Short Story #3: Champions

Have you ever run until you can hardly breathe, until you can taste blood and your legs can‘t hold you up. Have you ever jumped until your knees creak and the sweat gets in your eyes, until it feels like your feet are glued to the floor and your legs permanently ache. Try 3 ½ hours a day, 5 days a week.
Welcome to my volleyball team. Meet my coach.
Her name was Rita Hull.
She was 5 foot nothing and a brunette.
She was pure, undiluted evil.
Every practice we slaved, we exhausted ourselves, we pounded the ball with just about as much strength and energy as we could muster. And then we‘d have a long day at school, then go and do it all over again. And again. And again. To the uninitiated we must have seemed like crazy people, and most of the time, even we didn‘t know why we did it. It was insane, it was exhausting, and it was never good enough for Her.
We would do hours of hitting lines. Just hitting, until our arms felt like they would drop off, and we could barely lift them to write at school the next day. Eventually we all started switching to the other arm, in a desperate attempt to try and preserve our shoulders, and before we knew it, we were all pretty much ambidextrous, just from the sheer number of balls we were hitting.
She always seemed do disdainful of us, and how apparently pathetic we were, that sometime she would just leave us there, running around the Gym, for over half an hour. None of us dared stop, just in case She came back. Despite everything, none of us wanted to be kicked off the team.
Every time I came home from practice, too wiped out to do anything but have a hot bath, bribe my little brother into doing my homework, and crawl into bed, my parents would beg me to quit. Sometimes my arms would hurt to much to even brush my hair.
After a while I got so sick of my friends tell me how ridiculous it all was, I started spending more and more time with team-mates. At least we all understood when someone was just too tired to join in with the conversation.
Even now, I still can’t say what kept us going, what made us so madly fanatic. I know some very talented girls who made the team but who, in the end, just didn’t have that same drive the rest of us had. They usually barely lasted a week. As for the rest of us, we slogged on; even through exam week, when we were not only mentally exhausted, and having to stay up for hours studying, but we then had to run extra laps for being sluggish at practice.
I didn’t always know what the other girls thought of it all, but personally, sometimes I would gladly have traded everything I owned, and more besides, just to get out of jumping against the wall for another 20 minutes of blocking practice.
And Her always standing there, watching us, arms crossed, always the same blank or disdainful expression.
Our school was pretty much in the middle of nowhere, so we only had one game in the season. I can still remember it like it was yesterday. Our first game with Her in charge. We were given a week of no practices to rest, and told to eat nothing but carbohydrates. Because it was such a huge deal, the team got the day off, and most of the school was there to watch.
Thanks to the school band and several bracing rounds of “We Will Rock You”, we were all completely fired up, and we were ready. Seeing the other team’s faces when they saw we were hitting with our left and right hands, and hard enough to put dents in the floor, was pretty gratifying too.
The first set started, and we were all a little unsure of what was going to happen. Then the first ball was served, and those hours of drills just automatically kicked in. We moved like clockwork, and before any of us had time to notice, the score was 12-0.
Cloistered away as we were with no-one to compare ourselves to but each other, and seeing how exhausted the other team was getting, trying desperately to return our pretty devastating spikes, while we were barely breaking a sweat was . . . amazing, actually.
The other team got enough points for us to see that they were still a good team, but there was just no comparison. They simply couldn’t keep up.
It was near the end of the second set, after we had won the first 25-7, and I was just about to go up to hit. I could feel everyone’s eyes on me. The muscles in my legs tensed, and I noticed for the first time how defined they had become, and how strong I felt. As I jumped and swung my arms up; just for a moment, I could have sworn I was flying. I swung my arms down as fast as I could at the highest point of my jump, and closed my eyes as I came down to the floor, so I didn’t see what happened. But I heard the thud as the call ricocheted off the ceiling; and as I turned to look at Her, I caught a glimpse, just for a couple of seconds, of the pride on Her face; before I was dog-piled by my entire team.
I had lots of spikes in that game, and I’ve had plenty in games since, but that one will always be special. We went on to win that set 25-11, and the next 25-8.
That summer, She managed to get us into the Regional Championships, and we not only won every game we played, but every set too. We were just unbeatable. We became famous in that tournament for our sheer strength and determination, as well as our devastating blocking and left-and-right-handed hitting. My friends Isabelle, Jackie, Natalie, Tamara, Aimee and I all made the All-Tournament team, and we went on to win the National Championships that same year too.
I played with that team for the next 3 years, and during that time we won just about every award and trophy it’s possible to win at the high school level, constantly being approached by scout after scout, but turning them all down. We became the most famous and most successful high school team in the country, and eventually, in my senior year, a scout for the USA National team approached. I was 19 at the time, and I’ve been playing for them ever since, at the moment with four of my team-mates from that high school team.
And for all the years we played together on that team She was alwys there. Pushing us too hard, making us do more than we could for longer than we were able. And occasionally, very occasionally, we’d see the pride on her face as we crushed another opponent, scored another ace, won another trophy. And when we played through the pain, to win yet again, it made it al worth it. And I know none of us will ever forget her.
Rita Hull.
5 foot nothing and a brunette.
Volleyball coach extraordinaire.