Postpartum Penergy!

Postpartum Penergy!: She Came, She Skated, She... Peed a Little

By Penergy! #54

Coming back to derby after having a baby is a special kind of terrifying. Not just because of the whole “new body, who dis?” situation (we’ll get to that), but because I was also stepping into a new team. New people. New faces. New names to try and remember while also trying to remember where my feet go, keep up with the rule changes (omg, jammer lap points aren’t a thing anymore!), and what day it is. 

Scary. But also… kinda thrilling. 

Meeting new people! Finding my place! Relearning how to be a version of me that isn’t just “mum” but is also, once again, “skater.”

And let me tell you, I hit the jackpot with the humans on this team. Truly. There’s a level of support and belonging here that’s hard to come by these days, and getting to call this crew my league mates? Absolute perfection. Fulfillment unlocked.

Go piss girl???

But okay, let's get into the weird bits. The parts no one wants to write home about but absolutely should.

Because, friends....Your body? Postpartum? It’s… not the same. At least not for a while. 

We absolutely have to start with the fact that your feet grow during pregnancy. 

So before I even thought about getting back on the track, my first official act as a postpartum skater was dropping a casual small fortune on a whole new setup, because surprise! None of my skates fit anymore.

Goodbye, money. (As if that wasn’t already the entire theme of parenthood.)

That felt about right. Nothing about coming back was going to be the same, so why not start from scratch - new feet, new wheels, new me. I wish I could tell you I just dusted off my skates and waltzed back into it, but honestly, I felt like a baby deer learning how knees work. (Good news: eventually, they remembered. Side surfing did make its triumphant return. It just took a while. Be patient with yourself.)

Those leg muscles? Yeah, they took a sabbatical. Pelvis? More like Elvis, with all the wobbling about it was doing. Pregnancy said, 'Hey, what if we just loosen every bolt in your pelvic toolbox?' and relaxin delivered.

And then. The peeing.

Oh, the peeing.

Listen. They tell you “kegels, kegels, kegels” like you're summoning some magical pelvic wizardry. I'm here to report that you can do all the kegels in the kingdom, but if you take a hit with even the slightest whisper of liquid in your bladder… You’re done. There’s no “maybe.” It’s happening. The tiny gulps of water you sip during water breaks will transform into a metric mega gallon of pee. 

And if you're lucky, maybe no one notices. And if you're me… You shout it across the track.

Yes. Yes, I did that.

There I was, post-hit, lying on the floor, the track gone deadly silent in that unsettling, “oh gods, are they okay” kind of way. And I broke the silence with:

“OH NO I PEEEEEEEED.”

Volume: high. Regret: immediate.

I was convinced there’d be an actual puddle. (Spoiler: there wasn’t. Praise the gods.) But did Stoner roll up with a mop anyway? Absolutely. Mortifying? Beyond. Did I immediately Google every leak-proof underwear brand known in the universe? You bet. (Why DO they all have an X in the name? Linx. Knix. TomboyX. EverdriesXtreme probably exists somewhere.)

And look, if there’s interest, I’m not above writing the definitive roller derby leak-proof underwear review. Mothers of the track, sound off. I will do this important research for you.

The best part is that the hits just keep on coming (much like Roller Derby, amirite?)

Because the physical side of returning is only half of it.  Just when you think you’ve wrestled your body back into gear, the Mum guilt tags in.

Roller Derby Saved My Soul

My wife did her absolute best. But there was a stretch—a brutal one—where our little one would cry and cry for me at bedtime, and I’d be at practice, trying to avoid going into cardiac arrest (fitness, come at me! No, seriously, COME AT ME!)  heart clenched tight thinking, “Am I the worst for doing this?”

But I knew. Deep down, I knew.

Derby makes me better. Better for myself. Better for her.

Okay. So we’ve talked about the body. We’ve talked about the pee. We’ve talked about the guilt.

Now let’s talk about the community. There’s a little saying… "Roller Derby Saved My Soul” and good gods above, did it ever.

When you've had a baby, sometimes your whole world becomes about the baby. 

What they’re eating. How they’re growing. How they’re pooping. How they’re not pooping.

Baby, baby, baby. All day, every day.

And that’s great. Of course it is. It’s wonderful.

But there’s something to be said for stepping out of your mum-suit, donning some derby pads, and transforming back into the very essence of you.

The version that still exists underneath it all.

The one who wakes up the second the whistle blows and the only thing firing in your brain is: skate, block, dodge, hit, repeat.

The world goes quiet.

The noise falls away.

And all that matters is your lizard brain in fight or flight, adrenaline rushing at you harder than a 3 am projectile vomit.

They say it takes a village. But it’s hard to conjure up a village when you're 9,000 miles from home, your only friends are behind a computer screen, or the cast of whatever show you happen to be rewatching at night with a baby stuck to your boob, draining your very essence. (Just kidding. I loved it. Eventually.)

As an ex-pat Aussie living in the Midwest, I didn’t have an in-person village until I started back at Derby. This glorious community showed up, made up of all the types of people I was desperately missing. Mothers. Queer friends. Families. Singletons, you can live vicariously through.

Derby has them all. It’s an instant family. Just add water… and hope your pelvic floor’s up to the task!

And now? My cup utterly overflows. Because of them, I’m flourishing in ways I thought were long gone.

BUT HOW DO YOU FIND THE TIME, PENERGY?! 

Oh Gods, time… that dreaded bastard. Where is it? Where does it go? Why does it feel like we had loads of it before, and now it slips through our fingers like sand while a tiny person yells at us for cutting their toast wrong?

Because here’s the reality: I want to go to practice. I need to go to practice. 

I also want to do off-skates training, because apparently pre-workout alone isn’t going to help me become a stronger skater. 

And wow, would you look at that, there’s also a house to clean. Laundry to wash. Meals to cook. A partner who deserves more than just the exhausted scraps of me at the end of the day.

Not to mention a small child who needs, you know... everything.

So, where does the time come from? 

Short answer? I don't know. If I knew the answer to that, I would be writing a MUCH different blog, I tell you.  

Long answer? I’ve learned to snatch it. To steal it. To carve it out of the day with the precision of a jewel thief in a laser maze.

Twenty minutes during naptime to do squats in the living room.  A couple of laps around the block with the stroller at a brisk pace because cardio is cardio, baby.  Folding laundry while doing calf raises like some kind of deeply uncool domestic goddess.

But honestly? Even with all the scheduling gymnastics, it’s still hard.

Sometimes I show up to practice having eaten nothing but three Rice Krispies treats and an apple because it’s the only thing I could grab on my way out that I can eat while I’m driving. Sometimes I skip off-skates because my brain and body are just... done. Sometimes I get short with my wife even though she's pulling just as much weight as me, and I hate that.

It’s messy. And chaotic. And imperfect.

But that’s what I chose. I chose to come back. I chose to play. And I keep choosing it because the me that skates? She’s vibrant. She’s strong. She’s a better parent. She’s a better partner. She’s not just Penny… she’s PENERGY!

Because when I’m fulfilled, when I feel powerful and grounded and like my full self, that energy spills over into everything else.

Even if the house is a disaster. Even if dinner is chicken nuggets again. Even if the laundry sits clean but unfolded for actual days.

So if you’re reading all of this, shouting “YES! THIS!” at your screen, if you don’t always find the time… Fight for it. Steal it. Because you know what friends?

We’re worth the heist.

And the truth is, we deserve to flourish. We deserve to grow, to laugh, to skate fast and hit hard, and find those parts of us that felt paused.

So yeah, returning after pregnancy was scary.

But also, it was everything.

Written By: Penergy