Dead or Alive

On a rare week between magazine deadlines and softball games, I accompanied Wendy to an open gym in Torrance where she and some friends play volleyball. She plays in a weekly league, and I'm a true novice.

Having routine balls bounce off my forearms and out of play, setting like crap, serving into the net, hitting soft little lobs, and being in the wrong part of the court and watching the ball land right next to me--I'm always the crappiest player whenever I show up.

Luckily, the folks who play there are pretty nice. They tell me where to stand and say "good job" even if I block someone's ball out the door. I'm glad I wasn't on Wendy's team; then there's extra pressure not to blow it.

Tuesday night started off with an easy win for my side, followed by us getting blown out twice. We came back to win the tying game and held on to win the rubber match. Somehow, the side I was one overcame my lack of skill, I actually didn't hurt myself, and I even got the winning hit.

But I won't fool myself into thinking I'm good. I'm actually okay with being crummy. The last time I felt totally defeated by something was when the GR softball team started, and eventually I got decent. And then there's skateboarding, where I accept my place as an eternal grommet.

Sometimes it's nice to be at the bottom, figure things out, and get better. It's humbling and it's not easy, but it's also fun and rewarding. How often do we put ourselves in positions like that?

Chances are that I'll play for another week or two, then mag deadlines will return, putting whatever miniscule progress I make to a halt. I anticipate being crummy (and enjoying it) for a while.

Minus the scenery and bikinis, I saw a lot of this on Tuesday night.