Portia Louder's Blog
October 24, 2021
The Battle of Life
Prison is a competitive place. It doesn’t matter whether it’s playing cards, doing artwork, or competing in softball, basketball, or a dance battle; people in prison know how to compete.
Every year at the Waseca prison, we had a competition called “The Battle of the Units.” It was a big deal! There were five housing units, and each unit put teams together to compete in multiple events over a four-week time frame. The points were added up at the end of the competition, and the unit with the most points got to watch a movie in the auditorium. Each person in the unit got her own box of candy.
I happen to be really good with a hula hoop; it’s a weird skill to have. I guess growing up in the country does have its advantages. We spent hours making huts, jumping on a trampoline, walking on stilts, and my personal favorite, hula hooping. I agreed to represent RDAP (E unit) in the hula hoop competition. I still don’t know why I did that! I had been in prison long enough to know what I would be up against. I guess I wanted to make our unit proud.
I realized as soon as the games began that I was in over my head. My hula hoop skills are good, but I was forty-six years old, and there were a lot of younger girls in prison who were great athletes.
I went to the battle of the units events every weekend to support our teams, and I could see that I might encounter some poor sportsmanship during the competition. As the weekend that I was scheduled to compete approached, I got nervous and asked the person in charge if she would find someone to take my place.
“Nope, we want you,” she said. “We’ve heard you’re a great hula hooper.” I decided to take it a step further, and the morning of the competition I went to the gym and asked the DJ/Diva in charge of the games to take me off the list. She just smiled and said, “No way.”
“I’m scared,” I told her.
“I know you are, but you’ll be all right.”
Each unit had four contestants for the hula hoop event. When we got to the gym, my teammates and I were intimidated! The other sixteen women we were competing against looked really good! I knew one of the women from Dublin; her name was Kya, and she was a phenomenal dancer.
I told my team I would be right back.
I walked around the track and said a prayer: “Heavenly Father, I don’t care if I win the competition, but people I love are counting on me. Please help me to do my best.”
Then I recited our RDAP creed; we said it together as a group every morning, and I thought it would help me get in the zone:
“Each day is a new beginning, and today we commit as a community of individuals to our recovery. We have chosen to be here today to honestly examine ourselves, gain a new perspective of our lives, and dedicate ourselves to develop new ways of living.
As women working together in recovery, we recognize we are responsible for one another. We are willing to learn from each other, respect one another, and support and uplift one another with positive thoughts and attitudes. We are worthy of a new life, and together we can learn to make meaningful changes in our lives. We will be patient and strong in our struggles and strive to never give up, taking it one day at a time to build a better future.”
When I got inside the gym, my teammates looked worried. We were going to be competing in heats. I was the best hula hooper in our group, so I agreed to go last. I should mention that we weren’t competing with regular-sized hula hoops; the hula hoops we were using were small and difficult to keep up. Most of the women on the compound couldn’t hula hoop with them at all.
When it was time to go out, my first teammate said, “Ms. Louder, I’m scared but I’m going for it anyway!” She lasted about ten seconds.
My next teammate said, “If I keep my eyes on my own hula hoop, and I don’t look at other people, I think I might do okay.” She lasted about forty-five seconds.
My last teammate said, “Will you please pray with me, Ms. Louder? I’m scared.” We said a prayer, and she lasted about twenty seconds.
When it was my turn, I was scared, but I went out anyway; I looked at my own hula hoop and didn’t pay attention to what anyone else was doing, and I said a prayer. I made it through all of the heats, and after ten minutes, there were only three of us left. The other two girls I was up against were both professional dancers, and the three of us lasted about five minutes; then one of the girls dropped her hula hoop, and the crowd went wild!
I could hear my unit screaming, “You got this, Ms. Louder, you got this!” I was competing against Kya, the woman I knew from Dublin; she was twenty-six years old, and a great athlete! I made it thirty minutes on the floor with Kya. Her friends were screaming, “Are you really going to let this old lady beat you?!” Someone even offered her fifty bucks worth of commissary if she could take me out. Just so you know, thirty minutes is a long time to hula hoop!
The gym was packed, and I was in the zone. They finally called a tie-breaker and told us to walk across the gym with our hula hoops without stopping. I dropped my hula hoop first, but I still got mad respect for my performance.
The next day I got extra servings of food in the chow hall, and for weeks after the competition, my performance was the talk of the compound. The Hispanic women were especially proud of me. Every time I went to rec, someone asked me if I was a professional hula hooper. I told them, “Nope, I’m just a lady who never gives up.” I didn’t mention that I was sore for a week after the event.
I thought a lot about what happened during that competition, and I have decided that it was pretty much a miracle. It still amazes me that I was able to stay calm and hold my own under such pressure. In the end, my unit didn’t win the “Battle of the Units,” but we were working hard to change our lives, and I decided we were winning the battle of life.
Through all the events, I noticed the kindness, good sportsmanship, and unity that the RDAP teams displayed. We were learning to take responsibility for our mistakes and lift each other up without judgment. Most importantly, we were learning that we can’t do it alone, and we found out that we don’t have to.
Every year at the Waseca prison, we had a competition called “The Battle of the Units.” It was a big deal! There were five housing units, and each unit put teams together to compete in multiple events over a four-week time frame. The points were added up at the end of the competition, and the unit with the most points got to watch a movie in the auditorium. Each person in the unit got her own box of candy.
I happen to be really good with a hula hoop; it’s a weird skill to have. I guess growing up in the country does have its advantages. We spent hours making huts, jumping on a trampoline, walking on stilts, and my personal favorite, hula hooping. I agreed to represent RDAP (E unit) in the hula hoop competition. I still don’t know why I did that! I had been in prison long enough to know what I would be up against. I guess I wanted to make our unit proud.
I realized as soon as the games began that I was in over my head. My hula hoop skills are good, but I was forty-six years old, and there were a lot of younger girls in prison who were great athletes.
I went to the battle of the units events every weekend to support our teams, and I could see that I might encounter some poor sportsmanship during the competition. As the weekend that I was scheduled to compete approached, I got nervous and asked the person in charge if she would find someone to take my place.
“Nope, we want you,” she said. “We’ve heard you’re a great hula hooper.” I decided to take it a step further, and the morning of the competition I went to the gym and asked the DJ/Diva in charge of the games to take me off the list. She just smiled and said, “No way.”
“I’m scared,” I told her.
“I know you are, but you’ll be all right.”
Each unit had four contestants for the hula hoop event. When we got to the gym, my teammates and I were intimidated! The other sixteen women we were competing against looked really good! I knew one of the women from Dublin; her name was Kya, and she was a phenomenal dancer.
I told my team I would be right back.
I walked around the track and said a prayer: “Heavenly Father, I don’t care if I win the competition, but people I love are counting on me. Please help me to do my best.”
Then I recited our RDAP creed; we said it together as a group every morning, and I thought it would help me get in the zone:
“Each day is a new beginning, and today we commit as a community of individuals to our recovery. We have chosen to be here today to honestly examine ourselves, gain a new perspective of our lives, and dedicate ourselves to develop new ways of living.
As women working together in recovery, we recognize we are responsible for one another. We are willing to learn from each other, respect one another, and support and uplift one another with positive thoughts and attitudes. We are worthy of a new life, and together we can learn to make meaningful changes in our lives. We will be patient and strong in our struggles and strive to never give up, taking it one day at a time to build a better future.”
When I got inside the gym, my teammates looked worried. We were going to be competing in heats. I was the best hula hooper in our group, so I agreed to go last. I should mention that we weren’t competing with regular-sized hula hoops; the hula hoops we were using were small and difficult to keep up. Most of the women on the compound couldn’t hula hoop with them at all.
When it was time to go out, my first teammate said, “Ms. Louder, I’m scared but I’m going for it anyway!” She lasted about ten seconds.
My next teammate said, “If I keep my eyes on my own hula hoop, and I don’t look at other people, I think I might do okay.” She lasted about forty-five seconds.
My last teammate said, “Will you please pray with me, Ms. Louder? I’m scared.” We said a prayer, and she lasted about twenty seconds.
When it was my turn, I was scared, but I went out anyway; I looked at my own hula hoop and didn’t pay attention to what anyone else was doing, and I said a prayer. I made it through all of the heats, and after ten minutes, there were only three of us left. The other two girls I was up against were both professional dancers, and the three of us lasted about five minutes; then one of the girls dropped her hula hoop, and the crowd went wild!
I could hear my unit screaming, “You got this, Ms. Louder, you got this!” I was competing against Kya, the woman I knew from Dublin; she was twenty-six years old, and a great athlete! I made it thirty minutes on the floor with Kya. Her friends were screaming, “Are you really going to let this old lady beat you?!” Someone even offered her fifty bucks worth of commissary if she could take me out. Just so you know, thirty minutes is a long time to hula hoop!
The gym was packed, and I was in the zone. They finally called a tie-breaker and told us to walk across the gym with our hula hoops without stopping. I dropped my hula hoop first, but I still got mad respect for my performance.
The next day I got extra servings of food in the chow hall, and for weeks after the competition, my performance was the talk of the compound. The Hispanic women were especially proud of me. Every time I went to rec, someone asked me if I was a professional hula hooper. I told them, “Nope, I’m just a lady who never gives up.” I didn’t mention that I was sore for a week after the event.
I thought a lot about what happened during that competition, and I have decided that it was pretty much a miracle. It still amazes me that I was able to stay calm and hold my own under such pressure. In the end, my unit didn’t win the “Battle of the Units,” but we were working hard to change our lives, and I decided we were winning the battle of life.
Through all the events, I noticed the kindness, good sportsmanship, and unity that the RDAP teams displayed. We were learning to take responsibility for our mistakes and lift each other up without judgment. Most importantly, we were learning that we can’t do it alone, and we found out that we don’t have to.
