Midweek Volleyball

Yesterday I had brought my volleyball clothing to work so I could play outside after work at a court not too far from my office. It's alongside the river and spectacularly beautiful to play there as the sun goes down over Jersey City.

As it got closer to 5:00, though, the voice of indolence was whispering into my ear. It spoke through me to one of my colleagues.

"Should I go to volleyball?" I asked him. "I could go home and go to yoga instead."

"No, go to volleyball," he said. "You can only do that in the summer."

"I'm so tired, though," I said, splayed out in my desk chair to illustrate how tired I was. "And I forgot my contacts."

"Yoga would be good for me, too," I added.

My colleague did not try to interrupt my parade of rationalizations.

I came up with another one.

"The thing about getting home from there after volleyball is that it's very taxing." I added, cleverly, "It might involve a taxi."

My colleague shook his head. "It's important to exercise even when you don't feel like it," he said mildly.

That made an impression on me.

So, I forced myself to change into my leggings, T-shirt, sneakers and socks. Threw my street clothes into my bag. Tied a shirt around my waist so I would feel less exposed until I got away from the office workers and to where other people were dressed for sports.

As soon as I got the workout clothes on I felt better: invigorated, hopeful, energetic. Amazing how that is. When I got out on the street, into the heat and congestion and traffic and construction that surrounds my office, I flagged, briefly, but once I got close to the river I was happy and excited again. I walked along the water, through the beautifully landscaped gardens and sitting areas that lead up to where the volleyball net is. It was hot but there was a breeze by the river. Rollerbladers and bicyclists and stroller-pushing parents passed me by.

As I drew closer to the spot where the net usually is, I grew a little worried. Was the net going to be there? The last time I had tried to come out for this game, about three weeks ago, the net was gone. It had gotten damaged, the parks department people told me, but a new one was on order.

I came up to where the path turns toward the court. I thought I could see the net, but I wasn't sure. Then I had the welcome sight of a volleyball going up into the sky, coming down, going up again. As I rounded the corner I could see three people, three guys, on the court, practicing, bumping the ball to each other.

I plopped my stuff on one of the benches and said hello to the young parks department volunteers who usually run the games on Wednesday evenings.

"I'm so glad the net is back up!" I said excitedly.

Then I glanced over at the three guys standing in a triangle and practicing. They seemed very expert, passing the ball to each other smoothly, bumping it way up into the sky but always directing it right to the next person.

"These guys look too good for me," I said.

The kids said something reassuring: "No, no, it's just for fun."

So I walked over to the court. As I got there, the guys, without missing a beat, shifted to make room for me. The triangle became a square as one of them smiled and bumped the ball to me.

"There you are," he said.

The next two hours were pretty much bliss. There were only 12 or so people out, so I got to play the whole time--no one ever had to sit out. I got great tips from the expert players. I missed a lot of balls but got some good hits. I was running, jumping, breathing, sweating--feeling my joints all loose and relaxed in the humidity. The sun was reflected, sparklingly, in the river as we played, the hazy air making the reflection seem even more brilliant by contrast. I noticed, this time, the different language people bring to the game, the different ways they call for the ball: "I got it!" "I go!" "Mine!" And, this time, I heard a new one, a simple "Yes!" That last one was uttered by an Indian guy whe seemed very polite, so it seemed fitting somehow that he would not make a selfish cry like "Mine!" It was funny, though, when I went for a ball and heard him thundering up behind me, yelling "Yes!". I thought he was just cheering me on, but then when he said, "Sorry!" I realized he had been calling for the ball, only to back off when he saw that I was going for it.

Some people I had met before, others I hadn't, but everyone was friendly and funny. The sun slipped down into the New Jersey skyline as we played. The light grew less so gradually we at first didn't notice it. We kept saying, "Okay, one more game," but then by 8:15, it was too dark to see and we regretfully called it quits. I walked with a couple of people to get water ("Where's the water fountain? In the dog park? They have water for dogs but not people?") and then back, back, back, across the buildings and the highway and the construction to get to the subway. Which was indeed taxing, as I had predicted, but because I had company I didn't mind, and didn't resort to the taxi alternative.

While I was playing, I kept thinking, how on earth could I think about not coming out here when it's so much fun? Amazing how strong that voice of indolence can be.

I'm glad I didn't listen to it.