What Is Grit and Do I Have It?

“I have GOT to try that,” I announced matter-of-factly to my friend, Susan, who sat next to me on the cold, metal bleachers. I’d invited her to a roller derby bout featuring the Peoria Push Derby Dames and was happy she’d accepted. I’m sure I wouldn’t have gone alone. Neither one of us had known what to expect.

I had only recently heard about roller derby in the teacher’s lounge at the middle school where I taught. A couple of my colleagues on the Language Arts team would excitedly talk about their skate gear, the skills they were working on, and what their derby names should be.

There was talk of turn around toe stops, superman knee slides, and taking hits. They’d compare their bruises with the biggest smiles on their faces and part of me thought they were crazy for trying such a dangerous sport. Their enthusiasm was contagious though, so I was eager to check it out.

There I sat, wide-eyed, in total awe of my two teacher friends who had ditched their sweaters and khakis and taken on entirely new personas, complete with helmets, knee pads, elbow pads, wrist and mouth guards, and of course, skates.

Round and round the track they went, knees bent, squatting for stability, elbows tucked into their sides, using their hips and shoulders to block players on the opposing team. They’d jump over fallen skaters and would bounce back up within seconds if they found themselves on the floor. One moment they’d clear a path to help their jammer squeeze through the pack and score a point for their team and the next they’d form a wall to block the other jammer from passing.

Perhaps it was the rough and tumble feel of the sport that I was drawn to. Maybe I was longing to feel as confident and powerful as those women looked as they laid it all out there on the track. Regardless of the reason behind it, I was instantly hooked.

I showed up to the league’s next tryout 100% terrified and not at all certain I would be able to stand on a pair of skates, let alone make it around a track. I hadn’t been to a skating rink since I was a child and I was never great at skating even then. What was I thinking, trying to learn as a 26-year-old mom of two?

Luckily, all we were asked to do was skate around the track twice, one at a time. I remember watching all the girls who bravely went before me, some looking like they were born on skates, and others (like me) looked more like newborn giraffes trying to figure out how to use the bottom half of their bodies.

My friend, Fifi Fo Fum (obviously her derby name) was there, and I still remember her skating along the outside of the track beside me, encouraging me to keep going as I wobbled and inched my way slowly towards the finish line. I caught a glimpse of what eternity might feel like during those 2 measly laps. It was a humbling experience, but I was proud of myself for trying!

When the final skater had completed her last lap, we took our skates off and waited. The decision was made. Everyone who tried out was now a Newbie! We cheered, we high-fived, and we left the rink anxiously awaiting our first practice, led by the infamous Pixie Whiplash.

During our first night of practice Pixie told us we couldn’t be afraid to fall. “When you fall, and you will, remember to turn a cheek,” she instructed. We chuckled as we nervously glanced back and forth at each other, but she assured us we wouldn’t be laughing if we fell on our tailbone instead, and she was right! We started learning how to fall- on purpose! It was so bizarre to me.

Others seemed to grasp this lesson so well and just took it for what it was. Falling is part of the game! Fear is not.

Fall. Get back up. Fall. Get back up. Fall. Get back up. Repeat…Repeat…Repeat…

My mind couldn’t grasp this lesson and every time I heard the word “fall”, even many weeks and months later, my brain would light up like a neon sign flashing an incessant warning signal: Danger! Danger! Danger!

I received one injury during my many months of skills training, and even that was nothing to brag about. You guys, I literally fell into a concrete wall. On my own! I tripped on my own skate due to a very poorly executed T-stop. You can’t see it, but I’m hanging my head in shame right now. It was that pitiful.

Add a wall, some safety gear and a pair of skates and this pretty much sums it up…

My helmet took the brunt of it (the white paint scratches are still there mocking me to this day) and my left shoulder slammed so hard into that wall I was unable to lift it more than an inch for over 2 weeks.

After that I was so concerned with possible injuries that I started overthinking every move I made. I was tense and stiff. I was holding back and became entirely too cautious. I was so paranoid about falling that it would ultimately be one of the reasons I gave up derby before I even passed the basic skills requirements.

It’s true. I had the gear. I had the name {Giggle Boxer}. Suitable, don’t ya think?

What didn’t I have? The guts. I never played in a bout. I never scrimmaged during practice. I never gave or received a hip check that would send one of us flying.

The ONE thing I needed to do in order to move on with the sport was skate 10 laps in 2 minutes or less. That’s it. And I couldn’t seem to get there. I was so close, but not close enough.

I spent months overcoming a fear of lifting my stinkin’ foot off the floor when doing crossovers! A crossover is what helps a skater round a curve. The skater crosses the outside skate over the skate that’s on the inside of the curve. This one single skill tripped me up big time.

The belief that had reassured me over and over again that with hard work and perseverance I could overcome my fears and inabilities, the belief that I’d held onto for months, began to waver.

My dream of becoming a derby girl through and through was shattering, and I found myself simultaneously making significant changes in my personal life. I started attending church somewhat regularly, a practice and place I’d purposefully been neglecting for 8 years.

We had practice multiple times a week, and of course the church’s midweek Bible study interfered with one of those practices. At first, I had no problem skipping church for derby.

“I just went to church on Sunday, and that’s better than nothing! What’s the big deal?” I’d question myself. However, after a while, I started getting a nagging feeling in the pit of my stomach that told me something wasn’t quite right. I was justifying my choices and I knew it.

I tried to ignore it. That didn’t work. I was restless. I was frustrated. I was torn. I wanted the best of both worlds and I couldn’t figure out how to hold on to both, although I desperately tried to do so.

I was being pulled in two different directions. “Why can’t I have both?” I’d wonder. “Why can’t I skate when I want and be with God when I want?”

I had goals, after all. I was so close! I’d already concluded that I was never going to actually play roller derby. It just wasn’t in my skill set. I did, however, want to prove to myself that I could tackle those laps, 10 in 2 minutes. I still had some fight left in me.

The problem was, for me personally, the life I wanted as a derby girl and the life I was being called to with Jesus just didn’t match up. They couldn’t.

Now, please don’t take this the wrong way! I’m in no way saying a derby girl can’t have a relationship with God. I’m saying that I personally only had so much time and so much energy to give. I couldn’t manage to devote myself 100% to both derby and God, and both require total devotion. At least that’s the way I saw it.

There were clearly two paths laid out in front of me. I had to choose one or the other.

I gave up roller derby.

Some would say that’d be an easy decision to make. I can just hear it now, “That’s a no-brainer!” If I had to make the same choice now, I’d agree. However, it was NOT an easy decision then! I struggled with it. I wrestled with it.

I’ve never once regretted my decision to run back to Jesus! Not for a second. For the longest time though, I beat myself up for walking away from roller derby before reaching my goals. I felt like a quitter. You don’t quit in derby. You just don’t.

Even as I began thinking of starting this blog and the idea of “grit” kept coming to mind, I’d push it away thinking I have no clue what grit really is! I know the definition of the word, of course, but how can I write about grit when I haven’t demonstrated it in my own life?

I quit, after all! Quitters don’t have grit. Period!

Grit is defined as “Courage and resolve; strength of character; firmness of mind or spirit.” (Merriam Webster)

In writing this piece, and contemplating what it means to have grit, I’ve learned the following lesson about myself: I didn’t quit roller derby because I don’t have grit. I quit roller derby because I chose to channel the grit I had into something I felt would be more beneficial in the long run: my walk with God.

All this time I’ve looked at myself as a quitter, when in fact, I’ve been growing in grit all along and I didn’t even realize it!

It took courage to admit to myself that I needed God in my life and to choose Him over a sport.

It took strength of character for me to admit I was wrong and to ask forgiveness for my mistakes.

It’s taken a great deal of resolve to hold true to my commitment to stay faithful to God these past 9 years since coming back to Christ.

It’s required firmness of mind and spirit on a daily basis, because that’s what walking with God is. A daily choice to love Him. A daily choice to serve Him. A daily choice to walk with Him, not just when it’s convenient for me, but even when it’s hard. Even when I have to sacrifice other things in order to do so.

Hands down, I made the right choice. I’ve failed numerous times in my walk with God. I’ve not been perfect. Never have been. Never will be. Just as I was wobbly and unsure in my skates, as a Christian I act the same way sometimes.

I still stumble and fall, and yes, on more than one occasion I’ve messed up so badly it feels like I’ve tripped over my own two feet (even without the wheels!) and crashed headfirst into a wall. Yet, here I am, still inching my way towards the finish line, with Jesus by my side, encouraging me to never give up.

I had grit then and I have grit now.

I’d venture to say that you have a good amount of grit inside of you as well! We tend to be our own worst critics, focusing only on our failures, perceived or otherwise. Don’t believe the lie that tells you you’re not good enough, that you’re not strong enough, or that you’ve failed too many times in the past to make any real progress.

Today I challenge you to take a good, long look at your life. What are your goals? Your top priorities? Where have you been channeling your grit? Do you need to refocus?

Perhaps you’re confident that you’re on the right path for your life and everything seems to be going well! To you I say, “Keep on keepin’ on!”

Maybe you’ve been knocked down one too many times in life and you’re feeling pretty beat up. If you’re like me, maybe your own choices have left you lying flat on your face and you’re trying to recover from a big fall. To you I say, “It’s going to be ok. You can make it! Get back up and try again. I believe in you!”

I learned a lot from my time in roller derby, and I’m still applying the lessons I learned then to my life now, even when it comes to my walk with God.

The #1 lesson I learned and the one that has grit written all over it is this:

Fall. Get back up. Fall. Get back up. Fall. Get back up. Repeat…Repeat…Repeat…