Last night was a collection of good and bad. I joined the yellow stripes in their test, since I was the only blue stripe, and I took turns with them and did different skills. I passed on the tomahawk stops and jumping. I felt like I did badly on the hitting, but I didn't get a chance to ask Mars, who was administering the test, whether or not I passed before we did laps. All the yellow stripes did their 5-in-1s, and my turn came up faster than I expected. I guess I stopped counting the turns at some point.

I've heard coaches say that they'd rather have a player with heart than a player with skill, since skill can be learned. Since I can pick up most skills in a relatively short amount of time, I've always wondered which side of that saying I'd be on. After last night, I know the answer.

The Bunker where we practice is cold, dry, and dusty, and I have asthma. The first 5 laps were easy. I heard Mars yell, "Five in 50! Good!" At ten, my body was angry with me. By the high teens, I was starting to think I might actually expire right there on the track, still skating, and I couldn't imagine a way that I was going to make it to 25. I could barely translate the numbers that Jake was yelling at me. Crossing the line to end lap 25, I collapsed on the floor and skidded into the wall. My vision was blurred and I didn't even realize Mars had told me my time until I heard Craig say something like, "Awesome!"

"Huh?" I rolled over.

"Four thirty-four."

"Oh. Cool." It took me a long time to get up and stumble to the end of the track to find my water bottle and bandanna. My lungs were on fire with a pain I can't even describe. I've never run myself so flat-out before, or had an asthma attack as severe as the one I had for the next three hours.

But the test wasn't over - I still had to do fall recovery and whips. I pushed through it, taking frequent breaks for air, and passed both. Finally, Mars pulled me aside and said he had good news and bad news.

The bad news: I failed hitting. I was disappointed but not surprised. The good news: I passed everything else. More bad news: he was going to give me another chance to pass hitting.

"Why's that bad news?" I panted, ecstatic to get another chance.

"Because I'm making you work more."

"That's okay! I'm okay!" Some part of me would clearly have rather died trying than failed. I tried again, and failed again. The good news is, they don't retest anything that someone has already passed, so all I have to do next month is hitting.