A klutzy girl and a volleyball is a bad combination

I have a sprained wrist. As I type I'm wearing one of those ultra-fashionable wrist brace things so that it doesn't bend . . . because bending is bad.

How did I acquire a sprained wrist? Two words: volleyball and me. Need I say more?

Sadly, this is my third volleyball related injury, which is especially embarrassing because I'm so very bad at volleyball that I don't feel worthy of sustaining injuries from it. You know what I mean? If someone says they have a football injury or they blew out their knew playing basketball, you kind of think, "Oh, he's a football player," or "I guess he plays basketball."

But, I'm not a volleyball player. I'm a person who tries desperately to keep the ball off the ground and off my face when it comes near me.

The thing is there's this guy who plays volleyball with us. I'll call him Steve. Because that's his name. Steve is a really good volleyball player. He possesses the two qualities that frighten me most in a volleyball opponent: he plays well and he's very, very tall.

Every time he goes up (well, even more up) to hit the ball, my insides cringe and panic. I've never been afraid of balls in sports before, but ever since the near-face-shattering-incident this Fall, I've become afraid. Very afraid.

He doesn't always spike it. Sometimes he just gives it a normal bump or push over the net. Every time he doesn't spike it, my insides have a little party. They laugh and dance and break out the champagne.

But, sometimes he does spike it. He spikes it hard. That's when my aforementioned strategy comes into play. Just keep the ball off my face and off the floor if possible. So, last night as the ball was coming - hard and fast - I made a split-second decision to put my hand out and at least keep the ball off the floor. Just keep it in play and maybe someone else on my team could salvage the play.

Sadly, I don't think my poor little hand even put a damper on the speed of the ball as it bent my wrist back like one of those little flap-things you shoot at at the county fair. You know how they just flop back when you shoot them or hit them with a bean bag or whatever? That's what my hand did, much to my wrist's chagrin.

Not to worry, Steve, I don't blame you for my being a lousy volleyball player. Really, don't feel bad; it's not your fault. Unfortunately for you, I'm not a quitter, so the consequence for the sprained wrist is that I'm gonna insist on being on your team next week. I'm sorry. I just feel safer there.