An Escape from the World - A Story On Volleyball

Your thoughts are running at a million miles per hour. You think about the handful of assignments that are due tomorrow, but you push them back yet again to be here. The discussion board—two actually—the clay pot, the essay, the video editing project. The studying you should be doing to prepare for your two-hour art history exam this week.

You sidestep out of your car, squishing yourself by the door to avoid getting hit by a passing car going too fast. The sweatpants you threw on in anticipation of the fall weather before you left your apartment get caught in the door as you shut it. You sigh. Will you ever stop feeling like nothing ever goes right for you?

Hot summer “false fall” air blows across your face and exposed arms, making your skin prickle despite how warm it is. The cute sunflower tote bag you put your smelly sports gear in swings chaotically as you rush to make it in time. As you cross the street in semi-darkness lit by gas station prices, you remember you’re late on your car insurance and phone bill. You push the thought aside, telling yourself you’ll pay them when you get your check Friday. You finally reach the building and get lucky when one of the sorority girls leaves the door open after leaving a Chapter meeting.

When you step inside, you pass the spot you’ve spent dozens of hours studying at, and all of the things you have to do come rushing back in—the discussion board, the clay pot, the video project, the essay, the art history exam, and oh yeah—you remember you have internship responsibilities too. And you definitely didn’t hit the hour requirement last week. You tell yourself that it’s fine, that you’ll make up the work this week during your desk job, one of the three jobs you’re working as a full-time student.

Tears start to well in your eyes as you become overwhelmed. You wonder if you’re overwhelmed because you’re overthinking. Then you wonder if you think you’re overthinking because you’re overthinking about overthinking.

You pull open the gym doors and a cool breeze washes over you, clearing your mind. Volleyball has always been a stress-reliever for you. Your friends call your name excitedly as they see you walking in. You throw your bag down against the wall and slide on the shoes and knee pads you’ve had since you graduated high school. Luckily, the lines aren’t too long tonight. When it’s your turn, you step on the court, and all of your worries wash away. It’s just you, your teammates, and the ball.

Someone you don’t recognize serves the ball and you get into position by watching the hitters’ body language. You see the ball set to the outside and the hitter starts to transition. At the last minute, you realize the hitter isn’t going to swing; he’s going to tip the ball over the block, into the open spot on your side of the court. Naturally, you dive to the floor to save the ball, sacrificing your already sore and bruised body for the point. The volleyball tournament you played in yesterday caused the grass-burn, cuts, and bruises on your knees, and the dive you just made prompted one of them to open and bleed. But you don’t mind because you love the game. You see these wounds as battle scars for the hard work you’ve put in.

Your team sends the ball over deep and the competitors hustle to reach it. They don’t, and you high-five your teammates, who are all smiling. That’s the other reason why you come to play. The community, the smiling faces, the pure joy you feel when you step on the court. All of your worries cease to exist here. Even though you’re exerting physical energy, you’re building it mentally.

The Volleyball Club meeting ends too soon, and you take off your sweaty shoes, knee pads, and arm sleeve, pull up your sweatpants, slide on your Crocs, and start walking out. Your friends wave to you as you go. The walk to your car feels further away than it did on the way in, and you hold tight to your pepper spray in the darkness.

On your way home, you start thinking about all of the things you have to do. But this time, you aren’t worried. You plan the order you need to do them in. You wonder what you would do without volleyball, and a statistic pops into your head, one from your health class last semester: Only 28.7% of women your age get enough exercise. You hope that they aren’t suffering from mental health issues and make a point to do something about it. But you know that you’ll probably forget about it, like all of your other whims.

When you get home, you open your laptop, refreshed, and start your essay.