Reader Report: An injury changed my course - for the better

Waking up at 5 o’clock on a freezing-cold morning to play in a volleyball tournament with my clique-filled team had not been one of the top things I was feeling excited about doing, and yet, my commitment and loyalty had prevailed over my need to play hooky.

Having played volleyball continuously with little breaks for the past five hours, my energy level was beginning to flatline, and I could just barely hear the high-pitched, monotonous warning tone — the sign that my life was giving out. And yet, here I was. It was the last tournament of the season, and I was having trouble finding the energy to play like I actually wanted to be here.

Me? Feeling tired? Not acceptable.

The score was 24-23, and my team needed one more point to win. This was my chance to prove myself.

Needy, over-involved parents all around me were yelling, “Go Holly! You can do this!”

Shouts of encouragement and voices plead with me to make this serve, as sweat dripped down my already-sticky face, and the Saharan heat in the gym swallowed me whole.

The desperate looks on the faces that surrounded me flaunted my team’s desperate need to win and just added to the abundance of pressure that strained my overloaded shoulders. They expected me to dominate this serve as my resolute desire to win matched theirs and gave me that one push of energy that I needed. I sent the ball into the air with a light toss, prepared my arms to hit by swinging them into a bow-and-arrow-like position, and …

The red, white and blue ball spun through the air until it morphed into the purple sphere that I watched fall back to me, but I groaned as realization hit me that my toss was too far behind my head. The ball smashed into the freshly-mopped hardwood floor, as I let it drop so that I could re-toss.

The referee signals his understanding of my need to start again on my serve, swipes his moist brow with the collar of his now sweat-stained-and-yet-required white polo, and motions for me to serve again.

I reenact my good-luck ritual by pounding the moist ball into the floor, which is now sticky with sweat. The pressure comes back to me, and I have to force myself to calm down. My coach is trying to get me to relax by yelling at me to take deep breaths, but I just tune her out as my mind turns back to the game. I toss the ball back into the air, and the ball hurls back down to me (this time in front of my head), where I drive my hand directly into the center, a perfect contact.

The ball fires like a bullet, freshly shot out of a semi-automatic, over the net, and the other team now has to face the challenge of ricocheting it back to us. The enemy team sends a direct missile right into my already-set arms, which then rebounds toward the awaiting hands of Callie, the setter. I watch the careful placement and positioning of her hands as she dramatically drops her hips and bends her knees to prepare for impact. Callie’s hands bend under the ball, and she propels it into the air, positioned for a perfect set to an outside hitter.

Fortunately, the outside hitter at the net, Anna, is prepped and waiting and she takes her approach to the net. Right-left-right-left go her feet, in perfectly timed steps, her arms swinging in just the way we have practiced four times a week for the last six months.

Anna uses her momentum to launch herself into the air and slam the ball over the net, where its quick connection with the ground rattles the enemy team. We all jump for joy and crowd around Anna, as we have just won the match. Everyone is cheering and chanting and a roaring fills my ears as my pride swells. I forget that we are all sweaty and sticky, and the smell that invades the huddle could probably knock out an elephant, as all I can think about is the fact that I helped my team win.

Everyone groups around Anna and congratulates her on her impeccable hit as Callie and I stand off to the side and compliment each other. In this moment, I don’t mind that Anna is in the spotlight, as I know that I helped my team by trying my hardest to be my best, if not for them, then for me. It was one of the last great moments I had in my volleyball career, as life just took a downward spiral after that.

I am not the same person I used to be back then. I started playing at the Orange County Volleyball Club in fourth grade. What I lacked in natural talent, I made up for by working twice as hard as any other kid in that gym. You would think that this would lead me to be No. 1 in the state or to become an Olympic champion but that’s not how this story turns out.

I was completely on my own as the competition of Southern California girls volleyball settled on me and the mature middle schoolers that made up my team. Cliques formed, judgments were made, and bonds broke as the reality of who was cool and who were not isolated people as we left grade school. I had to focus on my playing and try my best not to get caught up in the drama that was volleyball.

This led me to be one of the best players and overall best server on my middle school team and at this point, my confidence overflowed out of me. The seasons went by in a flash and before I knew it, I was in the Newport Harbor High School girls volleyball summer program. At the time, my playing was not the best that it could be but improvements were made, suggestions taken to heart, and I ended up making the frosh-soph team like I had always planned. This would be my sport — the sport that I would play all through high school. I was at the top of my game when all of a sudden, I couldn’t practice anymore.

I, Holly Halperin, a girl who had never broken a bone, torn a tendon, pulled a muscle, or even been stung by a bee, had sprained my ankle. My coach refused to let me play. He repeatedly told me, “Your ankle needs to be 100% before you use it on the court.”

This sentence ended up being the death of my abilities, as I barely played the rest of the season. I regained some of my confidence as I began to play more in club, but as I was just starting to really improve, I sprained my other ankle — very badly.

I was in a boot for five grueling weeks after that and missed the end of the club season. Everything I had been training for was blown out of my reach. I first started playing again during my sophomore school summer program and had to relearn and perfect all of my old techniques. Let’s just say it wasn’t a good summer.

You would think that the coaches would be understanding and compassionate, considering the fact that they were aware of my long-lasting injury, and of the fact that I still tried my best to participate in the workouts when I was able, but you are mistaken.

I received no mercy that summer. My body took a beating, and my ankle could not have been in worse shape, and yet I still tried to show them what I could do. Unfortunately, that was not enough. At the end of tryouts, the head coach took me aside and told me that I was being cut from the program.

He tried to convey his condolences as he repeated over and over, “there was nothing else we could do,” and “there were just too many girls.”

Tuning him out, I knew he was just saying these pitiful statements to ease his conscience. At first I was sad and depressed because I had just spent six years of my life working extremely hard at a sport that I would be cut from in the end. Then I became angry. Angry at the coach. Angry at the sport. Angry at the world. But mostly angry at myself because I felt that maybe if I had tried just a smidge harder, I would not be in this mess.

I joined cross country the following week. It was painful being a runner. I had to push myself in ways that I never had in volleyball. I had to practice consistency, something I was never good at on the court, but showed great skill at on a trail. Surprisingly, my true talent came out when I was running. My coach began to expect more from me, and I gave it to him because I had something to prove.

So now, I’m a runner.

In the beginning, I was devoted to volleyball and volleyball alone and my mind closed to all other sports and activities at an early age. I stopped taking risks and thus had nothing to fall back on volleyball that was taken away from me. Now that I have the free time I never had when involved in volleyball, I have more time to explore my options.

Looking back on the past few years, I’ve noticed that as my confidence went down, my playing and abilities went down with it. Internally, if I thought I could not play as well as the people around me, I stopped reaching my full potential and let them beat me. As I practice more in cross-country, I have noticed this becoming less of a problem as I am pushing myself further.

I guess getting cut from volleyball was not so bad after all.

HOLLY HALPERIN attends Newport Harbor High School.