It’s been about 6 weeks since I played beach volleyball. My partner (beach volleyball partner, that is, but also life partner if you disregard the fact that she’s actually married) has been consistently out of town, leaving me to fend for myself. She’s lucky it’s been raining and freezing in LA (i.e., at or below 60 degrees) – otherwise, I might’ve traded her in for a new model.
Just kidding, she’s the best and I only have eyes for her!
I may be slightly biased because I grew up around the game and learned to bump a ball before learning to stand up on my own, but beach volleyball is something of an artform if you ask me. Let me set the scene for you:
It’s 9am and the sun is beginning to peak through the cloud coverage. I grab my beach chair, a towel, a water and my ball and hop on my bike (late again – games were supposed to start at 9). Sunglasses on, sweats over my bathing suit. Flip flops molded to my feet.
I pedal on down to the sand, ditch the bike and setup my chair courtside. My partner likely makes some comment about how I live the closest but am the last one to get there… *shrug*.
It’s starting to warm up as the clouds get fewer and further between. The strand is beginning to buzz with people walking their dogs, out for morning jogs, pushing strollers, biking or perhaps doing the walk of shame home courtesy of one too many Fanta shots the night before at Shellback (kidding, but it’s possible).
The sand is like a blank canvas, waiting for our feet to dig in and form little mountains and valleys all around the court.
There’s just enough wind to make the ball float just right, and fall just in.
We warmup our arms, pepper, serve and pass. Someone may have brought a speaker (fingers crossed for a good playlist) but if not, we’re listening to the best soundtrack to the game there is – the ocean.
We play 5 or 6 competitive games to 21. Switch sides on multiples of 7. We’re covered in sand like powdered sugar doughnuts.
This, my dear readers, is the good life.
When your dogs are barkin’ (as my dad would say) and your legs are shot. When your arm should be iced (mostly because you’re old but also because you just pounded volleyballs for 5 hours… well maybe not quite “pounded” but close…) and you can actually feel your abs. When you’re a little toasty from the sun and all you can think about is jumping in the ocean. YES, THIS. This is the good life.
It’s been about 6 weeks since I’ve played beach volleyball, but my partner and I are playing in a tournament this weekend. When she initially asked me if I wanted to play, I thought she was somewhat crazy since we haven’t played in so long. There’s a solid chance we’ll get our behinds handed to us. We’re both very competitive people and hate losing, so the prospect of getting beat by God knows who – could be 16-year-olds who play everyday, could be has-beens like us who at least play every weekend – is a little depressing.
But I said yes. I said yes because at the end of the day it truly doesn’t matter if we win or lose. I get to spend the whole day (well, maybe only half the day if we lose) with my best friend at my favorite place doing one of my favorite things. I get to bike down and be late even though I live a block away. I get to paint the sand like a canvas with my bare feet. I get to feel the wind and listen to the ocean. I get to compete. I get to use my legs and my arms and my abs. And I get to have fun.
I might even get a cold beer at the end of the day.
My point is – if there is something you want to do but you’re afraid you won’t be good at it or it’s been a long time since you’ve done it… you should go for it. What do we have to lose? Well, besides the glory of winning. But if we’re being honest, aren’t we already winning if we’re doing what we love? I think yes.