Princess of the Beach

I woke up this morning with shredded abs.  What?!  I finally got my stubborn handles of love to disappear?  Nope.  My abs are literally shredded, along with every major muscle, tendon, and ligament in my body right now.  All because I decided to play six games of beach volleyball on Saturday after not having touched a volleyball since the late '90s. 

My friend was going to go play with a bunch of guys who have faithfully emptied their coolers at the same net for the past twenty years or something.  I told myself I'd just watch.  That lasted for a game.  Some of the guys were too hungover to play, so they needed a fourth.  Of course I had to brag that I played Jr. Olympics, with the caveat that it was many, many years ago.  So I tried to look somewhat athletic as I jogged onto the court.  I knew it would be very embarrassing--it's not like you can just make your body remember how to play like it used to.  I had to serve underhand.  It didn't even make it to the net.  Every guy served  to me, and I promptly shanked each ball.  I was nervous and my mouth was so dry I couldn't talk.  My friend stopped making eye contact with me. 

There was a guy on the other team who immediately set off my asshole radar.  He started messing with me right away.  I whiffed one of his serves and everyone was laughing at me.  Pissed, I finally started returning his serves, but he kept serving to me.  I started remembering why I no longer play sports like this.  He totally got in my head and I started beating myself up over how I was playing.  (I've spent the last eight years surfing and avoiding anything competitive because of a an ahole father couple of coaches who enjoyed sucking the fun out of sports for a majority of their players. Being a teenager is hard enough without watching your friends scratch their arms up or cry on a daily basis because of some overly-critical jerk.)  Anynotscarred, a lot of passing is just absorbing speed and taking the spin off the ball, so that the setter has an easier time controlling where they put the ball.  I start doing all sorts of weird things to try to absorb the force of a hard serve, like kicking up my back leg after I pass the ball, so I looked like a fancy, prancing pony with epilepsy.  I can't stop this, either.  After eleven years, this is what my muscle memory recalls??

Luckily, the game ended (we definitely lost on account of me) and asshole left.  The guys ran behind the bushes to pound cans of beer (beach drinking is now illegal in CA and it's taking some time for people to adjust), and I grabbed some balls to work on my overhand serve.  One of the older guys was a junior high coach and he was nice enough to sort of take me under his wing and give me a little pep talk.  Second game started and my serve was on--albeit briefly--but long enough to establish some credibility.  I further upped my value when I started hand setting.  (I'd always had really good hands in volleyball, but indoor is so regimented, and everyone is so specialized, that I was never allowed to set the ball.  Beach is so fun because you get to do everything,)  Had a partial block (there is no better feeling than totally stuffing a guy--it's so demoralizing for them), but only because the net was so low. 

Got some really nice sets and totally flailed and missed the ball.  Served under the net.  Dove waaay too much just so no one could say I lacked hustle. (Hence the shredded abs--I am not used leaping in the air and landing on my stomach.)  Finally started connecting and had some decent spikes, which felt good.  Not as good as going up against two blockers and just crushing it right infront of the ten foot line.  Still, it felt good to feel that again.  Sure, nothing in volleyball comes close to surfing, but as I sat in the water yesterday, trying not to freeze in the ten minutes between closeouts, I resented that a lot of surfing is sitting around.  And now I'll have to work my way up in a new CA lineup, which means less waves.  Granted, in FL it's ten days between sets, but at least when there are waves it's perpetual motion, as you're always dealing with the current, or a bunch of paddle jockeys, so you can't sit and contemplate the pluses and minuses of volleyball and surfing.  I am rambling.

Had a date last night with a pretty serious vball player.  He said that the court I played on was super hard, which was why it was surprisingly easy to get my sand legs and jump.  He said that the courts near me are never co-ed during the weekend.  He said he only got invited into games after he won a few big tournaments.  Hmmmm.  Another lineup to infiltrate.  We'll see how this turns out, but I think I'm going to start playing vball again.  At least the other guys got so sloshed they invited me back any time I wanted to play. 

On the way home my friend started acting like he knew me again.  Turns out he had been the pitcher on his high school team, but began to hate playing when his dad became the coach.  He started playing volleyball as an adult, probably because it's easier to start something new and not have really high expectations, than it is to give up sports altogether.  I think we're both struggling to find a healthy balance of competition and fun.  Too bad we have to come to terms with this as weekend warriors with adult egos.  Maybe I will turn all of this self-reflective crap into some I'm-a-recovering-high-school-athlete book. 

Sun's out.  Going for a surf.