New Kicks

Well, you know you've reached a new low-point of boredom when you devote an entire post to shoes. I guess it's cool though, I'm coming to terms with the fact that this level of excitement will define me for at least the next year and I'm trying to move on... After all, I guess y'all are the ones that have to read about it.

So as you can see, we got new team shoes on Friday and that means I'm currently rockin' it with Asics. The excitement of this post comes when I say I'ma be wearing black kicks this season. This may not seem important, let alone blogworthy, but in my otherwise uneventful world, it's a kind of the dawning of a new era.

This is because, to put it bluntly, I've always hated the black shoe. Well, to be exact I just don't like a black court shoe/runner/sneaker/tennis shoe or whatever you call it in your respective mother tongue (I realize those are all the same tongue, so let's go with respective term of choice then). I love a black heel, a black rubber boot, heck, a black pennyloafer but when it comes to athletic endeavours, I've never worn nor wanted to wear anything other than a white shoe. I've always thought black runners were reserved for refs, NBA ballers and refs. I just didn't think they looked good on anyone else.

Man, this post is losing steam even faster than expected...

The moral of the story though, is that when something is free, you don't complain and you suit up regardless. Black shoe or not.

They're everything I never thought I'd like... Black? Gold? Silver? Check, check, check and together. On my foot. To be honest though, I wore them at practice and I think I'm already starting to come around. At this rate I'll be releasing my own custom Signature Edition by Christmas, so if these bad boys tickle any of your fancies, keep your ear to the street for a launch date. You can think about picking up a pair for that special ref in your life. For now, the shoe as-is with the sick gold & silver combo will have to do.

Pink slipper not included

In other news, I had a pretty chill weekend hanging around Albi. Saturday morning was spent on an excursion to Ikea in an attempt to find something, anything, to spruce up my pad. Unfortunately, my best attempts were mostly in vain since this place is un-spruceable, at least until I paint the salmon coloured walls and put down some new carpet that doesn't happen to be blood red (see here for the proof in photos).

Saturday night I went out with my American teammate & her friends to a local creperie for my 4th meal of the day. The cuisine in this country has been too good to me... After, there was some kind of festival going on and we watched some craaaaaazy cats on BMX's test their aerial skills and the strength of their bones on some jumps set up outside the massive Cathedrale Ste-Cecile. Read on for some photo love...

I should mention that my American teammate, aka Desma, was a photography major so any picture posted from now on that's half-decent is the product of her capable hands. I take no credit.

Also, some loyal readers informed me that comments posting was screwed up (thanks to those who told me), so it's now fixed. Show me some love y'all!

French Day Camp

In an attempt to foster team bonding/remind me how much I hate kayaking, our team had a quasi-day off Thursday and spent the day engaged in various ativities that chanelled an adults-go-to-summer-camp feeling.

Archery was first on the schedule and let's just say I'm considering giving up volleyball to take up RobinHood-style crimefighting thanks to the discovery of a new hidden talent. The highlight of precision and newfound skills came about an hour into the day when I deftly shot an apple off my assistant coach's head. Showoff, I know, but we spent then rest of the day baking traditional French apple pastries from the remains of the slaughtered fruit...

Actually, I was pretty brutal and my team of 3 got shellacked by the coaches and Team Russia in what can only be described as a dramatic archery showdown. Team Russia, as I like to call them, consisted of the Bulgarian, the Ukrainian and the Latvian who speak only Russian to each other, probably at my and the rest of the team's expense.

The rest of the morning was spent climbing trees and flying across the surrounding lake on a zip-line cable. My life flashed before my eyes more than once and I learned that 1. I look ravishing in a harness and ping-pong ball helmet (see below) and 2. carabiner in French is mousqueton.

Only a mother could love this face...

Running to my death

After a lunch of very very rare meat and creamed celery, we resumed the day's activities by setting off on our kayaks to tour the lake. The American and I saddled up with hot pink paddles to form Team North America and quickly learned that we've been confined to land sports for a reason. Fortunately, due to my Canadian heritage and familiarity with the wilderness, I taught my boatmate a thing or two about paddling the ol' canoe and we finally started to pick up some speed after a couple hundred strokes.
To add to the adventure, I was mistakenly under the impression that the kayak excursion was to be short & sweet. 2 hours in, I figured out I was misinformed. Needless to say, I was over the "fun" long before that and it will be a good couple years before I feel the call of the wild again.

Otherwise, it was a very enjoyable day and that's about all I have to say. This is already too long and I'm not sure why I've gone into as much detail as I have so I'll let the pictures speak for themselves....

Our team mini-bus... Or what's about to be my 3rd home once season starts.

Trying to be incognito. Someday my day on the side will come...

Jerome tells us what's up


Mad skills.

Je m'appelle Mini-Bus

Earlier last week our coach Stéphane decided to be so kind as to offer to leave us his car for the weekend. Now many of you are familiar with the impressively petite size of French cars and anticipating his vehicle to be something of this size, we (the American, Bulgarian and I) enthusiastically accepted his generous offer. Unbeknownst to us, Stevie is not your typical Frenchman and does not own a typical French car. He rolls deep in a Fiat Scudo aka, Le Mini-Bus.

First off, don’t be deceived by the word “mini”. Well actually, it’s probably like, the size of your typical North American minivan, but let’s ponder for a moment on the narrowness (narrowness?) of European roads where it’s not uncommon for small children to become trapped between buildings while trying to cross the street.

Knowing this, we threw caution to the wind and decided to saddle up the Mini-Bus for the first time Saturday for a trip to the grocery store. All was going well as we eased her out of our parking lot and through the labyrinth of Albi’s one-way streets, all the while folding in the side mirrors trying to avoid the other cars parked inches from our lane and the grandpa out for his morning bike ride. Turns out the downfall of our journey would come early as we approached our first of 17 roundabouts with none of the directions out of it looking at all familiar.

The butcher talking to delivery guy outside his shop looked amused as us 3 screaming foreigners sped past not once, not twice, but thrice. Actually it was 4 times around before we decided we needed to get off this ride and chose the wrong road. A couple wrong turns later, we eventually resume the proper course and make it to the store like 15 minutes before closing time.

So we buy our goods and thinking all the day’s drama was behind us, begin the return trip back to our ‘hood. Our downfall on the way home turned out to be the miniscule blue road signs affixed in size 4 font to the sides of buildings (see picture below), entirely preventing us from finding the street we needed and resulting in another 3 spins around yet a different roundabout. Shout-out to my Uncle Bruce who once set a Canadian record with 67 times around a traffic circle in Calgary. Our effort rivals his only because roundabouts are about 1/4 the size over here so we were basically flying around it at mach speed a la teacup ride at Disneyland.

A little appreciation for what we're deailng with...5 points to whoever can read this street sign.

Anyway, to make an already long story short, we made it home unscathed and thankful the Mini-Bus didn’t take anyone/anything out on the way. Unfortunately that wasn’t our last ride and today we had to take her out for another trip, this time into the city center. Basically we learned buses of any kind should not be parked underground in France, least of all by foreign people under 25. After trying fruitlessly to park in 2 different spots, we spot a good one and the American, Desma, begins what was literally an 11-point turn to get the vehicle backed into a space originally meant for a child’s wagon:

As we walked out of the parking lot, sweating profusely, I vowed that until we get cars at the end of the month I'm walking.

This is how happy the Bulgarian is about never having to ride in the Mini-Bus again...

Mama, I Made It

Well, it's been a while. I'd apologize but I'm not sure anyone's still reading this. So on to the goods...

A lot's happened in the last 2 months. To summarize - I graduated and left Arizona, moved home to Canada, travelled around the U.S. running volleyball camps with my sister, spent 2 weeks in Germany and moved to France. Oh and apparently I now play volleyball for a living.

Yes y'all, it's been a long road since the days of my volleyball beginnings playing barefoot with a ball of twine. In the illustrious words of Jay-Z: Mama, I made it.

So I'm currently situated in Albi, which is a town of 50,000 about 75 km northeast of Toulouse (I don't know what that is in miles for our American friends out there...). I play for USSPA Albi (http://www.usspavolley.com if ya'll want to support/check up. Brush up on your French though 'cause there's no English on thurr ) who finished 3rd last year in Pro A Feminine, which is the top league in this fine country. My coach is cool and my team is legit so it looks like it should be a good setup.

Half the team is French and the other half is composed of myself, an American, a Bulgarian, a Latvian and a Ukrainian. As y'all can see, eastern Europe is obviously representin'. I'm the youngest of the players actually on the pro team (a couple girls train w/ us from the young bucks team also in the club) so I basically try to keep my head down and not screw up. To give you a taste of what I'm workin with, the Ukrainian is the other middle and happens to be a spry 33. She also had a kid a few years ago and still manages to looks like a Russian Gisele. No biggie.

Anyway, we're supposed to be getting cars sometime in September and I have my own apartment so I can't complain too much. Speaking of my apartment, I live in what can only be described as palatial surroundings so please see the corresponding Facebook album if you missed out on such delights as Wood Paneled Phone, Paper Mache Clock, or my classy red carpet. Needless to say, I'm one step away from my own episode of Cribs.

Meh, it does what I need so for now I'm just glad to have somewhere to lay my head after a long day at the office...or gym. Or whatever.

Speaking of my day, it goes a little somethin' like this:
Get up around 10 & eat, practice from 11-12:30. Chill & eat til practice again at 4:30. Come home around 7 and eat some more. Go to sleep and do it again... only 4 more days 'til the weekend.

Anyways, a plethora of people have promised they'll come visit so we'll see if any of those promises come to fruition... If not, well, my safari-print futon will just have to sit vacant longer than expected. So if any of you or anyone you know are planning on a trip through Europe, please consider a detour to my 'hood. Southern France ain't bad and you'll be doing me a service being that I'm wondering how long my old bones and/or mind will hold out doing nothing but volleyball for the next 10 months. That and our first game isn't for 2 months... Saddle up.