Blood, Glitter, and Glory

HAVING YOUR ASS KICKED AT 32 HURTS. THIS IS MY thought after Hausa Pain sends me flying face-first into a wall with a hip check. My other thought: Moms don’t do this. Roller derby is for young people who don’t worry about black eyes and broken arms. I should be arranging playdates, bedazzling costumes, sending my kids to dance classes. I should be wearing shirts that say “Mom All Day, Then Rosé.” Instead, I put on skates, crack body parts, and ask teammates to smell my armpits.

It’s 2006, and I’m training in a building on the edge of West Town. It’s a concrete-block warehouse chosen for its unobstructed openness, the better to minimize concussions. On the dingy yellow floor are gray splotches where the paint