It's All In Your Head

In an effort to do more derby while sitting in my breakfast room, this weekend I read "Mind Gym:  An Athlete's Guide to Inner Excellence" by Gary Mack with David Casstevens.  I read it because of its immense popularity with a number of my Jet Cadet teammates.  When asked by my hairstylist whether I would also jump off a cliff if my teammates were all doing it I had to pause, consider that it's 31 days until draft, and then answer that yes I would, provided that jumping off that cliff helped me make a team. 
Mind Gym is the brainchild of Gary Mack, a noted sports psychologist, and goes through a number of proven techniques and tips on ways to improve your mental game.  I won't break down the entire book for you.  It's small with big type and large margins, you can read it yourself. 
At any rate, it's always fun to take instruction on things you're already good at.  While reading through the book I noticed just how much mental preparation for sports is like mental preparation for the performing arts.  After having spent years 3-25 of my life onstage in some capacity, I feel like I know a little something about how to go out there and give it your all when you know you won't get a second chance to make it right.  In performance, we call this stage presence. 

At the age of 3 I was so hopelessly uncoordinated that my parents put me in ballet with the hopes that it would help me do things like stand on one foot and walk up stairs while alternating legs.  I danced for 10 years.  My first real lesson in stage presence must have come at the age of 10 or 11.  We were auditioning for the Nutcracker.  A camera was set up in the middle of the studio and we were instructed to walk to the center of the room alone, introduce ourselves, say a few words and walk out.  The goal was to take up the entire room throughout the exercise.  To walk, talk and stand in such a way that you were impossible to ignore.  I was very good at this, but did they cast me as Clara?  No.  Turns out that if you want an awesome role you still have to be able to dance. 

Perhaps more relevant to derby are my years of training and playing as a professional French horn player.  As a solo performer the only thing that's more terrifying than walking out alone onstage in front of a large audience is walking out alone onstage in front of a large audience that is comprised primarily of other classical musicians.  In derby, this is essentially what we do at every practice.
For the next month I'll be joining my fellow Jet Cadets at Jet City team and league practices so that the captains and players can see how we do and whether they want to pick us up in February.  Am I shaking in my hot pants?  You bet.  So I went digging in my emotional handbag for tools to help myself out of the fear and I found my alter ego.  Her name is Alexis Kent and she is my favorite nonexistent human being.  She used to help me out a lot in my days of performance and I think I can use her again now.
Let me explain:  When I walk out onstage as a solo performer or as a fresh meat derby player, I have doubts.  Will I hit the high C?  Can I play that difficult passage?  Will I get knocked on my ass?  I hate that everyone is looking at me.  Alexis has no doubts.  When she walks onstage she thinks:  I am the star.  Everyone is looking at me because I'm so fucking attractive.  I'm invincible.  I'm 160 pounds of 'get the hell out of my way.'  In music we're taught that people hear with their eyes.  If you give the audience the impression that they're in for a treat, they're likely to believe you, even if you don't play at your best.  Confidence is what you have when everything else fails you.  I'm hoping this translates to derby.  Alexis isn't hoping, she knows.
<originally posted on 1.2.12>