A not good in any way day. And by day I mean week. And by week I mean month. And by month, I mean year. And by year, I really mean decade.
Things were pretty awesome when I was 20, not gonna lie. But the things in my life that were awesome about 20 are still awesome at 30. I am still doing something I love (though it’s a different something.) I still have friends who are awesome. And I have derby, which is both of those put together. The difference is I am pitting these good things against some much bigger, scary, monster-in-the-closet bad things than I did at 20. Granted, everything felt just as big and scary then, so maybe when I hit 40 I will look back on this and wonder what was such a big deal, but I kind of doubt it. And I’m not going to discuss what my big scary monsters are, or were, in this space. This space is for how I am going to beat those monsters in the balls: roller derby.
So despite that fact that it’s actually been almost a week since I’ve done any significant fitnessy stuff and I might have fallen off the eating healthy wagon a little bit last night at book club when faced with a bowl of skittles (we discussed Pamela Ribon’s Going in Circles-if you don’t know, Pamie is retired LA Derby Doll May Q. Holla, and seriously funny) I am going to get right back up and do some groin-punching; tonight I will make my sophomore effort at the Roller Derby workout. I will do the whole damn thing, and no matter how much I want to stop I will keep going. (And then I will complain to the internet about how tired/sore/masochistic I am.) When I am done, if I am not too tired to worry about the monsters eating me, I will watch some Doctor Who until I pass out from sheer exhaustion/awesomeness! (Yeah, that’s a rallying cry if I ever heard one.)
So suck on that, not-so-imaginary monsters. I’m not letting you beat me down. Come December, you are going to be wee little Irish fear demonies, and I’m gonna have squashed you, Buffy-style.*
*Probably not while wearing a red riding hood, however.