I had done some research on the phenomenon of roller derby before venturing into the Liar's Club. Derby , alternately called both a “sport” and a “hobby” by the Rollers, has its roots in Chicago . In 1935, a sports promoter decided it would be a good idea to hold a transcontinental marathon of a skating match. Fifty skaters – 25 teams of one male and one female – would skate 3,000 miles around the track in the Chicago Coliseum, approximating the distance from New York to San Diego . Only 9 of the teams finished the competition, living and sleeping at the Coliseum, and the winners skated from Aug. 13 – Sept. 22, 1935 . It wasn't until 1937 that roller derby as we now know it began, in which points are awarded when a skater passes a pack of the opposing team.
But like most other fads, roller derby has had its ups and downs. After a period of inactivity, derby saw a resurgence in popularity during the '70s, then dropped off again. It's like anything else, from hula-hoops to knitting: There are peaks and valleys in the popular consciousness. But this is one of the upswing periods in the derby chronology, with approximately 25 leagues around the country, ranging from Madison , Wis. , to the Texas Rollergirls, which is the unoffical mascot of the whole league.
The rules of roller derby aren't nearly as standardized as those of, say, baseball. The nebulous rules would be more akin to that of backyard football, but played on skates. Points are scored when the jammer – one of the five members of a team, along with a pivot and three blockers – passes members of the other team. But like the neighborhood football game, there are significant differences in rules between each league. Some play on a flat track, some play on a banked, angled track, some allow plays – called jams – of a certain length, and so on.
“There's actually a rules and regulations committee right now,” one of the members told me, “because the rules are different for every league.” Naturally. There's nothing like zooming down a track with five people hell-bent on knocking you to the ground, content with the knowledge that the only thing they can't do to you is hit above the neck. To my understanding of the game, that's the way it goes.
The party was starting. The scene had changed: It was no longer full of girls running around trying to get ready for the night. Now it was full of girls switching into high-powered smiling machines, ready to talk derby and look good doing it. One last announcement came over the speakers:
“If you are on skates, make sure to sign your wavier. See Sister about that, and please make sure to sign that wavier.”
That cemented it. There would be girls on skates serving shots that night, sure, but that's no excuse for being careless about safety. Juanna, seeing my thoughtful look after the announcement, told me that not only is Windy City Rollers an incorporated company, but, like other derby associations around the country, they take the concept of insurance very seriously.
Apparently getting in shape to be a roller derby goddess isn't easy, but getting there prevents a good deal of mishaps. The Rollers have to be in peak physical condition in order to skate for upwards of an hour during bouts, during which they'll most likely be slammed, twisted and abused to rival most kickboxing matches. Their secret weapon is a boot camp run the self-styled grand dame of the Windy City Rollers, personal trainer Ivana Krushya. As I made my way over to meet Ivana, I recalled warnings from a number of the Rollers.
Miss Fits, a 22-year-old named Sarah who drew her name's inspiration from The Misfits, gave me a succinct description of boot camp. “Ivana Krushya is our oldest member,” she said, “but she's a personal trainer, and she kicks our ass every Sunday in Wicker Park .” Coco BangBang, one of the newest members and a 27-year-old freelance designer whose real name is Sandra, echoed similar sentiments.
“If we're late to boot camp,” Coco said, “Ivana's like, ‘On your face! Drop and give me 20!' She's not messing around.”
Ivana, who by day is Jill, a 43-year-old trainer at Bally Total Fitness in Webster Place , was exactly as she was described and exactly as I had imagined her. Reseved and regal in temprament until we had a chance to be introduced properly. Sporting short blonde hair, she looked the part of the matriarch, with a demeanor that was showed she was in control as she filled me in on her training secrets. “Boot camp is an hour long, and it's designed to get these girls in superior condition,” she said. “It's designed to work on cardiovascular fitness as well as muscular strength.”
She broke off, saying that she had to get upstairs in order to run the arm wrestling area of the fundraiser. I've learned long ago never to argue with a woman who could break me, so I thanked her for her time. I followed her upstairs, more curious than anything. The arm wrestling was as expected, with men lining up to (unwittingly) donate to the night's charities for the privilege of going head-to-head with a Roller. I met Irish, a.k.a. 22-year-old tattoo artist Kay, who has the distinction of having the shortest derby name, and she repeated another refrain I had been hearing all night – that the Rollers need a place to skate, rather than using whatever's available in neighborhoods on the South Side, or in Palatine or Lombard. They have to get ready for their first bout, which will hopefully be held sometime early next year.
By the next time I looked up, the place was so packed there was no clear way of getting to the door. The Windy City Rollers' fundraiser was doing just fine.
As I made my way out, Juanna stopped and gave me a hug. “Thanks for coming,” she said. It was a far cry from the woman I had met not two hours previously. I suppose there's more to being a Windy City Roller than looking like Farrah Fawcett, but that doesn't stop any of the Rollers from shaking their asses with the best of them.
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