Imagine walking into a large gym filled with thirty other girls, each one hoping they have the talent to beat out the others and fill the thirteen lucky spots on the varsity volleyball team. Imagine enduring a form of practice that even the most athletic girls drip with sweat and are overcome with exhaustion at the days end. For some girls this sport is their life, for others it’s just an activity that gets them out of the house. I would have to say I’m in between.
During my junior year of high school, I managed to make the Varsity volleyball team. The amount of success and achievement I felt was beyond measure. However, the passion I felt would fluctuate throughout the season.
I vividly remember one game in particular that sent my emotions on a roller coaster. The opposing team was two points away from winning the game. Even before the game had actually started nerves and fear were rushing through my body. The referee blew the whistle and the ball was served. The opposing team made a perfect bump, set, and spike. As the ball traveled through the air, I could tell it was going to land in front of me. I positioned my arms, but my feet wouldn’t move. It was as if someone at that very moment had secretly slathered Krazy Glue to the bottom of my shoes. Within a blink of an eye, the green and white volleyball was slamming into the court. All I heard was a mixture of noise. The combination of parents screaming from the crowd, “Come on! Move your feet!”, my coach yelling, “What was that?” and the opposing team’s fans shouting with enjoyment.
The whistle was blown again and I shook my head as if I was trying to wipe away all the noise I heard. I wiped the sweat dripping down my forehead and focused on three words: Shake it off. I repeated those words over and over again in my head as the ball was passed up into the air and the same girl is getting ready to smash it. Somehow I knew the same play would happen again yet I didn’t want to stop it. I had given up. Just as I had foretold the ball landed in front of me once again. My whole body became limp with shame as I looked up at the scoreboard- 25 to 22.
Walking back into the locker room, my teammates threw their equipment to the ground and slammed one of the locker doors closed. “That was pathetic! I’m embarrassed to even be on this team after that loss!” said the team captain. Although she was addressing the entire team, she was staring directly at me. She was implying that I had lost the game. I was pathetic and embarrassing. That had literally become my breaking point.
All I felt was regret. Pessimistic thoughts ran through my mind as I continuously asked myself why I tried out for this ridiculous sport in the first place. “I hate it,” I kept saying to myself. “I’m quitting tomorrow!” Yet each day I returned to practice, slid on my kneepads, and laced up my court shoes. As I stretched alone on the moist gym floor, I constantly searched for what made me come back every single day and then I remembered. It’s that feeling of dedication and commitment. That you’re in it all the way no matter what challenges are thrown at you. That once the season is over, you’ve accomplished something that some girls only dream of. I was able to walk through the gym door on the first day of tryouts without hesitation. I put my body, physically and mentally, through torture. And even after having everyone scream their heads off at me I still had the guts to come back. It’s these thoughts and the joyous memories that come along with them that put a smile back on my face and give me the reason to try out next year.
-Elizabeth Holve
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