Under fluorescent lights, a sea of sparkly helmets and roller skates rumble through a recreation center in Springfield, Oregon. The group of skaters travels in circles around a track. Some skaters stumble and fall while others move easily, but all sport smiles. Laughter rises above the sound of “Cannonball” by the Breeders playing from the speakers.
A referee with purple hair and black lipstick summons the skaters together. The group gathers and introduces themselves with their pronouns and derby names, which include “Electric Mayhem,” “Bone Daddy,” “Skinner” and more. The group divides into two teams, then the game begins.
Eight skaters –– four from each team and called blockers –– stand across a line. Behind these skaters, two more –– one from each team and called jammers –– with starred helmets position themselves. The referee blows a whistle, and the jammers take off. They attempt to make their way through the pack while the opposing team’s blockers try to prevent them from doing so, sometimes resulting in blood and bruises. Every time the jammer gets through the pack and skates a lap around the track, their team scores a point.
This sequence of events constitutes a jam. Jams last up to two minutes –– with 30 second breaks between each jam –– and compose the game of roller derby, which is divided into two 30 minute periods.
The skaters are members of the Emerald City Roller Derby, a recreational flat track roller derby league in the Eugene-Springfield area. The league was the Emerald City Roller Girls at its inception in 2006, but changed its name in 2016 to include skaters of all genders.
One of these skaters is G Taylor, who goes by the derby name “Genetic” and wears the name spray-painted across the back of their black denim jacket. They also sport short, teal hair and serve as the league’s non-contact coach –– roller derby is a contact sport, but skaters can choose to play with various levels of contact, ranging from full to modified to none.
Before participating in roller derby, Taylor’s journey began by observing it. Taylor watched roller derby as a child in the ‘70s and the television show “Roller Girls” in the 2000s. Eventually, they “fell in love” with the sport.
“I told my partner, ‘If that ever came to Eugene, I would totally do that,’” Taylor says.
Taylor’s partner held them to their promise. After seeing an ad for the Emerald City Roller Derby in the Register-Guard, Taylor attended their first practice in 2007. Taylor –– nervous and never having roller skated –– approached an individual wearing a plaid skirt and a pair of skates slung over their shoulder. The individual welcomed them to the practice, marking the start of Taylor’s 16-year involvement in the sport.
Taylor finds community through coaching. Now that they don’t compete, coaching brings them together with the derby community.
When first learning to roller skate, Taylor felt akin to a “baby giraffe on ice” but has since progressed. They got involved in the Emerald City Roller Derby by becoming its secretary, managing its insurance and serving on its board while working towards their goal of being drafted onto a team within the league. Taylor achieved their goal when they became a member of the “Andromedolls” in 2010.
“It took me a while to get my skating skills going. It took me three years. I was not a natural,” Taylor says. “But within that, the thing that made all that struggle worthwhile was I was suddenly part of a community.”
Within this community, Taylor developed friends with whom they could spend time with outside of roller derby –– whether it be going to a bar after practice or doing other activities as a team. Taylor had not previously participated in many sports, so the experience of being part of a team was “amazing.”
It was also within this community that Taylor was able to come to terms with their gender identity. Now 52 years old, Taylor says they were not familiar with terms like “non-binary” and “transgender” growing up. Joining roller derby introduced them to these terms and people with diverse identities, providing them support and the opportunity to think deeper about themselves.
“I wish more people understood just how awesome this sport is - both to be a part of and to watch. It’s full contact, there’s amazing athleticism and has some of the biggest, and funnest, personalities I’ve ever met,” Taylor says.
“I don't think I would have gotten to that point if I hadn't been in such a community where that was prevalent –– non-binary people, trans people, people of color, queer folk, the whole gamut of any group that you can think of is in roller derby,” Taylor says. “So if I hadn't had that exposure and watched other friends go through transitions, I really don't think I would have had the courage or the awareness to do it myself.”
At roller derby events, Taylor would “soft open” their gender identity by introducing themselves with their pronouns. Introducing themselves in this way helped Taylor prepare to come out to their family. While the idea of coming out terrified Taylor, they knew that “even if I lost my family, I would still have the roller derby community,” they say.
The roller derby community has changed over the years. Roller derby started in the 1930s and gained popularity due to its “noise, color and body contact,” according to the Smithsonian. The sport included both women and men and persisted until the 1970s, when rising costs and oil prices made touring and funding arenas too expensive, causing its decline.
Until the 1970s, investors funded roller derby. It wasn’t until 2003 that roller derby reemerged –– without investors –– in Austin, Texas. Roller derby’s do-it-yourself rebound centered around pageantry and provided an alternative sport for people who had never played one before –– like Taylor.
Since 2003, Taylor says what was once a spectacle filled with fights and fishnets has transitioned to a more serious sport –– although some of the eccentric styles remain. Today, the bold makeup and colorful hair are expressions of individuality instead of performances for the male gaze, and athletes engage in aggression, rather than staged fights, due to roller derby’s nature as a contact sport.
The transition of roller derby to a more serious sport has also been accompanied by increased inclusivity and accessibility. While the sport featured both men and women in its early days, it was open only to women in 2003, but has since expanded to include all genders. It also traditionally took place on banked tracks, which are specialized and expensive to construct, but now occurs on more affordable and accessible flat tracks in gyms.
Taylor finds community through coaching. Now that they don’t compete, coaching brings them together with the derby community.
“The game itself, it doesn't matter what gender you are, what body type you are or if you're differently abled. There is space for you,” Taylor says.
The Women’s Flat Track Roller Derby Association (WFTDA) is the international governing body of women’s flat track roller derby and represents over 400 leagues on six continents. WFTDA has worked with the Men’s Roller Derby Association and other groups to make space for a wider array of skaters, according to Taylor. Taylor also says the organization has attempted to legitimize roller derby as a sport, shifting the dresscode from costumes to uniforms and once trying to include roller derby in the Olympics.
Aside from WFTDA working to increase inclusivity, other groups are promoting racial diversity within the sport. Team Indigenous is one group disrupting the whiteness of roller derby, according to the New York Times. The team includes athletes from Indigenous communities across the U.S., Canada and elsewhere around the world and competed in the 2018 Roller Derby World Cup.
Inclusivity in roller derby is a passion of Taylor’s, whose life changed for the better due to the sport’s diverse community. However, their time as an athlete was cut short. Taylor got two concussions the same year they joined the Andromedolls in 2010 and had to attend cognitive rehab for another year.
“My doctor at the time explained things really, really well to me. He said, ‘I can replace your knees, I can replace your hips, I can't replace your brain,’” Taylor says. “So that was when I stopped being a skater.”
Despite their career as a skater ending, Taylor stayed involved in roller derby as an official. They officiated as a skater and moved into the position full time in 2010. Through this role, Taylor works with leagues in addition to Emerald City Roller Derby and travels both in and out of Oregon, keeping the sport a large element of their life.
As part of their travels, Taylor officiated a tournament in Hawaii and befriended skaters, officials and community members there. One of these friends recently began a fundraiser selling art they designed on t-shirts, keychains and more following the Lahaina wildfires. The fundraiser sold more than 700 t-shirts in a week, according to Taylor, after it was shared amongst the roller derby community, demonstrating the community’s power.
“It’s not just about roller derby. Sometimes it’s about having that community that can then reach out and help people that may have never even heard of roller derby,” Taylor says. “Through our community, we can help support people.”
Taylor still officiates, but they also teach new Emerald City Roller Derby athletes how to skate and became the league’s non-contact coach earlier this year. Taylor loves teaching others how to skate, they say, because it allows them to have a hand in building the community that has seen and supported them for the past 16 years.
“Just because your skating career is over doesn't mean your roller derby career is over, which is pretty awesome,” Taylor says. “These are my people.”