My story: a roofer's long road back

Last week, I made the decision to get back into playing volleyball. It's been about a year since I last stepped foot on a court, and about 5 years since I've last played meaningfully, outside of the occasional pickup game. I'm excited at doing something that for so many years gave me so much pleasure, allowed me to travel and make an infinite number of friends, and taught me so many valuable life lessons. But it won't be easy. The ravages of time and age have apparently had their way with my frail physique, and at a spry 33, I'm no longer at the point when I can just jump back into it (pun definitely intended) and be competitive.

I shared recently with Josie how, melodramatic as it may seem, the 900-square foot confines of a volleyball court are one of the few places on earth that I've ever felt truly free. That's my domain. My sanctum sanctorum. My Mecca.

My first night back saw little, if anything, to brag about. A couple good passes, a couple digs. No kills, no roofs. It's the latter that's driving me batty. Last night, I played better and I'm less sore than in my first outing - I put down a couple zingers I'm proud of, moved better, and got my floater to dance. But still again - no blocks.

In my opinion, the hardest skill to reclaim after you've been away for awhile is blocking. And as a middle blocker - dare I say one of the island's better MBs in my heyday - this is my bread-and-butter. I'd rather have 4 good blocks in a match than 40 kills. It's my job, and something I take pride in.

I L-O-V-E the feeling of looking across the net and knowing you've already psyched your guy out. Just knowing that you've gotten inside his head, that he's aware if he even tries and brings heat your way, the ball's never crossing. Hearing the gym erupt with a resounding "Ohhhh..." when he gets blocked. Roofing him so hard his girlfriend feels it. That's domination. That's a middle's mentality.

And damn it, I'm not there...yet.

But maybe that's the metaphor - of volleyball and perhaps of life: it would be unjust to come back and immediately start roofing the lights out of the opposition. Anything worth getting is worth working for and it would be devalued if it was too easy.

It takes a fair amount of skill to be a great blocker. Physical traits like height and quickness are certainly requisite, but it also takes intangibles like patience, discipline, timing and attitude. I've never met a great middle who didn't take pride in the craft of destroying the dreams of would-be attackers. The juice will be worth the squeeze.

All I know is that I'm concentrating on getting back to my proper playing form, and making progress every day. And when I get that first rally-ending roof....oh, baby. I'll be grinning the sinister smile that those of us who block for a living do.

Achievement. Victory. Catharsis. Vindication. Absolution. Glory. Freedom.