Volleyball

Now on to a topic that is dear to my heart, volleyball. It wasn't always that way. There are some people who have such a natural athleticism, that no matter which sport they attempt, they have success. Not the case for me, although I do have certain physical traits that give me an advantage for many sports. My height, for instance, enables me to jump and reach higher than most other women. But there are sports for which height is an advantage that have never been my forte. Basketball is one such sport. I literally detest being bumped, scratched, and pushed, which are all to be expected if I play post (as a person of my size is expected to do). I also can't shoot a basket to save my life! Other sports like track and field and cheer leading came easily for me.

Volleyball was initially a sport I played because a friend convinced me to try out with her. I was quite terrible from the start. I sat the bench on my middle school and JV team, which takes a certain level of incompetence to achieve. I was so bad, I actually didn't try out or play my sophomore year, but was convinced to try again the following year (with the same friend). This time, things began to click for me. Perhaps I had grown into my height, or perhaps all the coaching had finally begun to sink in. Whatever the reason, although track was still by far my favorite, I began to see some success in volleyball, and was part of a very successful, county and sectional championship team in my senior year.

There were now several different colleges who approached me about playing volleyball and/or running track. I initially decided on Houghton College because it was small enough to allow me to do both sports. Making the transition from a high school team to college level volleyball was the hardest, most challenging thing I had ever done up to that point. The pre-season workouts were grueling, my new teammates were much stronger players than I was, and what was "good enough" in high school didn't even come close in college. I began to learn true self-discipline for the first time under the instruction of my coach, "Skip" Lord. We ran incessantly, lifted weights, and played whenever we weren't running or lifting. To my suprise, I made the travel team, and had a regular position, rotating in the right-front, or "weak side" for a teammate who was a senior defensive specialist.

Although not playing my favorite position, middle blocker, I began to learn and grow as a player with the incredible support and extra help I received from my amazing assistant coaches Judy Fox and Jody Hildreth. Judy would spend an extra hour after each practice with me, working on my approach to attack and my blocking. Jody introduced me to the joy of playing doubles for the first time, and after winning my first tournament, I was hooked. A stress fracture in late winter sidelined me from participating on the track and field team for college my freshman year. By the end of the year, I had decided that one college sport was more than enough to keep up with, and my heart belonged to the hard court, not the field.

The following year, I earned the middle blocker position and the rest is history except to say that there is something about the game that simply fulfills me. The rhythm and feel of the ball, the quick and regular movement on the court from defense to offense, serve receive to serve, and passer to setter to hitter is something that I cannot accurately describe. Even thinking about the game puts me in a bit of a trance. I have been blessed to have so many wonderful coaches and opportunities to grow as a player and coach over the years, for which I am forever grateful. There is nothing I love so much as the time I spend showing young players why I love the game. If anyone had ever been dragged kicking and screaming to an activity, it was me, and now there is nothing I enjoy more.

My first Blog/ About me

An old college buddy encouraged me to start this blog. Seeing her entries and online insights was the inspiration for what follows. All inaccuracies, inefficiencies, and inexplicable references are to be directly attributed to her overconfidence in a fellow procrastinator and professional slacker. Here goes.

The challenge of a blank page. Let's start off with the fact that I've never particularly felt I had anything valuable to say. When given completely open parameters, I stumble along blindly looking for some sort of guidelines. I am paralyzed by the sheer vastness of possibility. Which leads me to another inherent self-truth: I like structure. In its absence, what little creativity resides in my mind is stifled. Within a structure, my mind loves plotting and planning, sorting and organizing, and even surprising those who think they may know what I will say or do. Generally speaking, I believe I am much better at editing and revising others' original thoughts than I am at writing my own.

Beyond those aforementioned disclaimers, it is imperative that I mention I love coffee. Coffee doesn't always love me. In fact, it leaves me with blinding headaches if I allow myself to consume as much as my palate desires. Despite this risk, the wonderful, rich, brown, creamy, sweet liquid has such a pleasant effect on my overall sense of well-being. I feel loved when I have a cup of coffee in my hand. It is a strange sort of self-love. My husband cannot stand the taste or even the smell of coffee. For this reason, I usually drink my coffee in solitude, and in a house with two children, solitude is seldom over-rated.

I love my two daughters. Blond and sunny, smart and lively, ever-changing and developing before my eyes, they have my heart. They were once a part of me, are still like me, and yet grow more and more independent of me each day. It is a challenging and consuming passion to know and parent them well. Katie is trying on identities like fashions, eager, yet tentative about about what it means to be in middle school for the first time next year. She is lovely and sensitive, intelligent and athletic, artistic, silly and insecure. Beth is raging at the incomprehensible joke God has played by making her the younger sister. Adventurous, daring, competitive, and sparkling, she is pretty and insightful, quick to understand, and quicker to judge. What amazing people they are, and how fascinating to play a role in their lives.

Then there's my dog Sam, the border collie/spaniel with the heart of a chicken and the innate desire to round up anything and anyone near him. He has an uncanny ability to sense the exact place I am heading and cut me off, turning me toward some unseen destination only he knows. Perhaps in his muddled doggie mind, I am the proverbial black sheep that must be separated from the herd. Whatever his purpose, he is frighteningly good at achieving it. When the girls were younger, he would run circles around them, barking and nipping until they cooperated and remained in the middle of the yard. Just one heading for the edge would send him around the outside, playfully, yet earnestly urging her back to the "pen." Now that he's older, with white hairs creeping into the once all-black mask around his eyes, Sam mostly sleeps where I must trip over him. Although he rarely runs any more, when ambling or occasionally moseying, he still prefers to place himself in the direct path of an oncoming person and then nudge him to one side or the other. He is my maddening joy.

I was going to write about my marriage, but I think that's another blog all by itself. I was going to write about teaching and coaching, but I need more time to properly sort through those things too. Then there's the guilt which seems to be the underlying motivator for nearly everything I do. Clearly, for me, counselling is in order, but not necessarily another paragraph. No, today, I will end with the satisfying feeling of having more to say, but knowing that what has been said will suffice. For now.