It seems I’ve been chasing balls all my life—and please, get your mind out of the gutter. It all started in middle school. Pristine white Spalding volleyballs hit the wooden floor and ricochet off the walls of Maples Pavilion during a Stanford women’s volleyball practice. I was their self-appointed ball-shagger — as happy as a puppy fetching tennis balls — exhilarated to be in the same room as my 6-foot idols.
Then on to high school where red, white, and blue balls of the Mikasa and Tachikara variety filled creaky gymnasiums and vast stretches of sport court throughout the country.
Eventually I would commit to Colgate University, which brought my chase all the way to a little place called Hamilton, New York. In a flash, my senior season was over, and so was my love for indoor volleyball. Which brings us to the reason why, a year later, I drove across the country with three friends to chase those yellow and white Wilson balls across the Southern California sand.
At the closing of last summer my friends decided to return home and I decided to make Hermosa Beach my new home, and beach volleyball my profession. It was a difficult decision but I also knew that it was the right one. I was starting over in a town where people root for the Lakers, Taco Tuesday is a religion, and flip-flops are deemed acceptable footwear nearly everywhere.
The most paramount and intimidating task left for me to face, however, was reinventing myself (something that may never truly be finished in a lifetime, but we’ll leave that debate for the philosophers out there). I’m so proud of the progress I have made since adopting a 90254 area code, yet there is still so much to see, so much to accomplish, and so many more incredible and inspiring people to meet as I attempt to find a partner for this season’s diverse set of tours and events.
Just when I think that I’ve got all my ducks in a row, an opportunity I’ve never even heard of or piece of advice I’ve never considered buzzes in my ear, exposing my naivety and threatening to leave me out of the loop.
If there is one thing that I have learned thus far about the beach volleyball circuit it’s that there is no manual for breaking into the scene. No one to hold your hand if you have your sights set on competing with the best. No Frommer’s travel guide that pinpoints which net is home to which trainer. And certainly, no “Finding People to Play With for Dummies” — which would’ve saved me many a trip down the Strand last summer.
I remember my volleyball partner at the time and I would walk from pier to pier (we also didn’t have bikes) with balls in hand, confident that we would find a congregation of volleyball action just beckoning us to join in. How frustrated and stupid we grew to feel for assuming that joining a game of volleyball was like joining a game of pick-up basketball. Note to last summer’s self: serious volleyball players don’t “pick up” people off the strand — they arrange their foursome ahead of time, a fact I didn’t fully realize until I started scheduling games that fall.
A typical day for me begins about 7:30 a.m. as my alarm goes off in my apartment on Manhattan Avenue. I head out for either a training session down on Second Street or round-robin games north of the pier. If I’m lucky, I’ll have a little time between the end of my workout and the start of my waitressing shift in Manhattan Beach to brew a cup of coffee and write. After tipping out my baristas and restocking silverware, I’m back on my bike and heading home, ocean on my right and a grocery bag dangling from my handlebars.
Am I just a confused 23-year-old with Peter Pan syndrome, refusing to grow up and get a real job? Not really. Let’s be honest here: colleges don’t intend for their graduates to earn diplomas only to start waitressing and play in a giant sandbox. But all the things that higher education has prepared me for when it comes to the competitive job market — building a resume, networking, interviewing, etc. — are skills that can crossover as I strive to turn my passion for volleyball into a professional career.
Despite all the perks that come with following a traditional career path, beach volleyball remains my number one passion, as it is for the women that I train and play with on a daily basis. We have all chosen to make the sacrifices that put us in the position we are currently in and living the lifestyle we are currently living. I’m not putting off the ol’ suit and tie; my bathing suit is my business suit, and yes, I get sand in it.
My intention with this column is to let you in on my journey of figuring out how this “business” works. I’ll be analyzing the beach volleyball scene from the inside, revealing physical, psychological, and emotional aspects of the game. I think we both know by this point that I’m not just chasing volleyballs, I’m chasing my dream. So, welcome to my world. Or should I say, welcome to my office. It has a great view of the ocean. ER
