Picture a dark, winter night in Fairbanks. The thermometer is stuck below minus-30. Most of the bars are quiet. It’s too cold to be outside, and if you’re looking for nightlife? Good luck.
That is, unless you know where to find the wrestling ring. There, under bright, multicolored lights, a crowd of fans cheers for the Fairbanks Ladies of Wrestling, or FLOW.
In a ring set up on a university basketball court, about a dozen costumed performers trade blows for hours, in one-one-one showdowns that can erupt into chaotic group brawls. Sometimes, the fights pantomime parts of life that locals know all too well.
In February, a wrestler named Sun Riot — incandescent with LED lights sewn into her cape — took her revenge on Jackie Frost. Frost was decked out in white fur and blue paint, a villainous stand-in for the burst pipes, dead cars and seasonal depression wrought by this year’s historic winter temperatures.
“Do you remember when it was too cold for the city to plow the snow?” Frost asked the audience. “To take out the trash?”
Boos rained down.
After a long duel, Sun Riot pummeled Old Lady Winter into the mat, then leapt off the ropes to finish her off.
Making the mayhem happen
FLOW got its start in 2016, with just four wrestlers and an announcer. Over time, it’s tripled in size and became a nonprofit.
It’s a lot of work to train for and organize the matches, and FLOW has been doing it for the better part of a decade. But organizers said the shows have only grown more complex over the years, and that the crowd’s energy is feeding their momentum. They took a break over the summer, but there might be more anniversary shows ahead.
And after all this time, they say they feel like they’re hitting their stride.
“I don’t know if I’m white-knuckling it anymore,” said Mary Lou Fagan, a FLOW organizer and foundational member.
In the ring, she’s known as Thunder Thighs. But in the real world, she’s a dispatcher for a federal wildfire management agency. She said there’s a lot of carryover.
“At work, I won an award that says ‘logistical legend,’ and I put it in my notebook for this show,” she said. “And sometimes I see it and I’m like, ‘Oh yes, I can do this. I’m a logistical legend.'”
In May, she helped organize and produce a show — all while preparing to get thrashed around in the ring.
It’s a lot, she said.
“I know I’m gonna be tired tomorrow,” she said. “But I think it’s gonna be more similar to how people say you feel after a big wedding.”
As Fairbanks as it gets
That work has earned FLOW the admiration and support of the local community. Fagan said her colleagues in fire — especially smokejumpers — are some of the team’s most dedicated fans. The group also enjoys a ton of support from the local military community and UAF students.
Lainey Gallenberg has been to almost every one of their shows. One of her favorite FLOW wrestlers is Chokecherry, whose bit is inspired by an invasive tree that has spread across Alaska.
“It’s a beautiful blend of performance, artistry, and athleticism,” Gallenberg said. “And you get to scream a lot.”
Cora DeLaca, whose stage name is Ovary-Action, said that artistry is key. Onstage, she wears a crop top with a pair of ovaries embroidered on the back. She said she was looking for a wrestling persona she connected with.
“We were messing around with names, and we came up with Ovary-Action,” she said. “I really feel like it fits me as a person.”
DeLaca said FLOW pours a ton of blood, sweat and thought into each match. And while the moves and storylines are scripted, she said the connection between the wrestlers is entirely real.
“You build a lot of support and trust in picking each other up and throwing each other around,” DeLaca said. “Practice is a lot of just laughing and having fun with our friends.”
Organizers are tentatively planning another match for the fall. And if the reactions to the latest anniversary shows are any indication, Fairbanks will be ready when the bell rings again.
