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lanemarvels · 21 days ago

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Fifteen

“I’ll be number fifteen.”

Coach Lincoln handed me my large-sized jersey, the only one with sleeves long enough to cover my arms. I held it like a gift.

And when I tried it on, it was saggy– especially in the chest area of my long but thin pre-pubescent frame. But I didn’t care, I figured one day that I would fill it out. It was perfect, to me. That royal blue, black, and white I would adorn as an official varsity member felt nothing short of a movie moment. Here I stood, the freshman nobody. The girl that wasn’t expected. The one who fought her way through try-outs until the very last moment, to secure her spot on this team. The spot that was added just to ensure I could have a place on it.

At that moment, I felt chosen. Seen. All the hours spent practicing, at tournaments– skipping birthdays, parties, and sleepovers, were worth it. My time dedicated to being the best athlete I could was acknowledged. I did it.

It felt like the beginning of something special, monumentous, and maybe even destined. I could imagine it all in my mind, how exciting the future ahead was. The crowds, the team, the fun nights of laughter, the memories, my growth as a player. I could not wait to play varsity. I felt like I was on top of the world. I was so elated, and felt so lucky.

If only I knew.

***

“We weren’t planning on having more than fourteen girls on the team,” Lincoln tells the varsity girls on our first day of practice. “So we will have to work around this. We will oftentimes have an odd number in drills.”

The odd number was me, of course. I learned this quickly when we were told to find a partner for our first warm-up drills. The pairs quickly formed as everyone grabbed a ball. As I grabbed my ball, I looked around trying to find another single but everyone is coupled up. I tried to brush this off, it had to be somebody. Besides, most of this team was full of returning players, six of which were seniors. You could tell right away who already had established friendships, and the ones who were already getting along great. I was at a disadvantage by being added so late in the try-out process. Most of the girls had gotten familiar with each other, while I wasn’t sure of everyone’s names yet. But it was okay, I figured the girls would get to know me more soon, and we would all be in this position of being the third wheel eventually. Right?

I scanned the court, looking at all the pairs chatting together. Even P, the other freshman whose tryout went significantly easier, seemed to click with her partner immediately. She was on the varsity court longer than me during tryouts— it made sense that she got to know some of the girls. I walked around awkwardly with a ball in my hand and I searched for a group who was willing to take me in, but they were all avoiding my eyes. Great. Nobody wanted to volunteer for me to join them. Nobody wanted me to pick them, and I’m not sure if it’s because adding a third person to a pair takes away their reps– or if it’s because it was me who would be joining them.

When the girls started to begin the drill I walked over to Lincoln awkwardly with an apologetic look on my face and ball in my hand. I hoped that he would take the pressure off of me and place me with a group. Instead, he just told me to just pick a pair– like it was an easy thing to do. Feeling even more pathetic, I set the ball I had back into the cart and walked over to the least intimidating pair I could find. I confidently asked if I could join them. Or at least I hoped they thought I was confident in asking. In reality, my words came out a lot more timid than I hoped. They obliged but didn’t seem too thrilled. Or at least I gathered when they stopped talking to each other once I joined them. I tried to ignore the feeling of hurt— it would only intensify the anxiety I was already feeling anyway. At that point, I was just relieved that I was in a group.

Throughout partner drills, I was putting my full focus into everything that I did.

Watch the ball to my platform.

Call the ball every time.

Be quick on my feet.

I knew I had something to prove. I knew the fifteenth spot was an afterthought. I knew that I wasn’t a part of the plan. It was imperative that at all times, I was perfect. Because I couldn’t let that decision to add me, be a mistake.

Coach Lincoln and Assistant Coach Hall watched all of us intently, but I felt their eyes on me especially. I tried my hardest to never give them any reason to correct me. Correction, at this point in my career and in my mind, was equivalent to failure. This belief was always affirmed by the way my teammates stared at me when I was corrected— like I should’ve known better. They seemed annoyed when I asked something or when I did make an error during a drill. I felt pressure all the time to never make mistakes. There was no safety net in this environment– only survival. But this is varsity, I told myself. This is the role of the freshman.

Admittingly, all of our practices started the same. My third-wheel situation also became a regular thing. It was incredibly isolating knowing that I was the one girl on the team who never seemed to find a partner. And it wasn't like the girls didn’t switch around– they did! Just not with me. I would try to ask some teammates before practice if they wanted to partner up, but strangely everyone seemed to always have another girl in mind. I would smile and nod, but my anxiety only rose as the practices went on. I didn’t know what to do or why I was always the odd one out. Was this some precursor to my Varsity acceptance? Was being the fifteenth girl to join also combined with the role of always being the add-on? It was beginning to feel that way. It felt personal. Even still, I tried my best to be nice to everyone and not step on anyone's toes.

Normally after partner drills, we would then begin to serve. I wasn’t a great server. In fact, when I was in seventh grade on my first club volleyball team, I had a hard time getting the ball over the net when I served overhand. Back then I was really lanky and just didn’t have the strength to do it. It was discouraging and for a long while, stunted my growth in serving in comparison to the other girls my age. I remember back then my dad told me not to worry– that one day I would be more than capable of getting the ball over. One day, I wouldn’t even have to think about it. He was right of course because by that next club year, I was strong enough to not only get the ball over but serve it out of bounds! There I was, an eighth grader, so thrilled that I was getting stronger. But admittedly, I couldn’t serve the ball to particular areas of the court yet. This was something a lot of girls my age were starting to get good at and something that I was barely beginning to figure out. By the time I tried out for this team, I was a better server— just not a controlled one. Understandably, I wasn’t the strongest at this drill. And comparing my skillset to my teammates around me didn’t help for my confidence.

When we served different areas in practice, I was probably the least accurate. I pretended that I was not. I knew that the more reps I got, I would start to blend into the pack. But until I got there, I had to convince myself that I wasn’t completely behind. I couldn’t be behind– that was the expectation that the others seemed to set. In the early days of this team, there was no camaraderie; and if there was I certainly never felt it. I didn’t feel supported by my teammates as I stood among them. If we were a pack of wolves, I was the lone wolf. The runt in the back always trying twice as hard to keep up with the pack. I had to mentally tell myself that I was meant to be on this team, I was their equal. But there was always a brooding feeling that if I fell behind, this team would leave me there.

It didn’t matter if I was the tallest on the team, I was always the smallest.

I felt this way all the time– like no matter what I did, I wouldn’t be seen as up to the standard that was set around me. My efforts to bond with my other teammates in between plays, just like they did with each other, fell flat.

I remember this one time in particular; two girls were laughing about something and I was standing right next to them. Overhearing the conversation, I chuckled with them and tried adding another funny comment. I couldn’t tell you what I said, but if I worked up the courage to say it, it had to have been decently humorous. But man, they did not think so. Actually, the only thing that was funny to them was my audacity of even speaking to them.

They both laughed awkwardly and looked at each other as if I was an alien. You know, they gave each other that look like, “Oh god the weird kid is talking to us.” And that was when my fears solidified in my mind that I was not wanted on this team. I was actively being rejected by the varsity body and I didn’t know how to mend it. I just tried to be as sweet as possible from then on out, as awkward as I was. I didn’t give any input or try to crack a joke anymore because the last thing I wanted to do was give the team any more reason to not like me.

After we served, we’d typically go into drills where we mimic gameplay. It’d be high-intensity and always the bulk of the practice, normally six-on-six. At first, the game was almost too fast for me, and I was intimidated every time one of the seniors hit the ball. I worried that I wouldn’t react fast enough, that I’d get nailed in the face. But I always reacted fast enough, and over time I adjusted to the pace. I was thankful that one of my greatest attributes throughout my life was the ability to adapt. Without adaptability, I would’ve floundered. Luckily, the coaches were right about this at least. Choosing to have me play on varsity made me better.

But even as the practices went on, and that gap in ability seemed to close, there was still a constant state of peril that my body was in. Every practice, my senses were heightened, and my anxiety told me that I had to be perfect.

My heart rate was constantly rapid, but I don’t think it was ever from exhaustion. Water breaks were my five seconds of relief where I didn’t have to perform, and I could breathe. I dreaded when those seconds ended because my body always went back into that fight or flight mode.

The relief I felt when Lincoln called the team in for our final huddle before ending practice was euphoric. It was the best part of practice! We’d wrap up any additional thoughts, and then he would ask the girls if there was anyone that they wanted to acknowledge that day for their efforts. In this early time, I never was acknowledged. Not once. And as much as that bothered me, I was just glad that practice was over. We would take down the nets, count the balls, and put away the water jug. Most of the girls stayed behind after taking off their shoes and ankle braces to chat a little longer, but I didn’t. They didn’t want to talk to me anyway. I couldn’t get out of there fast enough. I knew Mom was waiting for me outside, so after gathering all my stuff, I would rush out to the car.

When I’d hop in the front seat, the first thing she would always ask me was how practice went. Sometimes, I would tell her it was good. Sometimes, I’d tell her it was okay. And sometimes, all the pressure that built up inside me just couldn’t handle the question. Some times, I would sob on the car ride home.

But that was just the beginning.

#From the Outside #volleyball #volleyball experience #varsity vollyball #writing

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