While I decide where the blog's going...

...here's my latest column!

EMC Editorial - I'm the kind of person for whom most things seem either much better or much worse in my mind than they are in reality. I used to think this was a bad thing, but in recent years I've found that being mindful of such skewed perceptions allows me to deal with life's daily trials without making too big a fool of myself.

For example, I am utterly and completely in awe of the Kingston Derby Girls. Over the past few months I've found myself frequenting their website, imagining my own legs and feet inside those black and pink striped knee socks and colourful, retro roller skates.

I'm not exactly up on the rules of roller derby, but I can say that sliding around the Memorial Centre flinging and body-checking opponents out of the way to clear a path for the team looks like an absolute blast. The funky outfits are also hugely appealing, for where else in the city can you get away with pairing electric fishnets and frilly little-girl-in-a ballet-class-style tutu skirts? I even have my roller derby name all picked out and ready to go: I would be Hollie Go-fight-ly.

Yet I hesitated last week when the Derby Girls were holding registration for a spring training camp, at which "fresh meat" (aka rookie players) will be chosen. Five years ago, I would have been there with bells on. I probably would have run out and bought myself roller skates, kneepads and all the trimmings - perhaps even a bright orange tutu skirt.

The trouble is that I have never in my life put on a pair of roller skates, nor have I ever played a sport involving any more contact than basketball. As a result, I can say with some confidence that for now, roller derby participation is one of those things best left to my imagination.

I don't view this as a bad thing - quite the opposite, in fact. You see, if I were to go to the training camp and perform badly (a near certainty) the dream of becoming a derby girl would be lost to me forever because it would be tainted by the negative experience. Instead, it maintains the ability to keep me energized during my evening run and entertained in moments where I have some time to kill and am caught without a book or someone to talk to.

In my daydream, Hollie Go-fight-ly is a fast, tough player who isn't afraid to risk falling on her face every once in a while if it means beating the other team to the finish line, and who isn't at all timid about elbowing in the stomach any girl who makes the mistake of getting in her way. However, I fear that if Hollie and Hollie Go-fight-ly were ever forced to collaborate in a place not governed by fantasy, much awkwardness would ensue.

That doesn't mean, though, that there isn't a bit of her in me - certainly more than there was five years ago. She appears during my half marathon training, and helps me push through the wall to arrive at that wonderful, elusive runner's high.

She is also there when I need to defend myself or someone I love from various injustices. In my teens and early 20s, it's unlikely I ever would have had the nerve to boldly tell a person off, however in recent years I've surprised myself by doing so on several very gratifying occasions.

Maybe one day I and my derby girl alter ego will become similar enough that Hollie Go-fight-ly can at last make her debut appearance on the Memorial Centre track. Until that day, though, she exists largely in my mind, and is available for select appearances only. These things take time.