LAWTON, Okla. — By day, Erika Durochia is a soft-spoken stay-at-home mom and wife to a soldier stationed at Oklahoma’s Fort Sill.
But by night, she is Cyanide Couture, a tattooed, lip-pierced member of the 580 RollerGirls roller derby team.
Durochia is part of a growing number of military wives eager to escape the stress of having spouses deployed in Iraq or Afghanistan or waiting for them go overseas. They’re also looking to create an identity — even if only temporary — outside of a life shaped by the armed forces.
“Roller derby is where I just become someone else,” Durochia, 24, told The Daily. “I get to let everything out.”
Durochia’s home crew, Fort Sill’s 580 RollerGirls, is one of 12 teams, including Fort Drum’s Black River Rollers and the Sushi Rollers from Yokosuka Naval Base in Japan, created by those living at military hubs.
At least another 50 teams have a roster including several military wives, some driving two hours to attend biweekly practices.
Elaborate costumes, garish makeup and outlandish names help these women create fierce, liberated personas when they strap on their skates.
One recent match, at a ramshackle roller rink along a stretch of highway dotted with used-car dealerships and fast-food outlets, saw the RollerGirls take on the Oklahoma City Victory Dolls before 250 local fans. In short shorts, colorful kneesocks and jerseys emblazoned with their derby monikers, the 580 RollerGirls skated and jostled to the tunes of Britney Spears, M.I.A. and Lady Gaga while making liberal use of elbows and hips to fend off more off more seasoned opponents.
Crammed into a locker room at halftime, costumes askance and makeup melting under layers of sweat, the women swore, spat and trash talked a referee whom many blamed for their loss.
“Shut up, shut up! Team captain speaking!” hollered Jessica Sites, a former Army mechanic known as Demon Llama, who completes her look with red and white contact lenses and face paint. “Forget the ref. At the end of the day, win or lose, we’re not playing for anybody but ourselves,” she said. “And don’t ya’ll forget it.”
One hour later, after being trounced by their opponents, the 580 RollerGirls exchanged sweaty hugs and took swigs of Gatorade as they packed up their gear, collected their kids and headed back to base.
They didn’t win the bout, but a few hours worrying about something a little lighter than war was all they needed.
“You clear your head and zero in on the game,” Sites said. “You’re knocking people around as best you can. You fall down hard and you just gotta get back up,” she said. “Its an adrenaline rush.”
The 580 RollerGirls came on the scene a year ago when team founder Michelle Curry — Canadian Bacon to her teammates — decided that roller derby would be the perfect way for her to unwind from life as wife of an Army corporal.
“I didn’t know many people, or really feel like I belonged here,” Curry said of the daily routine in Lawton. “Spending a lot of time at home ... I felt like I was losing myself.”
When she launched the RollerGirls, Curry, 33, regained her sense of self and found an extended family of women who could relate to the unique challenges of life in a sleepy city of 97,000, where nearly everyone is involved in the armed forces.
“We connect on every level,” Curry said of her teammates, most of whom juggle motherhood with 10 hours a week of practice and games. “There’s a camaraderie here you won’t find anywhere else.”
Within the military’s official family programs — book clubs, spouse luncheons and the like — many of the 580 RollerGirls did not find kinship.
Brenda Spencer-Ragland, director of Fort Sill’s family morale, welfare and recreation department, acknowledged that today’s military spouses have different expectations for life outside the home.
“I remind my staff all the time: This is not your daddy’s Army anymore,” she said of efforts to appeal to a younger generation of spouses. “These ladies are aggressive and have a go-get-’em attitude ... and I’m all for it.”
Indeed, the women of the 580 RollerGirls have already rallied together: When one teammate suffered injuries after a match, teammates brought food and took turns baby-sitting her kids. When Curry gave birth earlier this year, a teammate cared for her 2-year-old while she was in labor.
The team meets twice a week at a nearby arena, where the players spend two to three hours doing drills, strength training and scrimmaging. So far, the team has competed in nine matches — amounting to eight losses and one win — against teams based in Oklahoma and neighboring states.
A July game was Sites’ final with the 580 RollerGirls: Her husband, Jason, an Army sergeant, has been reassigned to Mississippi’s Camp Shelby.
But Sites, whose latest tattoo is a self-inspired derby girl that runs the length of her thigh, isn’t giving up the game. Thanks to a rapidly growing Facebook page launched this spring by Durochia, Military Roller Derby Wives, she’s already connected with another derby team near the new base.
“Military families are moving around all the time, and I wanted women to find a team wherever they went,” Durochia said of her online venture, which lists two dozen teams and counts more than 440 fans. She will launch as a stand-alone website next month. “It’s one big, extended derby family.”
That spirit extends beyond the team: Husbands home from deployment come to practices and don 580 RollerGirl T-shirts to root for the team at games.
“I’m 100 percent supportive, all the way,” said Curry’s husband, Jimi, of his wife. “I know it was hard for her to find friends here, and now she’s got this whole team behind her. She’s just happier.”
In Lawton, residents have embraced roller derby with rabid enthusiasm: The team’s first game attracted a sold-out crowd of 2,500, and Spencer-Ragland hears chatter about the 580 RollerGirls everywhere she goes.
“You hear about it from spouses, kids, at the hair salon ... at the J.C. Penney,” she said. “These ladies are a hit.”
But by night, she is Cyanide Couture, a tattooed, lip-pierced member of the 580 RollerGirls roller derby team.
Durochia is part of a growing number of military wives eager to escape the stress of having spouses deployed in Iraq or Afghanistan or waiting for them go overseas. They’re also looking to create an identity — even if only temporary — outside of a life shaped by the armed forces.
“Roller derby is where I just become someone else,” Durochia, 24, told The Daily. “I get to let everything out.”
Durochia’s home crew, Fort Sill’s 580 RollerGirls, is one of 12 teams, including Fort Drum’s Black River Rollers and the Sushi Rollers from Yokosuka Naval Base in Japan, created by those living at military hubs.
At least another 50 teams have a roster including several military wives, some driving two hours to attend biweekly practices.
Elaborate costumes, garish makeup and outlandish names help these women create fierce, liberated personas when they strap on their skates.
One recent match, at a ramshackle roller rink along a stretch of highway dotted with used-car dealerships and fast-food outlets, saw the RollerGirls take on the Oklahoma City Victory Dolls before 250 local fans. In short shorts, colorful kneesocks and jerseys emblazoned with their derby monikers, the 580 RollerGirls skated and jostled to the tunes of Britney Spears, M.I.A. and Lady Gaga while making liberal use of elbows and hips to fend off more off more seasoned opponents.
Crammed into a locker room at halftime, costumes askance and makeup melting under layers of sweat, the women swore, spat and trash talked a referee whom many blamed for their loss.
“Shut up, shut up! Team captain speaking!” hollered Jessica Sites, a former Army mechanic known as Demon Llama, who completes her look with red and white contact lenses and face paint. “Forget the ref. At the end of the day, win or lose, we’re not playing for anybody but ourselves,” she said. “And don’t ya’ll forget it.”
One hour later, after being trounced by their opponents, the 580 RollerGirls exchanged sweaty hugs and took swigs of Gatorade as they packed up their gear, collected their kids and headed back to base.
They didn’t win the bout, but a few hours worrying about something a little lighter than war was all they needed.
“You clear your head and zero in on the game,” Sites said. “You’re knocking people around as best you can. You fall down hard and you just gotta get back up,” she said. “Its an adrenaline rush.”
The 580 RollerGirls came on the scene a year ago when team founder Michelle Curry — Canadian Bacon to her teammates — decided that roller derby would be the perfect way for her to unwind from life as wife of an Army corporal.
“I didn’t know many people, or really feel like I belonged here,” Curry said of the daily routine in Lawton. “Spending a lot of time at home ... I felt like I was losing myself.”
When she launched the RollerGirls, Curry, 33, regained her sense of self and found an extended family of women who could relate to the unique challenges of life in a sleepy city of 97,000, where nearly everyone is involved in the armed forces.
“We connect on every level,” Curry said of her teammates, most of whom juggle motherhood with 10 hours a week of practice and games. “There’s a camaraderie here you won’t find anywhere else.”
Within the military’s official family programs — book clubs, spouse luncheons and the like — many of the 580 RollerGirls did not find kinship.
Brenda Spencer-Ragland, director of Fort Sill’s family morale, welfare and recreation department, acknowledged that today’s military spouses have different expectations for life outside the home.
“I remind my staff all the time: This is not your daddy’s Army anymore,” she said of efforts to appeal to a younger generation of spouses. “These ladies are aggressive and have a go-get-’em attitude ... and I’m all for it.”
Indeed, the women of the 580 RollerGirls have already rallied together: When one teammate suffered injuries after a match, teammates brought food and took turns baby-sitting her kids. When Curry gave birth earlier this year, a teammate cared for her 2-year-old while she was in labor.
The team meets twice a week at a nearby arena, where the players spend two to three hours doing drills, strength training and scrimmaging. So far, the team has competed in nine matches — amounting to eight losses and one win — against teams based in Oklahoma and neighboring states.
A July game was Sites’ final with the 580 RollerGirls: Her husband, Jason, an Army sergeant, has been reassigned to Mississippi’s Camp Shelby.
But Sites, whose latest tattoo is a self-inspired derby girl that runs the length of her thigh, isn’t giving up the game. Thanks to a rapidly growing Facebook page launched this spring by Durochia, Military Roller Derby Wives, she’s already connected with another derby team near the new base.
“Military families are moving around all the time, and I wanted women to find a team wherever they went,” Durochia said of her online venture, which lists two dozen teams and counts more than 440 fans. She will launch as a stand-alone website next month. “It’s one big, extended derby family.”
That spirit extends beyond the team: Husbands home from deployment come to practices and don 580 RollerGirl T-shirts to root for the team at games.
“I’m 100 percent supportive, all the way,” said Curry’s husband, Jimi, of his wife. “I know it was hard for her to find friends here, and now she’s got this whole team behind her. She’s just happier.”
In Lawton, residents have embraced roller derby with rabid enthusiasm: The team’s first game attracted a sold-out crowd of 2,500, and Spencer-Ragland hears chatter about the 580 RollerGirls everywhere she goes.
“You hear about it from spouses, kids, at the hair salon ... at the J.C. Penney,” she said. “These ladies are a hit.”
