Lights Out Lucy
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“It’s not a matter of if you get hurt, but of how bad and when.”
I can’t say they didn’t warn me. Right now, I realize: I probably should have listened. Because if there’s anyone who has no business playing a sport that requires a helmet, pads, and a liability waiver, it’s this girl. The same girl who once knocked herself out during a game of backyard baseball. I stepped up to the plate, pulled the bat back a little too far to swing, and clocked myself in the back of the skull. Boom. Lights Out Lucy.
That’s how I got my roller derby name. So yeah. Maybe I should have known better.
But what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger, right? That’s the whole reason I laced up a pair of skates to begin with. Well, that and this other little confession I need to make. Amidst all the estrogen and girl power that fuels the world of women’s roller derby, this insanity may have started because of a guy.
Eyeroll, I know.
Sadly, today on the oval track, it’s about to come to a very bloody end. And all this slow-motion introspection might be part of my life flashing before my eyes.
I’m going down hard and fast, with a set of Atomic Turquoise wheels aimed right at my face. Lights Out Lucy, indeed.