My Name is Fluffy!

Today I got a call I didn’t like with a big ‘ol dose of humble pie. I struggle and struggle and try my best and poof, it all blows up in my face… or, over the phone. If you’ve been keeping up with my Derby Dame postings, you know I’ve been struggling a bit during endurance drills. It’s been exacerbated after two weeks off my skates while on vacation. Trying to get that stamina back has been really rough. I’ve had to pull out of drills on occasion and suffer that humiliation as well as deep physical exhaustion. I don’t know what happened while I was gone, but the other bitches got FAST, and this mama isn’t keeping up. It has been mentally, physically, and emotionally fatiguing on me.


Last night was no exception. I had difficulties, and flat-out failed at my attempt to keep up or even complete a specific drill. I didn’t stop skating though – I never stopped skating, just didn’t skate the drill. Like I said, those bitches got super fast.

Long story made as short as possible, I got my ass handed to me last night. I got a big bite of humble pie. And so really, I kinda expected the call I got today.

When I got the text message request for me to call the general manager, I felt a brick in the pit of my stomach. I don’t just get calls for the fun of it. I’m the person they call when something needs to happen. So what was it? One of two things, I was certain, but which of the two does she want to talk about?

So I called her.

“Fluffy, it’s the decision of the training team that you be removed from the Main Street Mafia and be placed on Crash Test Hunnies until your endurance increases.”

Yeah. That’s the first of the two possibilities that I thought might be on her mind.

Breathe, Fluffy, breathe.
Breathe some more.
Keep breathing.
Shit. NO!!! Don’t do that. Stop it, BREATHE BITCH!
Don’t sniff!!
[ sniff -- sniff ]
SHIT!

“Yes Ma’am. I understand. Yes, it’s best for the Mafia. Yes, I understand it’s best for me. I know you have my interest at heart. Please understand that I am not at all personally offended or angry with the training team’s decision, but that my emotional response is simply disappointment in myself and in the situation.”

“Fluffy, I’m going to get you the help that you need. It’s not your skills, it’s the endurance. You have to be able to do the drills.”

“Yes Ma’am, I understand. Thank you.”

I asked her not to mention anything to anyone until I had a chance to tell my team mates. I told her that I wanted to be the one to tell my girls. I feel it’s only right that I tell them. It’s my fault the Main Street Mafia is losing another member. It’s my responsibility. Besides, I’m their captain. AND, I don’t want them being angry at the training team for this decision. I want them to understand it is for the best, no matter how disappointing it is.

I’ve explained it to several of them as, Mama’s going to fat camp. Mama’s going to speed camp. I’m not really going anywhere. I’m just not a bouting skater anymore.

It makes me so sad to write that.

I want to add the word TEMPORARILY to the former statement. I’m not a bouting skater temporarily.

I get it. I see it from multiple sides. (I’m a multi-faceted person, don’t ya know!) If I were on the training team, I would have made the same decision about me. It’s the correct one. I would have HATED to be the person to tell me. I would have HATED to be the person to hear my emotions over the phone.

But I have one hell of an opportunity here. I’m the first skater removed from a bouting team because of an endurance issue. (Sounds like I’m proud of it, actually I’m really fucking humiliated, but it is what it is.) I have the chance to be the poster child called “The Comeback Kid”. Of course we’ll have to derby it up, maybe something like this: “Remember This Bitch’s Ass?!”

Once I get my endurance up, and the training team deems me ready to bout again, I’ll be so much better! In a weird way, it’s kind of exciting. I’m going to be a rock star! (See, I told you I’m weird. Here I am totally humiliated, sad, and yet excited at the possibilities.) I’ve tried to convey this to my Mafia family, so they’ll be positive and look forward to the end result instead of being upset and becoming disgruntled with the decision.

More than anything, I want to be on the track on October 1, 2011, when we have our first public bout. I don’t want to be in the cheering section, I WANT a cheering section! So I have to get my ass in gear. I have 64 days, and somewhere in those 64 days, I have to improve and impress enough to be considered back to a bouting team, hopefully Mafia. Please, please let me go home to Mafia!!

Right now my heart is broken; I’m not going to lie. It sucks, and I haven’t yet had to face anyone. Only my team mates and the training team know. Soon, the entire league will know that Fluffy got kicked off Mafia because she can’t keep up with drills. And I’m not certain how I’m going to handle that brand of in-your-face public humiliation. The only thing I can think at this time to do is to fake it. Put that charm school positive vibe on and smile. Focus on the good and prove to the world, my league, and myself that I’m: 1. no quitter, and 2. just as capable as everyone else. And in that, maybe I can be that poster child and someone else that’s struggling will find an inspiration, or at least a friendly face that says I know how you feel.

Don’t count me out. My name is Fluffy and my number is Infinity + 1.