Took the beagle out after practice and he chose his extremely ambitious route of two mailboxes and a patch of weeds. Honestly perfect. My legs were still buzzing from skating, so standing there while he investigated one leaf felt weird at first, like I was supposed to keep moving or something bad would happen. Then I could feel the cool air through my damp shirt and how hungry I was. I ate toast leaning on the counter when we got back, skates still in my hand because apparently putting them down was a separate task. Hip bruise is going yellow. Not impressive anymore, just looks like I lost a fight with a banana.

One of the new groomers asked how I know when a nervous dog is about to stop tolerating me. I started saying you just know, which was absolutely no help to anybody. Been thinking about it on the drive home: sometimes the dog goes very still before anything obvious happens, sometimes its mouth changes, and sometimes I have simply been pushing too long because I'm behind schedule. I can show her those things next time instead of acting like I have a magic dog antenna. Funny that I can explain a whole derby jam with salt shakers on the dinner table but struggle to describe something my hands do all day.

My boyfriend asked if I wanted him to come to my next bout, and I did the whole casual sure-if-you-want thing even though I had already checked whether tickets were still available. He doesn't know all the rules yet, which is fine, Mom still cheers when I get sent off. It's the idea of looking into the crowd and seeing somebody who specifically came for me that makes me stupidly happy and also a little suspicious. Eight months and I still catch myself waiting for the nice part to run out. Haven't said that to him. Told the dog, who immediately found something more interesting in the gutter.