On a crisp September morning, early risers head to Prospect Park to walk their dogs or sit peacefully by the lake overlooking Duck Island, but at the LeFrak Center at Lakeside roller-skating rink, the skidding of wheels intensifies as shrill whistles ring through the chill. The Gotham Roller Derby skaters — geared up in shorts, tank tops, T-shirts, pads on the elbows and knees, and, of course, helmets — warm up, skating languidly backward in an endless circle, laughing and calling out words of encouragement. The world is just waking up, but these skaters are ready to go.
The clashing sounds of skidding skates quickly become rhythmic, following the beat of balletic tangles of limbs as the skaters go through different drills in which the athletes pair up to push on one another as they skate, weave around stout orange cones, and take turns jumping around one brave volunteer. At 10:30 a.m., when the sun emerges from the clouds, the skaters are guided by their coach through a hip-bumping strategy. The air is warming, but they’ve been sweating all morning.
If your only encounter with roller derby is Drew Barrymore’s movie Whip It, you should know that the New York roller-derby skaters are serious about their sport. “The only difference between me and a professional athlete is that I’m not getting paid,” says nanny and freelance writer Molly Reitman, 30, who is known to her teammates as GD (short for her roller-derby name, Goddamn Goddamn). “In another world, this would be our full-time job.”
Gotham, New York City’s legendary roller-derby league, has been around since 2003. The league is structured into six total teams, four of which are considered home teams: Manhattan Mayhem, Queens of Pain, Brooklyn Bombshells, and the Bronx Gridlock. Every active skater in the league gets drafted into one. Additionally, there are two travel teams that compete in international tournaments, the Gotham All-Stars and the Wall Street Traitors, which means that travel-team athletes have double the practice times. “For the first year I was here, I thought I was going to throw up at every scrimmage — and we were hot shit in our old league,” says Reitman, who coaches the Bronx Gridlock and plays for the All-Stars with her partner, Samia Harb (also known as Fatoosh Bag). “We were two of the best people in our old league, which was not even that bad of a league. But coming here, it was like, Whoa. Like, they do shit different. But they have to — because if you’re gonna be the best in the world, you have to have a different standard.”
“What stuck out to me is the straightforward vibe of a New York City roller-derby team,” says 28-year-old science teacher Samia Harb, a.k.a. Fatoosh Bag. “That’s just my vibe. I need it to be straightforward. We say it how it is here, and we can just get more shit done that way.”
“I’ve gotten so much stronger playing this sport. Growing up as a femme-presenting person dealing with diet culture, there’s this perception of ‘Being fit means being skinny.’ That would motivate me to go to the gym,” says Tiffany Parris, a.k.a. Madd Maxx, a 35-year-old clinical psychologist. “Now, I wanna be buff. When I don’t wanna go, I think about my teammates, who need me to be my strongest self. There is this sense of community that gives you a meaning and a purpose to be your healthiest self.”
“I saw many wonderful golden years. Things changed quite a bit after the pandemic. But roller derby is special. You can go to a gym class, but there’s nothing like the collaborative DIY aspect of roller derby that’s both social and physical,” says Jean Schwarzwalder, a.k.a. Suzy Hotrod, a 43-year-old photographer for New York’s Department of Environmental Protection. “It’s wonderful for your mental health to sweat it out and be aggressive and physical. It’s unapologetic. It’s natural. It’s freeing.”
“I saw it on Myspace 15 years ago, but I didn’t understand anything. I just saw cool and tough women on roller skates. I had a problem with my knees when I was ten, and the doctor told me I would need a wheelchair at 30,” says tattoo artist Carolina, a.k.a. Malibú, now 38. “I found roller derby when I was 25. I had just given birth. I was depressed. I had an eating disorder. Roller derby saved my life. After not being able to do any sports, being able to play in Gotham — No. 1 in the world — I can do anything in my life.”
“I learned about roller derby in 2004. I met Karin Bruce — her derby name was Chassis Crass; she’s our league founder — and she told me about it,” remembers Suzy Hotrod. “The league must have been, like, seven people at this time. I don’t know why I did it. I just did.”
Sin Diesel
“It is female-dominated, and that’s very special to me, but I also love the inclusivity of gender-nonconforming skaters. You have leagues that are mixed genders. It’s so powerful having trans and nonbinary and just genderqueer people in sports,” Madd Maxx says. “Every position is meant for a different body type.”
“What stuck out to me is the straightforward vibe of a New York City roller-derby team,” says 28-year-old science teacher Samia Harb, a.k.a. Fatoosh Bag. “That’s just my vibe. I need it to be straightforward. We say it how it is here, and we can just get more shit done that way.”
“I’ve gotten so much stronger playing this sport. Growing up as a femme-presenting person dealing with diet culture, there’s this perception of ‘Being fit means being skinny.’ That would motivate me to go to the gym,” says Tiffany Parris, a.k.a. Madd Maxx, a 35-year-old clinical psychologist. “Now, I wanna be buff. When I don’t wanna go, I think about my teammates, who need me to be my strongest self. There is this sense of community that gives you a meaning and a purpose to be your healthiest self.”
“I saw many wonderful golden years. Things changed quite a bit after the pandemic. But roller derby is special. You can go to a gym class, but there’s nothing like the collaborative DIY aspect of roller derby that’s both social and physical,” says Jean Schwarzwalder, a.k.a. Suzy Hotrod, a 43-year-old photographer for New York’s Department of Environmental Protection. “It’s wonderful for your mental health to sweat it out and be aggressive and physical. It’s unapologetic. It’s natural. It’s freeing.”
“I saw it on Myspace 15 years ago, but I didn’t understand anything. I just saw cool and tough women on roller skates. I had a problem with my knees when I was ten, and the doctor told me I would need a wheelchair at 30,” says tattoo artist Carolina, a.k.a. Malibú, now 38. “I found roller derby when I was 25. I had just given birth. I was depressed. I had an eating disorder. Roller derby saved my life. After not being able to do any sports, being able to play in Gotham — No. 1 in the world — I can do anything in my life.”
“I learned about roller derby in 2004. I met Karin Bruce — her derby name was Chassis Crass; she’s our league founder — and she told me about it,” remembers Suzy Hotrod. “The league must have been, like, seven people at this time. I don’t know why I did it. I just did.”
Sin Diesel
“It is female-dominated, and that’s very special to me, but I also love the inclusivity of gender-nonconforming skaters. You have leagues that are mixed genders. It’s so powerful having trans and nonbinary and just genderqueer people in sports,” Madd Maxx says. “Every position is meant for a different body type.”
Many skaters on the team hold a variety of jobs outside the skating world; they are photographers, science teachers, psychologists, and artists. Some moved here from across the world: Francesa, 30, was competing in Pennsylvania on a six-month tourist visa when she considered staying in the U.S. “We won the tournament with my Argentinean team, and it was very close to New York,” she explains.
Photographer Sofie Vasquez has been captivated by the sport since watching Whip It as a teenager. “I’ve been dreaming of doing a roller-derby project for years,” she says. But she’s coming in at a particularly difficult time for the league; when COVID hit, Gotham lost its practice space and hasn’t been able to find a new one. Because of the high costs of renting out LeFrak, the skaters aren’t able to practice as often. The space also converts into an ice rink when it gets cold, so they can’t practice in the winter. The league is technically a nonprofit organization, and it’s barely breaking even. “We’re making it work, but it would just be nice to have the resources to work and to maintain Gotham Roller Derby,” says Harb.
By 7 p.m., the skaters huddle in a practice tussle on one side of the rink. On the other side, they skate in circles, pausing to hop over Reitman, who is positioned as if about to trip someone. It was a long day, but they needed to prepare for their final championship of the season on October 19. Vasquez works full time and lives a two-hour commute away from the rink. But whenever she feels exhausted by the prospect of capturing the skaters’ athleticism, she thinks about what she learned from watching Whip It as a kid. “I remember that joy I got, where I was like, Oh my God, that’s so badass, she says. “And it’s even more badass because they’re doing gravity-defying scrimmages.”
“We’re in a moment of people appreciating women’s sports where we could be on TV — I don’t understand why we wouldn’t be on TV,” says Goddamn Goddamn. “People are very interested in the sport. People want to watch, but the venue is not awesome. You can’t get concessions very easily. You can’t buy a beer — it’s either way too hot or way too cold. There’s not much sitting room. We’re just trying to break even and then we have to charge a lot for the tickets.”
Pinky Swears
“We all have our backs. I feel safe. I feel like I can be myself. Everybody wants the other person to be better,” Malibú says. “It’s mutual. It’s a competitive sport, but we’re a team. It’s not like, I’m better than you.”
“I’ve been in a couple of leagues now, and no matter where you are, you can join this community of usually really cool, queer women and people and skaters, and suddenly there’s a hundred of them and you’re like, I need help moving, and ten people help you,” says Goddamn Goddamn. “You suddenly have this community of people who really care.”
Darth Yaider
“This year, one of our former teammates, Sexy Slaydie, died from cancer,” says Suzy Hotrod. “We’re gonna have her jersey retirement this season. That was kind of the first time our community ever came together on a tragic note, and it was a really joyful thing to connect to all of the people from all of the years. She was a really important player. When they had her celebration of life, all kinds of roller-derby people were there. She was celebrated all over the world.”
“We’re in a moment of people appreciating women’s sports where we could be on TV — I don’t understand why we wouldn’t be on TV,” says Goddamn Goddamn. “People are very interested in the sport. People want to watch, but the venue is not awesome. You can’t get concessions very easily. You can’t buy a beer — it’s either way too hot or way too cold. There’s not much sitting room. We’re just trying to break even and then we have to charge a lot for the tickets.”
Pinky Swears
“We all have our backs. I feel safe. I feel like I can be myself. Everybody wants the other person to be better,” Malibú says. “It’s mutual. It’s a competitive sport, but we’re a team. It’s not like, I’m better than you.”
“I’ve been in a couple of leagues now, and no matter where you are, you can join this community of usually really cool, queer women and people and skaters, and suddenly there’s a hundred of them and you’re like, I need help moving, and ten people help you,” says Goddamn Goddamn. “You suddenly have this community of people who really care.”
Darth Yaider
“This year, one of our former teammates, Sexy Slaydie, died from cancer,” says Suzy Hotrod. “We’re gonna have her jersey retirement this season. That was kind of the first time our community ever came together on a tragic note, and it was a really joyful thing to connect to all of the people from all of the years. She was a really important player. When they had her celebration of life, all kinds of roller-derby people were there. She was celebrated all over the world.”