not. Nagging feelings interrupted my usual positive attitude. What if they did not like me? What if I was not fast enough? Was I tough enough? What if…I make it? Wait; I am good enough, tough enough and dammit, people like me!
That was my mantra to get me through the day. Swimming laps that evening with my phone in the locker room I was calm, I was cool; I was not going to wait one more second to find out! I dried off quickly, fumbled with my lock and retrieved the trusty iPhone; only to find reception was non-existent within the facility. Alas, a pocket of reception hanging my head out the back door into the cold night. The message said something about calling someone back regarding the ROLLER DERBY DRAFT. I listened again to make sure. Yup, that was it. Quickly returning the call, I heard a voice on the other end saying something about me being drafted. Somewhere between my screams of excitement I heard about the draft party the next evening! Ok, 24 more hours to find out WHICH fabulous Mad Rollin Doll team would be lucky enough to have chosen me. Silent smile warms my heart and soul. Back to the pool I go. Dreams of roller derby, now a reality.
In the next 24 hours the question was asked and answered more times than I care to recall, “Do you want a particular team?” “No, I like them all.” Preparing for the draft party I imagined myself as a green and silver super hero (Quad Squad), a pink and brown sexy vagabond (Vaudeville Vixens) or a member of the black and white crime syndicate (Reservoir Dolls) and still the same answer…don’t care. Dressed in yellow (as to not show any favorites) I embarked on my evening to solve the mystery.
Arriving at the Inferno early I nervously made small talk with several “old girls” who, by the end of the night, may or may not be my teammates. Fellow “Baby Dolls” – Madison’s name for recruits -- started arriving, all of us wondering who would be together at the end of the evening. Some visibly showed which team they preferred by wearing the colors of the team; I thought that must be bad luck somehow…turns out it was for some. Drinks flowed, old girls mixed with new girls, non-drafted girls shed tears; it began.
Team captains took the stage and, one by one, they called out our names to join their teams. My name was called fourth. As I embraced my new team, the Quad Squad, I felt excited and somewhat disappointed…what?! I did not understand. I thought I did not care which team I was on, but maybe I did. Quick self analysis revealed that the disappointment stemmed from the fact that I was on the BEST team in the league…huh? That means they picked last… oh yeah, that’s why I was not picked FIRST. In my overly competitive mind, not being first is equal to losing. I will never know which round of the draft I was selected in or if other teams were disappointed not to have me…as they should be. All I know is I am a very proud member of the Quad Squad and my name is now Cannonball-Z, Ball-Z for short (thank you Hewitt, Allison and Shutter Speed). My number is 421-the fateful night that too much tequila led me to Kris, now fondly referred to as “Mr. Z,” who brought me to Wisconsin to become a derby girl.
Next Issue:
Random Ramblings of a Rookie Derby Girl-Part Three: Bout Time
Random Ramblings of a Rookie Derby Girl
Part Two: The Draft
By: Cannonball-Z, Member of Mad Rollin Dolls
The fateful day arrived -- Thursday, September 25th. I awoke, realizing that in less than 24 hours I would either be a derby girl or not. Nagging feelings interrupted my usual positive attitude. What if they did not like me? What if I was not fast enough? Was I tough enough? What if…I make it? Wait; I am good enough, tough enough and dammit, people like me!
That was my mantra to get me through the day. Swimming laps that evening with my phone in the locker room I was calm, I was cool; I was not going to wait one more second to find out! I dried off quickly, fumbled with my lock and retrieved the trusty iPhone; only to find reception was non-existent within the facility. Alas, a pocket of reception hanging my head out the back door into the cold night. The message said something about calling someone back regarding the ROLLER DERBY DRAFT. I listened again to make sure. Yup, that was it. Quickly returning the call, I heard a voice on the other end saying something about me being drafted. Somewhere between my screams of excitement I heard about the draft party the next evening! Ok, 24 more hours to find out WHICH fabulous Mad Rollin Doll team would be lucky enough to have chosen me. Silent smile warms my heart and soul. Back to the pool I go. Dreams of roller derby, now a reality.
In the next 24 hours the question was asked and answered more times than I care to recall, “Do you want a particular team?” “No, I like them all.” Preparing for the draft party I imagined myself as a green and silver super hero (Quad Squad), a pink and brown sexy vagabond (Vaudeville Vixens) or a member of the black and white crime syndicate (Reservoir Dolls) and still the same answer…don’t care. Dressed in yellow (as to not show any favorites) I embarked on my evening to solve the mystery.
Arriving at the Inferno early I nervously made small talk with several “old girls” who, by the end of the night, may or may not be my teammates. Fellow “Baby Dolls” – Madison’s name for recruits -- started arriving, all of us wondering who would be together at the end of the evening. Some visibly showed which team they preferred by wearing the colors of the team; I thought that must be bad luck somehow…turns out it was for some. Drinks flowed, old girls mixed with new girls, non-drafted girls shed tears; it began.
Team captains took the stage and, one by one, they called out our names to join their teams. My name was called fourth. As I embraced my new team, the Quad Squad, I felt excited and somewhat disappointed…what?! I did not understand. I thought I did not care which team I was on, but maybe I did. Quick self analysis revealed that the disappointment stemmed from the fact that I was on the BEST team in the league…huh? That means they picked last… oh yeah, that’s why I was not picked FIRST. In my overly competitive mind, not being first is equal to losing. I will never know which round of the draft I was selected in or if other teams were disappointed not to have me…as they should be. All I know is I am a very proud member of the Quad Squad and my name is now Cannonball-Z, Ball-Z for short (thank you Hewitt, Allison and Shutter Speed). My number is 421-the fateful night that too much tequila led me to Kris, now fondly referred to as “Mr. Z,” who brought me to Wisconsin to become a derby girl.
Next Issue:
Random Ramblings of a Rookie Derby Girl-Part Three: Bout Time
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