But look where I am today! I'm here just in time for the letter V. And for me, V is volleyball.
Volleyball first flirted with me back in 5th grade.
"Come on, Sweetie. You want to play! How hard can it be to hit a ball?" it cooed to me gym class after gym class.
So I took a swing and hit that ball just as hard as I could - right into the net - and my turn was over.
We played again in 7th grade, 8th grade, and 9th grade gym class. And every.single.time I hit that simple little ball, it went into the net or directly out the side of the court. Then there was the time it hit the girl's head right in front of me.
Volleyball left me bruised in arm, bruised in ego, bruised in career goals.
So I grew up and got married and my ever so sweet husband who knew me very well, signed us up for a volleyball league.
Okay, that was a bad argument, but I am a wonderful sport and played for two seasons.
Again, the ball went sideways, off other players' heads, and sometimes backwards.
When I announced my retirement from volleyball, no one cried or gave me a cruise or a gold watch. They just said, "Okay," and quickly ran the other way.
Last week, I saw a volleyball set for the pool. It was marked down significantly, and it was cooing, "Come on, Sweetie. You know you want to play! How hard can it be to hit a ball?"
I thought about how I am still taller than 3 of my kids and I am getting in shape. I thought how there would be no super athletes trying to spike the ball off my face. I thought how I could look like an Olympic athlete right here in my back yard.
The net came home and set up. The kids got in the pool. The ball went flying out of the water and I went to retrieve it. I hit it back to the kids and the ball flew right over the pool. The second attempt sent the ball under the pool deck. The last attempt hit my daughter's friend in the head.
I like volleyball, but it's plain to see,
the oh so easy sport of volleyball
really hates me.