Back in the game

When I was 15, I went to a party (for my Brazilian readers: uma festa junina) in a leisure centre in my hometown with some friends. I was wearing platform boots, which made me, a tall teenager, tower around nearing 1.90m in height.

As I walked by a stall, a man around his 40s or 50s – don’t expect too much accuracy from a 15 year old – frantically tried to get my attention. He shouted about me being there, about how tall I was, effusively asked about my height, if I played any sports. I froze, timidly answering his questions. My friends stood near, in silence. It was a very particular situation.

He may have noticed we weren’t very comfortable or talkative, so he introduced himself as the head coach of the volleyball team, and said they were looking for girls – tall girls – to join. That immediately changed the tone of the encounter, and I made all the excuses a 15 year old who is taught to stay humble and smile would: “but I’m wearing heels!”, “but I’m not good at sports!”, “but I don’t think my mom will let me!”. All were met with solutions – clearly, this was not his first time doing that. He got my house phone number to call my parents and explain everything, I would come in for a trial to see if there was potential, and they would teach me how to play.

“One of the girls I scouted when she was your age is now in the national team”, he said. I wasn’t particularly motivated by that, but my friends got ecstatic and immediately jumped in the conversation saying I would go to the Olympic games, I would become a millionaire.

Neither of those things happened (yet), but I ended up joining the volleyball team and most of my memories of the next year or so of my life are in and around a court.

From the first minute, I found volleyball extremely intimidating. I did not fit in; the team was tight and the girls were good, with years of experience. It was hard to make friends, or even acquaintances. No one was mean, but being the new kid with zero skills didn’t grant me any invites to join any cliques. I was mostly gravitating around the group all the time.

Over time, I managed to get integrated a bit more, with my very freshly acquired ball-hitting skills starting to be put into practice – literally. Although I had the same time on court as everyone else when training, whenever I joined a game, it was just for a few minutes. It never bothered me, though – I always knew I wasn’t good enough and, even though I did get better after a year of training five hours a day, Monday to Friday, I still wasn’t “get on court and save the day” material.

To be honest, I still don’t know why they asked me to stay. Maybe they needed the figures…

Remembering my time playing volleyball is bittersweet. I loved the sport; it made me feel strong and accomplished. It taught me about discipline, commitment and team work.

But it was also lonely, high pressure, I couldn’t follow many of the conversations with my team mates and was constantly on edge trying to find a gap that I could squeeze through. Towards the end of my volleyball career, I became closer to one of the veterans in the team because she found out that I listened to hard rock and that was all we talked about; I had to become a much bigger fan of Kiss than I actually was just to maintain that connection. Then, other two very tall girls joined and I was no longer the new (or the tallest) girl. We became very close, and I was very grateful for them.

I think that I loved volleyball because it represented what I wanted to be. And I hated it because it highlighted what I was. Everything that I believed about myself came true when I stepped on the court: I was not good enough, incompetent, untalented, unskilled, nobody liked me, my body moved weird, my body was too big, too tall, too clumsy.

I held on to the good bits and was buried under the weight of the bad ones. In the end, the good was buried too, and it just became a miserable experience that I didn’t know how to get out of. I felt like I needed a plausible reason, and “I don’t like it anymore” wasn’t it.

I didn’t quit until I reached the next year in school and convinced my parents I wanted to focus on studying. This wouldn’t be leaving because it was “too difficult”, but because I was seeking academic excellence. That was my ticket out.

This week, twenty years after I left a court for the last time, I made a joke about how playing volleyball had been very traumatising. But, when the words came out of my mouth, I realised that they were a good description of my experience.

I kept coming back because I loved the sport, but I didn’t have the means to understand why I was so scared and sad all the time when I had to go to training. I didn’t have the support to learn, at 15, how to deal with all the emotions that a high-pressure sports environment bring. I wanted to challenge myself and enjoy the process, but the bar was far too high and I couldn’t reach it – and there was no time to help me, individually, do that. I expected too much of myself and, when I failed, I cried alone on the sidelines – and was mocked by the coach. The locker room conversations between my team mates ranged from explicit sexual banter that made me uncomfortable to extreme dieting, which contributed to my body image issues and disordered eating.

The enjoyment of the sport was there, but there was a pile of bullshit to overcome before I reached it.

I believe that this experience deeply affected my relationship with sports in general. I only got back to regularly doing sports in my early 30s, when I started doing triathlon. I found an activity (well, three) that gave me a healthy challenge, a supportive community and just joy in doing it.

But, recently, I have been thinking about volleyball a lot. Digging through memories that were close to being lost forever allowed me to give names to emotions, process them, have the occasional cry, and let them go. And I have been feeling something I haven’t felt in 20 years: a desire to be on the court with team mates, jumping around and hitting balls.

I tried to join an adults recreational league a few months ago, but it was cancelled, and I asked them to let me know when there would be a new one. So, earlier this week I got an email saying a new team starts next Tuesday. But I didn’t sign up; in fact, I completely forgot about it until last night.

I dreamed I was back in the same court I used to train in, but as an adult, with people who I’d never met. It was our first time playing together and everybody was happy, it was a good time. I picked up a ball and laughed, saying I didn’t know how to serve – this is true, I never did; my balls always went straight to the net (you can say I scored many goals in volleyball). In the dream, I gave it a shot; another goal. We all laughed. Someone who was probably the coach began walking towards me with another ball and I said “maybe this time I’ll learn.”

I woke up and replied to the email: “Yes, I want to do it. Can you sign me up?”