Tonight I played my first ever adult vball reverse coed game :). It was wicked fun. I was a little nervous and scared going into it…One of the guys on my team is like 6 foot twenty. A huge man. And I was a little worried everyone else would be very big and I would take a spike to the face and go to school tomorrow with a bloody, broken nose. So when I saw the team we were playing, ages ranging from oh, 45 to 65, I breathed a little sigh of relief. I was actually concerned for them. “Aww…I hope we don’t embarass them in front of their grandkids.” I literally had that thought. And thought we should probably go easy on them.
But then the whistle blew, the game began, and then these grandpas TOTALLY schooled us. Both games. Margins of like 8-10 points.
It was unbelievable. They could hit, they were totally scrappy on the court, they had great communications, and I swear I have never SEEN such a wicked underhand serve.
Despite the hollow shells of formerly allstar athletic people we felt like after losing, it was so fun to play. I realize how much I miss that team feeling, yelling “SIDEOUT” right when someone else is about to serve, giving lots of high-fives, and how sweet it feels to dig something or pound the ball at someone. And I forgot how good it feels to sweat and feel your muscles work and hit the ground and get back up to dust yourself off. And the burn when you take a serve right to the boobs and you have to turn away for a second and try not to swear. Classic.
Playing sports is also a good way to remind yourself how old you are.
When I was in high school and playing club volleyball and doing track and bball and drama and leadership and all those things…I could go from school to practice to rehearsal, come home and eat dinner, do homework and eat a second dinner, and then sneak phone calls until three in the morning, get up at 7am and do it all over again, then go out all weekend. There was so crying in baseball, there was no time to sleep, there were best friends and boyfriends and rallies and tournaments. It was amazing. I was never tired, I was always hungry, I was never home, I ROCKED spandex bootie shorts every day, I was always having fun, and I was so fit (even though of course we all think we’re fat in high school) and the only reason I ever “got hurt” was when I wanted to go see the athletic trainer I had a totally inappropriate older man crush on and wanted my ankle iced and wrapped. (Any of my CP girls remember that guy? Mark or something? I LOVED him.)
Now, just a few short years later, at a mere 26 years of age, I’m playing volleyball for 90 minutes and can’t wait to get home to my foam roller, Bengay, ibuprophen and a steaming hot bubble bath. Maybe do some yoga stretches on the Wii fit. I can already feel the soreness settling in. Yikes. And that was after playing people who looked like it was way past their bedtime at Rossmoor.
It gave me hope that I could still be on a team of some sort when I’m older…I’ve been thinking more along the lines of bocce ball/wine clubs at Rogers Smith and Newhall, but after tonight, I might try to aim a little higher when I turn old and grey.
Never going to sell out to the underhand serve though. :)