Well, it only took two hundred and twenty-two days. The streak is over. I cried in front of my coach.
Not the hiccupy, did that just come from your eye or your nose? kind, but tears nonetheless. I was so upset that I had to remove myself from practice early in order to cool off away from the court and the girls. Just me and the ocean. That’s when I really let the waterworks commence.
Let’s tip-toe back to why I broke my tear-free record in the first place. That morning I did do something unordinary, which was play in some friendly round-robin games. It has literally been months since I played pick-up style. Why? Because I have grown accustomed and comfortable to the regiment of showing up on the beach knowing that I will be working with a trainer and dedicated players. Even if it is not one of my best days performance-wise, the guidance I receive is extremely gratifying.
With round-robin games, there is much more variability in terms of individual skill level and attitude towards the practice. Some players are there because it compliments their lifestyle (great workout, sociability factor, etc.) while others believe it complements their game. In my case, I elected to be the fourth person in the group because I hadn’t done this in a long time and wanted to try it on for size. Like that pair of pants on the very bottom of the stack (spoiler alert: there is a reason why they are on the bottom).
As the games began north of the Hermosa Pier I quickly realized that my heart was not in it. It was such a conscious effort to do the right things: hands up on the pull…be ready to move forward on that short tip…reach high and snap. The points dragged painfully on. I didn’t want to be there and I thought, what’s wrong with me? Why can’t I play these low-key games just for fun? Why am I bringing my level of game down ten thousand notches?
The answers to these questions deserve their own column entirely, but it boils down to this: the best athletes can adapt and excel in any environment. I was not adapting and excelling. I was sucking. I was so ready to leave and put the whole morning behind me before the “real” training began, the kind that I pay for.
There I was, post-smoothie and sprawled out on the couch, when I get a call from coach asking why the hell I’m not at practice. “Because it doesn’t start for another half hour!?” “Oh…just come. Now.” Turns out he had re-scheduled practice for an hour earlier and forgotten to inform me. I get my hiney over toSecond streetand am immediately thrown into a blocking, pulling, and digging drill which my legs were not pleased about.
The whole string of events—lackluster A.M. games, being the last one to arrive at practice, no warm-up—was a good recipe for disaster. I wasn’t performing like I ought to be which made me question my game altogether. I could feel my confidence draining from my limbs and the tears start to form in the corners of my eyes. Thank God for sunglasses.
I pulled coach aside to admit to him that I was royally pissed and he said to continue with practice. I agreed to stay and tried my best to change my attitude but the attitude wouldn’t budge. The entirety of the practice became a mental battle between containing my emotions and wanting to act them out in an academy award-winning performance. I can’t say for sure which requires more acting skills: keeping composure while raging inside or amplifying your true feelings in classic, two year-old tantrum fashion but I chose to go with the latter.
I was edgy. Short. Mute with my partner. I kicked a ball towards theSecond Streetlifeguard stand. I slapped the bottom of the net when something didn’t go my way. I knew it was immature and pathetic, but I couldn’t contain the child inside of me…the little girl wanted someone to just take my hand and tell me that everything was going to be alright.
As I write these words at Planet Earth Coffee & Tea onPier AvenueI know that everything is going to be alright, but on this day I had forgotten. My mind was too full of anger, frustration and thoughts of failure to have room leftover for some perspective. Instead of focusing on how far I have come this season in my training I was completely overwhelmed with how far I still have to go, and that reality consumed me, and I lost my composure.
A large part of reaching maturity as an athlete is being able to perform under different settings and circumstances as well as acknowledging the power that our minds have on our bodies and trying to control its influences in our favor. Sometimes we have great energy and other times our focus is off and we are basically going through the motions.
As we mature we get better at being aware of our disposition and what we need to do to change it. If it’s negative, we are faced with a choice: shake it or let it run wild. The former takes more self-control and sometimes humility, making it the tougher choice. The latter is easier and can be self-destructive, making it the childish, inexperienced thing to do. As athletes we know this psycho-physical juncture all too well. It tests how well we know our bodies and how well we can contain, conceal, or derail the negative emotions so that we can get back to business and perform beautifully.
This wasn’t my first outbreak in my volleyball career and it surely won’t be my last but I know I am better equipped to deal with negative thoughts once they threaten to resurface again.
And crying in front of the ocean helps too. No matter the degree of blubbering on my end, Mother Ocean seems to be saying, “Really? Is that all you got?” As I watch wave after wave crash into the earth I grow humbled, soothed, and eventually calm down. You just can’t produce tears with that kind of force.
Katrina Zawojski lives in Hermosa Beach and is chasing her dream of a career in professional beach volleyball. Follow her on Twitter at sandinmysuit1.
