Beach Day

Friday morning the teammates and I saddled up for a weekend trip to St. Raphael in southeast France. I was jazzed, and had visions of sipping pina coladas while bronzing my bod the sunny Mediterranean coast...

Instead I got an old gym smelling of spiced meats (Desma pinned it as being of the taco variety) and a shoebox sized, bunk-bedded (?) hotel room. Aah, the life.

Our caravan of mini-buses rolled into St. Raph from Albi around 4 PM and we got the juices flowing about 30 minutes later with a 2 hr practice with/against the locals. Somehow nothing gets me in the mood for volleyball quite like 7 hours confined in a cramped space... Not to worry though, my knees took kindly to the rude awakening that came in the form of rubber-coated cement flooring that moonlights as a court there. And the trip had only just begun. Practice was solid but our libero tore her glut this week so we were a little short on the passing end of things... Luckily I found out my co-middle, aka 6'3" 33-year-old Russian Gisele, also tears up the backrow so she pulled libero duty after straining an ab this week. The woman cannot be stopped.

Practice completed, we headed back to the hotel where the American and I bunked down together. I mean that in the most literal sense, since we opened our bedroom door to be greeted by my childhood favourite - le bunk bed. To make matters worse, I got beaten to the punch and she called Top Bunk so I was relegated to second class on the bottom floor. I soon forgot about my plight, however, since our tiny room was reminiscent of ship quarters and we spent the night telling each other tales of our experiences on the high seas. OK, wow, that quickly took a turn for the lame but you get the idea... Pure, 5-star luxury.

Saturday, I would live out my earlier dreams of beach side glamour after an hour of serve-receive practice in the morning. Actually, the beach trip consisted of a 15-minute jaunt into the sand and back before we walked 40 minutes back to our parking spot, but I felt fulfilled nonetheless.

North America at large...

The Sleeveless Polo. So hot right now.

I'd also just like to throw this out there - Who rolls around the French Riviera in a convertible, with the top down, and an IRONING BOARD riding shotgun? The American and I thought our idyllic vision of life on the coast had come true when we mistook one passing by for a surfboard. Turns out the driver was just really proud of their laundry gear...? Thankfully, right after Desma called out "Suuurf board!" in her best California accent, the assistant coach kindly corrected us. So much for seamless integration into French society.

Anyway, our pride was restored, as the day ended well with our team taking home the W. We could've played better but I guess that's what pre-season is for - workin' out the kinks and middles playing libero... My turn comes next weekend so be sure to tune in for a full recap of the carnage...

My bad.

Sometimes I just drop and crab walk mid-rally...

Desma also took out an unsuspecting child on the sidelines. Luckily it was captured on film...

Before

aaand after...