Bump, set, spike

During the five months that David lived up here without us, he began playing volleyball with a group that gets together at our church on Monday nights. Naturally, when I arrived he assumed that I would want to join him in this activity because, you know, I played volleyball once in P.E. in the 8th grade.

At first I said no. No way, no how. Absolutely not.

Yet, somehow he talked me into going the first week we lived here, and it was every bit as bad as I expected it to be. Maybe worse. On the way to the church that night he said, "Okay, do you know about the three hits in volleyball? You don't just hit it over when it comes to you. You're supposed to bump it, then set it for someone to spike. They don't like it when you just hit it." "They don't like it?! Bump, set, spike?! I'll be lucky to make contact at all! Why didn't you tell me this was seriously competitive volleyball. Did I mention I haven't touched a volleyball since the 8th grade?!"

Luckily for David, we pulled into the church parking lot then, and I figure that's not the best place to murder one's husband, so I let it slide. We arrived at the gym full of people I had never met in my life. They were just getting started, so David and I were quickly assigned to a side, and the play begin. No introductions. No "Hi, how are you?" Just volleyball. Now.

After the longest hour imaginable play stopped, and everyone headed off the court. Oh good, it's over. No, says David, it's just a water break. Apparently, they play for TWO endless hours. Not me; I was glad we had driven separately so I could tuck my tail between my legs and leave. I vowed never to return.

I've mentioned before that I usually give up pretty easily. You know that saying winners never quit and quitters never win? I never got that. Win what? Their dignity? Their shame? Their time spent doing something they don't suck at? I figure they win quite a bit, actually. Nevertheless, of all the things I could decide to be tenacious about, I apparently picked volleyball. Because I went back.

Again.

And again.

And again.

I don't know what has possessed me to persevere in this athletic pursuit. Perhaps it is the fact that David and I don't have a lot of common interests or activities that we do together. (He likes trains; I like working out. He likes trumpets; I like taking naps.) Perhaps it's the opportunity to get some physical activity. (Though this one is doubtful since I barely even moved my arms for the first two months.) Perhaps it's the interaction with other adults. (Though again . . . not a lot of chit-chatty social interaction going on.)

Whatever it is, I've stuck with it, and tonight for the first time, I've begun to think that maybe there's hope for me. I still suck, but I suck a lot less than I did three months ago. And David and I are having a good time doing this together. If you had asked me at any point prior to six months ago what joint interest David and I would pursue, volleyball would have been at the VERY bottom of the list.

I definitely never saw it coming.

Much like the balls that whiz right past me week after week.