Danger, Life Ahead!

Did I tell you I decided to join a recreational volleyball league? I desperately need something to do in the evenings besides sit on the couch watching television. Don't get me wrong, there's absolutely nothing wrong with that.  It can just become incredibly boring, and slightly frightening.  As in, is this really what the rest of my life is going to be like?  My kids gone with their own lives, and me watching TV with the cats every night? Oh how depressing and terrifying! Let's not do that, shall we?  I am more than that.  I may have lost myself somewhere along the way, but I'm not far. I can feel it.

So...volleyball. It was the only sport I enjoyed playing in high school, and I have thought on occasion about doing it again, but was always too busy.  Now I am less busy :).  On the night I met Mike at that birthday party (see blog post of July 19, 2014 titled The Beginning), I had just come from a church youth group event (not kidding) at which we had played some casual volleyball.  It feels like that is what I was doing last, before I was interupted by 30 years of a doomed marriage.  It feels like picking up where I left off.  As if this story of my marriage was a book I was reading, and now I've finished it and have continued on with my life. Is this what a mid-life crisis is?  I hope not.  God, how cliché.

So driving down Crowchild Trail one day over the summer, I saw one of those overpass banners advertising the Calgary Sport and Social Club. I thought that was probably just what I wanted, so I looked them up online, and sure enough, they were just the thing.  Not only do they have a variety of recreational sports to choose from, but they have local pub and restaurant sponsors where teams are encouraged to patronise and return the favour. They also have annual parties and social events. Just what I need to prevent ending up as some kind of sad and lonely old lady with memories petrified like driftwood washed up on the shore of someone else's life.

Speaking of petrified, having decided on this, I became paralysed by panic. Fear of meeting new people, stepping wayyy outside my comfort zone, playing a sport for the first time in (30!) years.  My kids were shocked when I brought it up.  This is not the mom they have come to know and love.  They actually did double-takes and asked me to repeat myself.  I'm sure the poor darlings thought I had lost what was left of my mind.  The divorce finally pushing me over that thin edge into the delirium of mid-life crisis. So remarkable was this turn of events, that my sisters-in-law asked me if I had been drinking when I made this decision. My mom suggested that I was going to need extra acupuncture sessions to deal with the pain that playing a sport at my age would surely result in. Thanks mom.

My anxiety about this brilliant plan persisted. Thinking about it literally made me feel like I was going to start hyperventilating.  So I stopped thinking about it.  Leaving my decision about registration to the last possible moment.  I told myself that if I registered, it didn't mean I actually had to show up. And if I did happen to show up, I didn't have to actually enter the building. Or I could just hide and watch the first day. And if I really went through with it and did it, I didn't have to go again if I didn't enjoy it. So having practically put myself into an alternate universe in which volleyball was only a dream that someone had once and was so outside of the laws of physics as to be impossible to exist, I screwed my courage to the sticking place and registered. I was sure I would be too late anyway, and registration would be full. It wasn't, damn it!

My whole family told me how very proud they were of me.  My daughters were, as always, entirely supportive once they ascertained I was not a pod person.  My sisters-in-law threatened to come over and drive me to volleyball themselves if I considered not going.  Nothing like family to make you accountable for every questionable and crazy decision you make in the delirium of mid-life crisis.

I received an email from my team captain with the team roster and contact information.  Now I knew my teammates names.  Now they were real people. I was part of a team.  Kind of cool!  Our team name, however, is so not cool. I'm not even going to tell you what it is. I don't know how it was decided on, I certainly don't remember the option to vote on name choices, so I don't know what happened there.  That may well have been the most fun part of the whole adventure, and I was somehow left out of it! It's possible this could've had something to do with my last minute registration. Lesson learned there.

I combed the club website, dutifully filling out my waiver and trying in vain to fill my brain with enough rules and regulations minutia that this wouldn't feel so completely unknown. They don't post the game schedule until 48 hours before the game, so it wasn't until then that I discovered my first match would be at my old high school, in the same gym where I last officially played volleyball!  I took that as a sign from the Universe, and it bolstered my resolve quite a bit.  Then I made myself so busy on that first game day that I didn't have time to think about it until I was on my way, borderline late, having devoted the last 30 minutes before I left to raptly watching various YouTubers explain in detail how exactly to play volleyball. It was completely silly! Really, of all the things I have been through in my life, especially recently, I was afraid of volleyball!  Ridiculous.

Anyway, the first night went well.  My teammates are friendly and some as shy as I. And I'm not the oldest on my team!  That was a nice surprise.  I don't play any more lamely than some others there, and I actually did much better than I expected to. Some members on my team are absolutely fierce, and I look to them as my role models. My team got our asses kicked, but we will get better. I'm looking forward to next week. It has even brought out a competitive edge in me that I didn't know I had!  I've already looked up YouTube advice on how to improve my volleyball skills.  I'm going to kick ass.  Or at least shins. 

It was really bizarre being back in my old high school. It is such a large and imposing building in a beautiful old neighbourhood (Crescent Heights) that I didn't expect that typical phenomenon of childhood places looking smaller, but it actually did!  I got lost in the hallways leaving (surprise!), and stumbled on my old class picture. At first I was a little confused as to why I couldn't find my photo in the array of vaguely familiar fresh-faces. Then I realized I had to look under my maiden name...duh! I have been someone else for so long that I forgot who I was. Who I am.  

Seeing my little grad photo was startling. It was taken shortly after I met my ex, and I had forgotten that it is the same as the one he used to carry around in his wallet. Through all his military career, in every theatre of operation and training.  Last time I saw it, it had gun tape on the edges, from where he used to tape it up in his tent or sleeping space where he could see it. I wish I could go back and tell that young woman a couple of things. In fact, I wish future-me would come visit and tell ME a couple of things now, thank you very much. I have some questions.

Next time I have a game there, at my old school, I'm going to take some more time to look around at my leisure. Visit my old haunts and see if there is still a giant mural of Pink Floyd's "The Wall" in the arts hallway and of KISS in the lunchroom, LOL!

Crescent Heights High School