I remember it like it was yesterday. I grabbed my bag, kissed my family goodnight, and headed to the gym. I walked onto the court to find only a few people starting to set up. Instantly, I got excited and felt a flood of memories from attending practices or games early to get the net set up. I remembered the times I spent rolling out the side post and stringing up the net. My body was in memory heaven.
As we finished setting up, I got my shoes on and started warming up. Soon enough, people flooded the gym, lacing up their sneakers and joining the pass-around groups.
Oh, the joy I felt getting ready to play my first volleyball game in over ten years. That’s right. At this point, I hadn’t played volleyball since my senior year of high school. During the pass around, everything came back to me with ease. All the movements my body knew. My body didn’t realize the agility that went along with playing the actual game.
We finished the warm-up; side note: you, I forgot to stretch. Mind you, I’m less than a year postpartum with my second baby, and I had not been consistently physically active before this.
So, I stepped onto the court and assumed my position in rotation.
Immediately, I became energized. Every ball in my area was mine. I was diving for balls left and right. Then it happened. In the second set, a fly ball went clearly out of bounds; however, I was trying to keep it in play and went running. Determined to keep the ball in play, I went running. While I ran for the ball, I stuck my arm out to pop the ball up. As I approached my target, my body and knees went in different directions; I fell to the ground and, at that moment, felt both stunned and embarrassed. Quickly getting back up, I shook it off and returned to the game. The only difference now is I was feeling pain. My left knee felt like it had needles sticking in it while simultaneously being set on fire. But you know I’m a G (gangsta for those who don’t know), and I just kept playing.
We finished that set and another one before the match was over. I finally sat down, switched my shoes, and chatted with my fellow members about how much fun that was. I told them how much I was looking forward to returning next Tuesday.
I gathered my things, said my goodbyes, and limped out of the gym.
Yal that was my last time playing volleyball.
I got home, and my knee was so swollen and in so much pain I didn’t even know what to do. I sat there as my spouse brought me ice and helped me wrap and elevate my knee. Encouraged that it was just a sprain, I shrugged it off.
The following day, I knew it was more than just a sprain. Of the course, over the next few weeks, I came to discover that I had torn my meniscus.
After seven years of playing volleyball from middle to high school, a community rec game damaged my knee in ways I’m still recovering from today.
Nonetheless, that experience taught me a whole lot. I stretch more before activities, and I maintain a consistently active lifestyle.
After almost two years, I have been rehabbing my knee, which gets better daily. Although my volleyball days are behind me, I’m forever grateful for the days I’ve spent on the court playing a sport I love.