The Court Was Mine

My love for volleyball started early — around seven or eight. I don’t remember the first serve I made or the first ball I passed. I just remember wanting it — the rhythm, the sound, the feeling of being part of something moving fast and sharp and right.

In middle school, I played in clinics. I liked being coached. I liked learning how to do things the right way. I was small, but scrappy. Focused. I played year after year, getting better, getting faster.

By high school, I was ready. That summer before freshman year, my dad had me running a mile or two almost every day. Every Friday, we’d go to the track for a timed mile. I wasn’t just hoping to make the team — I was training for it.

The day of tryouts, I was on pace to finish second in the mile — about seven minutes flat. But in the last straightaway, I took too long of a stride and my hip slipped out of place. I went down hard.

I still made the team. I still played. But my body never quite recovered. That injury followed me all season — pain in my hip, and eventually in my knees and ankles. I developed patellar tendon issues. I rolled my ankles constantly. Once I rolled one coming down the stairs, hit my head, and ended up in the ER. Still, I kept playing.

I don’t think the coaches ever fully knew how much pain I was in. I didn’t want them to notice. I wrapped and taped what I needed to, iced when I got home. I didn’t want to sit out. I didn’t want to be the girl who couldn’t push through. So I did.

In club volleyball, I barely came off the court. I was the kind of player who only sat when we were winning by enough that it didn’t matter. I played full rotation. And I loved it.

Our high school team was special. Most of us had played together since middle school — clinics, camps, clubs. We weren’t just talented; we were connected. We moved together like a single heartbeat. We trusted each other. We wanted it.

And my junior year, we got it — a state championship. It wasn’t a fluke. We worked for it. We knew it was within reach, and we played like it.

Senior year, I didn’t play.

I needed a break. Not from the game — I still loved it — but from the weight of it. From the pace. From the pressure I put on myself. I missed it, but stepping away felt right.

In college, I played intramurals for fun. Later, I joined an adult league and played until I was 23 — weekly, happily, without the pressure. It wasn’t about proving anything anymore. It was just joy, pure and simple.

Volleyball gave me so much. Strength. Stamina. The ability to read a room, to communicate with just a glance. It taught me how to push through, how to trust myself, how to fight for something even when it hurts.

But it also taught me when to step back.

Even now, if I hear the slap of a ball on wood, I pause. My body remembers. My heart does too.

For a long, beautiful while — the court was mine.

Jessica (on the left) and my high school teammate Brittni (on the right) with our MD 2A State Championship plaques right after the game. Forgive the low quality flip phone photo.

A team photo with our championship rings at our season ending banquet.

---

You Might Also Love…

More from The Apricot Years…