This blog is a chronicle of my life as a female athlete; the hardships, hurdles, and adventures... Here, I share personal bests and worsts with my biggest supporters (my husband, family, coaches, and friends) and pay homage to all the amazing female athletes who charged forward before me to sit boldly in seats usually reserved for men. Hard work works! Here's why:
This evening I celebrated International Day of the Woman with a whole stadium at the Tours vs. Sète professional men's volleyball game. A few guys from my men's regional team were seated up in the stands together like a good volleyball mafia family, so we watched together as TVB won handily.
We caught the tram back to Saint-Cyr and bantered the whole way. Now, granted, #1 these guys are joksters (most of the time they're laughing anyway because they'll laugh at almost anything), #2 they are accustomed to my accent and humoring me, and #3 it isn't always easy to differentiate whether they are laughing at me or with me, but - audience aside - I'm pretty sure I was on fire tonight. I made a couple of well-timed zingers that genuinely made this whole group of native french guys laugh out loud. Ahhhh - felt so good! Group laughter is a new high for me - so I thought I'd share! :)
The French say "laisser tomber" like gangsters say "forget about it". What does it mean?? Make up your minds!!!
A Tall Drink of Anything
You know the feeling when you order a large orange juice at a diner and you're super let down when it comes out because it's 8 oz? Imagine a whole country with cupboards packed full of this special brand of diner-sized disappointments. French cups are designed for sipping on much smaller serving sizes. I now guzzle juice directly from the carton and (more often than not) while standing in front of the refrigerator. I know - it's sad - but it doesn't make sense to dirty a glass for one gulp... it's not even a big gulp. Hehe... ;)
Basic Instincts
Dropping Billy off at the airport reminded me that I haven't seen a wax paper toilet seat cover in a while. In fact, you're lucky if you get a toilet seat at all in most public restrooms around here. And, oh, instead of the little handle, the French use a myriad of levers, buttons, and hand-sized trick-door-style contraptions to flush their business. Each visit to the lou is followed by a multiple choice quiz: a. #1, b. #2, or c. all of the above. You can normally choose c (all options available) without fail, and yes, sometimes you still have to jiggle it a little. Ha!
This month I was holed up at home in bed nursing two sprained ankles and a terrible cold that wouldn't quit. On top of that, when I wasn't looking at my watch and calculating exactly how much time it was before Billy got here, I was trying to not go crazy by consciously distracting myself from how much time it was before Billy got here. Oy!
Now, if you don't know me that well, this may come as news to you, but I am, admittedly, somewhat of a nitwit when it comes to common knowledge. For example, I have been the butt of many a joke when conversations turn toward the cultural canon. Vocabulary, books, band names, TV shows, actors, and movies that are considered common knowledge by my peers evidently inhabit a black hole in my brain. References to media from my generation mostly go over my head. And while my anti-climactic-explanation-eliciting blank stares were coquettish in my twenties, in my thirties, it turns out it's just embarrassing.
So, in January, I made a pact with myself. I, Amy Moor, will use this month of forced rest and relaxation wisely and educate myself in the American entertainment industry.
I watched all the Star Wars, all the Die Hards, all the Lethal Weapons, all the Godfathers, and uhhh, every Johnny Depp movie from blockbuster to cult classic. I watched Platoon, Stir Crazy, Blazing Saddles, Annie Hall, When Harry Met Sally, Man on the Moon, Magnolia, Steel Magnolias, Boogie Nights, Saturday Night Fever, Pulp Fiction, From Dusk Til Dawn, Natural Born Killers, An Officer and a Gentlemen... It did not take me long to start forming strong opinions about these films and the Hollywood professionals that inhabit them. The big picture though is: WOW! The American film industry is awesome! The rest of my revelations are blips on the radar compared to this one, but here is a small sample anyway:
1. I don't like Johnny Depp's work as much as I thought.
2. A New Hope is the best Star Wars.
3. Die Hard is way better than Lethal Weapon.
4. Uh... the Godfather - who needs him??
5. Gene Wilder is my favorite actor of all time.
6. I need someone to expose me to the work of Richard Pryor because I still don't get why every contemporary comedian says he's the greatest.
Well, that's about it! Just wanted to let you all know that I found a way to thrive in the midst of ankle-breaking pain, mind-blowing boredom, and soul-squashing sickness. Thanks to my new friends in the tele.
This morning I checked out of my hostel in the 1st arrondissement (between the Louvre and the Pompidou), and, at around 9am headed up to the 9th arrondissement to compare a cheap apartment I found on auboncoin.fr (which is like French craigslist) with another hostel from the same company (Bureau des Voyages de la Jeunesse or BVJ - kinda like French YMCA). I also went straight away to check out the Bikram yoga studio in Montmartre. The studio is amazing and I can't wait to get in and get started. Today will be my fifth day in a row and I'm feeling more determined than ever.
After popping my head into the studio (which is also beautiful and fully-equipped with mats and showers), I set out to hunt down the hostel. It was a short five minute walk away, but when I arrived, the thick blue doors were closed and locked and there was no answer when I buzzed the front desk. Hmmmm... I dialed the number for this hostel and who picks up but the guy who just checked me out at the Louvre location! Yep. They told me this location doesn't open until tomorrow, and that I needed to go back and stay one more night at the Louvre location. So, this got me thinking that maybe the apartment was going to be the best course of action since these hostel people were not doing the most stand-out job. Maybe if this apartment really sucks AND if the price is right...
By this time, I had been schlepping my bags all over the metro and Montmartre for a few hours and my shoulders were begging me for a break. I found a cute little corner cafe that looked like an appropriate spot to people-watch and bang out some postcards, so I sat down at a tiny outdoor table. After about ten minutes I realized no one had seen me sit down, so I popped my head in and asked if it was okay that I sit "there" indicating the location of my tucked away table. They said no problem and sit down and we'll be right out to take your order. So, five minutes later, server #1 popped out to take my order. Cappuccino?? No problem. I was forewarned that the milk takes at least five good minutes for her to properly froth. I said that was absolutely fine as I was especially fond of a frothy foam. Flash forward five minutes and out comes said server with a cigarette and a friend. I just patiently wrote second-hand-smoked cappuccino-less postcards. I thought for sure she's going to come right out after her cigarette break with this coffee... Nop! Four postcards later and almost an hour after I had originally sat down I thought, "Okay, there is no foam on earth luxurious enough to merit this wait", so I popped in to cancel my order. My servers eyes doubled in size when I told her I was still waiting for my coffee. She shot daggers at server #2 (who said, "Here it is!" and pulled my cappuccino out of the refrigerator???). I told them not to worry about it and took off laughing a little to myself and in hopes of finding some speedier service...
So, there I was, installing me and my bag-lady-like assortment of gear at cafe #2. I ordered and enjoyed a cappuccino. Brilliant. The bill came and forty-five minutes later I finally came to terms with the fact that no one was coming back to pick up my money and bring change (since I didn't have the exact amount). Oh man. Here we go again. Ha (by now I was laughing a little less enthusiastically)! I jumped up and loaded my shoulders with luggage and brought my tab with the money inside. Server #2 accepted the bill with incorrect change and quickly brought it to server #1, who was casually flipping through the morning paper, and didn't even turn around, but instead burped out a "Merci!" as if to accept my incorrect change as a tip for ignoring me for an hour. I literally stood and stared in disbelief, mouth agape, in the direction of the back of my server's head. I honestly did not know what to do next. Finally, the barmaid broke the silence - "Are you all settled?" she asked. I replied, "I'm settled, but I haven't received my change yet." Server #2 brought over my change and I rallied my caffeine-calibrated body parts to find this apartment...
Once I had properly explored this neighborhood and deemed it as safe and cheap and a great way to get out of the most touristy parts of Paris, I arrived at the apartment building as-advertised. The ground floor was spiffy with an enclosed courtyard and glass doors and beautiful spiral staircases, but - not unlike many apartment buildings in Paris - as I climbed up six stories the stairs, the walls, the ceilings, the welcome mats appeared less and less storybook... By the time I got to the sixth floor; there was a solid stench, the wall paper was discolored and peeling, and the ceiling was dripping with a questionably dank substance. First, the landlady showed me the working toilet on the floor, equipped with one tiny wrought-iron-barred window. From there she steered me down a narrow hallway, a walk that had me wondering which dingy apartment door was hoarding the toilet seat... Haha! Finally upon unlocking the door to possibly my own place in Paris for the next five nights, I discovered that the "apartment" was the size of my mom's walk-in closet. Oh my gosh - so small! Free wifi, yes, working kitchen, yes, heater, yes, clean sheets and towels, yes... I wondered what was exactly the price of privacy (as that was exactly the opportunity cost here). I left, thanking the landlady for her time and apologetically admitting that I was not prepared to pay 235 euro for four nights in hell (she pounced a last-minute 100 euro deposit on me - huh?). I jumped on the bus back to the Louvre hostel location and happily unloaded my things in my original room (assuring myself that - no matter what the price - clean and safe was an unbeatable combination)...
With little time to spare, I was off to yoga! On my walk to the studio I spotted a - hold up, what?!?! - MEXICAN restaurant. With burrito on the brain, my concentration in class suffered, so much so, in fact, that while the rest of the class conquered the spinal and seated series' I was already settling into cheese enchiladas. I ate and tried to grasp how much like a sitcom my day had been. Not much of anything happened and, at the end of it all, I ended up exactly where I started.
Still, in Paris - here, where the streets are paved with poodle poop - the fun never ends!
After the farmer's market this morning, I headed north on my bike to stock up on staples that don't grow from the ground here like maple syrup, muesli, and oat milk. Once inside Auchan (European Walmart equivalent that normally makes me think deeply about the Russian anarchist group Voina, but that's a different talk show...) I noticed that one of my new gloves was missing! I immediately retraced my steps back to the bike rack, but turned up nothing.
After coffee and shopping I retraced my bike route home scouring the ground for one bright green mitten. Turning around the second time, I started hearing my boss at SweetWARE in the back of my head quoting Einstein "Insanity is doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results." I'm having visions of Tom Robbins' Skinny Legs and All, my bright green mitten bravely striking out on it's own and making it's way in the world with other escaped inanimate objects. This was craziness, and I loved these gloves so much... I was determined to reunite this perfect pair.
Flash forward three hours, I'm walking and looking. After no more than fifteen minutes of walking up the street like a crazy person with one glove on (which apparently is the international sign language for "I've lost a glove") I hear a woman from across the street yell "Madame!" Yeah? She's sitting at the bus stop about to catch a bus going the opposite direction. You will not believe this. She goes, "Have you lost a glove?" I reply, "Why yes, I have!" What a coincidence! I cross the street and she explains that she picked up my other glove on the bike path a few hours ago and took it home. She happens to live nearby and can get it for me and it will only take a second... We walk together for a minute (I'm feeling much less crazy by now) and I agree to wait on a bench outside the entryway to her building.
A few minutes later, an old woman wearing kinda outlandish jewelry and a disheveled hair cut cops a squat next to me and almost sets her scarf on fire lighting her cigarette. She asks me if I'm visiting someone here. I tell her I'm waiting for someone. Not much time passes before I see two people in scrubs leaving the building, which is when I ask the woman next to me if this is a hospital. She says, "YES, this is a psychiatric hospital." Uhhh... The crazy is starting to creep back. Haha! Now, I'm sitting here wondering if this lady is going to come back with a rubber ducky declaring "Here's your glove back!" ...or just forget about me entirely. Wrong on both counts. Wonderful woman #1 restores peace to my universe and I walk home (so overjoyed) with two warm hands.
Today I went shopping for warm winter clothes in downtown Tours (Thanks, Meghan!). I bought a pair of boots with fur lining, some (fabulous) bright green fingerless wool gloves with mitten flaps, and navy blue low top Asics (not especially warm, but will *for sure* help me go undetected as a foreigner in far more social situations - that is - until I open my big American mouth to talk or laugh abnormally loudly). Haha!
Since today was the first day of real winter weather (ie in the negative numbers, fyi -1°C = 30°F, ex see breath, check, frost doesn't melt, check, need visible confirmation that fingertips still exist, check), this cash gift from my beloved sister arrived just in the nick of time. And guess what?!? I only paid... drum roll please.......................................................... 75 euros! Ah yes, because today I was welcomed into French hand-me-down heaven. Here they call it Prêt à Porter (Ready to Wear). One step inside this particular thrift shop and I knew immediately that I had struck second hand store gold. In fifteen minutes flat I found three completely unique (basically new) items that fit like a charm. The price was right, but - being the huge cheapskate that I am - that didn't stop me from haggling anyway and getting everything marked down another 15 euros. Sold! I wore the boots and the gloves out of the store and a huge dumb smile on my face for the rest of the day.
I'm so warm! ...and, I tell ya, it's getting harder and harder for peeps to pin me as 'not from around here'! Double score!
After getting (almost) run over several times, it has been explained to me that the right turn *always* has the right of way here. So, for example, say you're driving fast down a straight road, but you're approaching an intersecting street on your right. If and only if there is a vehicle barreling down that street about to make a fast and completely legal right turn onto the street upon which you are driving, it's your responsibility to prepare to stop.
Video Killed the Radio Star
You don't have to be attractive to be on TV here. There *are* lots of attractive people on TV here, but it certainly does not appear to be a universal rule like it is in the States. There are loads of normal looking people on TV. Makeup, lighting and airbrushing are used sparingly. This has not affected how disinclined I am to watch TV. When I do, every other commercial is for cheese or chocolate.
There's a 51 bus here! I swear to God... I was walking down the street and BAM! there was the freaking 51!!!!! Ahahah - hilarious. I almost had to sit down on the side of the road I was laughing so hard. One day - when I'm really homesick - I'm going to ride that line from end to end and dream about the Bay Area. Ha! The 51... We've shared so many good times...
No 666
There's no 666 here. I found this out in a very absurd way! Walking into town on a race day, I passed by two guys still proudly sporting their runner's numbers. One of them was 666! So I did what any normal American would do - I pointed and laughed in a way that invited everyone to join in - he just looked down and looked back up and gave me the "What, did I forget to zip?!!?" look. We continued walking in opposite directions, everyone very confused.
Pick a Lane
They don't have lanes in the community pool here, so swimming is like playing a game of frogger. If you know me, you know that I am a very weak swimmer. So, as you can imagine, I am like a baby elephant under there... I've kicked plenty of people and been caught (on a few occasions) accidentally/intentionally dirty looking some individuals who just stand right in the middle. I haven't built up enough courage to ask them why they just stand there in the middle of the pool causing others to go out of their way to swim around, but one of these days when my anger has subsided I will find a way to ask nicely.
Pre-game Routine
To prepare the regional men's team for their first match, I wanted to encourage them to find a pre-game routine. However, I didn't know how to say "pre-game routine", so I decided to just describe what I do to prepare for a match and asked them what they call that. They said "obsessive compulsive disorder". Wah wah!
There's more, but I can't think of it, so that's all for now. More later!
Wednesday morning! Yay! Today was the outdoor market Mecca at Les Halles. I rode down in the misty morning light and immediately got in line for the same fruit booth I went to last week and the week before to get a refill on apple/pear juice and the seasons best apples, pears, peaches, and plums. I've witnessed a large spectrum of acceptable behavior at French farmer's markets so far... Sometimes people fill their own bags, but still wait in line to weigh and pay. Sometimes people wait in line for just the bags and pay when they're done picking out what they want. Sometimes people wait patiently in the whole line with their empty bags and then order their household fruit and vegetable consumption in terms of kilograms per week from the overworked farmer behind the table. (Me? I'm getting used to the kilometers and degrees, but I still think of fruit and vegetables in units - 2 plums, 4 apples, 2 pears - like a French kindergartner.)
Today, I got out my empty bags from last week and eagerly started filling them up with deliciousness. It wasn't long before I started pissing off the woman in front of me who did not hesitate to scold me for touching all the fruit. Here is a rough translation of what was said in French + make sure to add a terrible American accent to my part...
Her - "If you squeeze all the fruit, you're making it bruised for everyone behind you in line."
Me - "I never squeeze the fruit."
Her - "That's right. Don't squeeze it."
Me - "I don't."
Her - "Good. You shouldn't."
I continued to pick my fruit out awkwardly when it became obvious that this random French woman never wanted to think about me or see me ever again. We don't know each other so that shouldn't be too difficult... Not a great start - culturally speaking!
Next stop: garlic, onions, spinach, mushrooms, tomatoes! I quickly find myself in line behind another French woman who had the exact same haircut as the Shih Tzu in her arms (no joke). I tried not to stare, but her fingers were all over the place! She'd take a stroke of her precious pet, then fondle the onions, pet pet, sift through garlic, pet, ew... I was starting to understand what I might've looked like to French Lady #1.
Done! Cue French Lady #3... A well-dressed woman with straggly white hair handed me a flyer and instead of my normal, "non, merci" I welcomed the flyer and looked her straight in the eyes and genuinely asked if this flyer would tell me where I can find some friends. We stood in the middle of the market for a second laughing like insane people and then she said, "Maybe! You never know." I walked away pretty pleased with my joke of the day... The flyer was for an antique fair. Wah wah :)
Practice was great last night! I had a terrible stomach ache beforehand (probably because of the anti-inflammatories I've been popping like red hots), but as soon as I got with my team - it was like magic - my stomach pain just went away. Seriously, I was sitting alone in the gym doubled over with pain and as soon as my team arrived and we started talking and laughing - GONE! I love practicing with my team!
So, there's no word for knuckle in French. It's just called a finger joint. You can probably imagine the conversation where I found this out, but here it is anyways:
Me: "Hey cool wow! What's your skin doing on your fingers?"
Nono: "It's paint."
Me: "Haha, not that. I'm talking about the weird peeling thing on your - wait - what do you call that?"
Nono: "What?"
Me: "How do you say that in French?" [points at knuckle and does a weird wiggly finger dance]
Nono: "Joint." [makes movements with elbows]
Me: "No, not 'joint'. What do you call the joint on your finger?"
Nono: "Finger joint." [articulates at the knuckle]
Me: [digging in purse for dictionary] "Really?! There's not a more specific word in French for knuckle?!"
Nono: "Nop. It's just 'joint'."
Me: [Frantically flipping the pages in dictionary to find knuckle] ABCDEFGH...M?!? Grr... "Ahhhhhh OKAY! 'Joint'! You're right!" [triumphantly... trying to look cute to native French speakers who seem less satisfied with the outcome of this conversation] So, then how would you say knuckle ba...? Shut up, English speaking brain! There's no baseball in France!!!
Me: "So hey cool! I have the same dry skin thing on my finger joints as you do. What is that?"
Nono: "Dry skin."
WAH WAH!
Vocabulary:
Dry: Sec (m), Seche (f)
Finger = la droigt
Joint = l'articulation
Knuckle = l'articulation
Paint = la peinture
Skin = la peau
Weird = bizarre
I don't know how deeply I've delved into the subject of kissing in France, but this is the stuff that this Culture (yes, culture with a capital C!) is made of... So, here we go!
This morning I was sitting in a coffee shop/bar/newsstand/convenience store around the corner from my new digs looking like a total tourist in my shorts and tennies with socks, writing postcards, and drinking a cappuccino (which looked like a McDonald's ice cream cone and an espresso got in a brawl and the ice cream won) and - I'm not even joking - every single customer said hello upon entry to pretty much everyone but me. The men shook hands with each other and everyone kissed the women (2x minimum - first the right cheek then the left cheek - though I witnessed a four kiss situation which, at this point, is my worst nightmare...). Ha! No matter what is going on, you drop everything and walk straight up to people with a gender specific greeting and this is a HUGE part of the culture here that I have yet to fully embrace (ahem ahem).
So, if you can imagine my practice last night - there I was being introduced to the core of the Saint-Cyr-sur-Loire Men's Regional team (seriously 7 French guys just totally blankly staring at me) and no one knew how to say hi. Do we perform the usual ceremony (two kisses - no eye contact - no hesitation, just literally stick your neck out and go right on in for it)? Do I just take the lead and spit on hundreds of years of their cultural tradition by swapping their kisses for a sweaty yankee handshake? Running away screaming was taken into consideration... Eyeyey! I ended up asking if it was possible to institute a strict high five policy... People agreed this was fine. So, our salutation involves a high five plus an exploding fist bump (it's sporty and kinda like knuckles kissing with fireworks at the end).
Greeting aside, it was pretty obvious from the start that at least half of these guys were not excited about having a young, female, American coach... Oh man, that's so many counts against me here it's a little ridiculous, but once we got started they were all cool and there's no doubt about it - this team is athletic with strong fundamentals. My role is clearly just to work them out hard and give them game-like drills that challenge specific areas where they need improvement. I thought practice went pretty well, but we'll see who shows up on Friday! :)
Today I went to see a cool and competent podiatrist who made me custom insoles! Now every time I take a step it feels like a baby is punching me in the arch. Haha! He said wearing the insoles should clear up my foot pain completely in ten days and to come see him again any time. We talked for a long time about feet (doy!) and athleticism (one of my favorite topics!)... His office was super high-tech. He really helped me.
I feel great - which is good because I have practice tonight! Yay! Okay - that's all for now. More later!
Last night the team practiced with two new girls. Very exciting. Still lots of work to do... Also moved into my own place last night! This morning I woke up in my own bed in my own room!
I had a super vivid dream about meeting Louis CK:
Sarah and Meghan and I were pouring off a bus along with a whole lot of other people. We were walking up a Bay Bridge highway on ramp when I noticed Louis CK just laying back on the asphalt. I stopped dead in my tracks (inconveniencing a bunch of people who had to then step around us) and said "Oh my God, Louie!!!! ...or is it Louis?? Haha... I don't know, but it's you! Louis CK!" I awkwardly bent over and gave him a weirdly forced hug while he was laying there and couldn't really go anywhere or hug me back. Ha! I don't remember much more except that (once he stood up) I got to tell him that I thought his best joke was the "Noggin" joke and then I woke up and, to no avail, tried to go right to sleep in the same position so that I could go back to the dream and bask in the light of his greatness...
Louis CK is one of my heroes for a few reasons:
1. The arch of his career proves that hard work works
2. Female ally in comedy (He seriously is...)
3. Thinks for himself and owns how he interacts with his audience
4. Makes his work cheap and accessible online
5. Shameless, Hilarious, Chewed Up, Oh My God, just to name a few...
When I get back to the States I want to meet him super bad. Just putting that out there, Universe... :)
Back to France. I'm all set up with a bed, hot water, laundry, electricity, a fast and free internet connection, and unlimited use of the world's smallest kitchen. Ha!
This morning I set out to buy some necessities like shampoo, toothpaste, sponges, dish soap, salt, pepper, oil, vinegar, etc. And now I must apologize and take back something I wrote in previous posts here and here because I found French Farmer's Market MECCA in Les Halles (a cute corner of town just a few bus stops over the bridge from my new home!). I seriously almost passed out when I saw it - I was so excited!!! Just Oh! like a kilometer squared of beautiful farm fresh fruits and veggies, local eggs, vinegars, oils, cheeses, fish, meats, every French food your heart could desire. So, I'm sorry I was quick to judge you, Tours, because your farmer's markets are insanely cool. :)
Tonight is my first practice coaching the men's regional team here. So, at 8pm about 15 adult men who only speak French are going to be staring at me and listening to me (haha - hopefully!). Here goes nothing!
The treasurer of Saint-Cyr-sur-Loire Volley Ball invited me to stay with him and his family in the countryside North of Tours this past weekend. Beautiful family, beautiful home, beautiful food, ahhhhh... It was really nice to unplug and unwind!
On the first night we ate fajitas for dinner with tortillas and guacamole and everything!!!! OH MY GAWD! So nice! So tasty! Mmmmmmmm... We ate so well! Four and five course meals all over the place. Unfortunately, because I was constantly caring for my sore foot, when I wasn't eating everything in sight, I was kindof a big bummer. :(
On Sunday, we went on an outing to Château-La-Vallière, but because of my foot I didn't make it too far (ouch!). Our first stop was a little lake where they foraged some blackberries and played volleyball while I laid back and just enjoyed the sunshine and the breeze. Next stop, we went to go visit a friend of the club and his family, who - guess what? - is loaning me his bike until May - Yayayay! We ate rhubarb tart and talked and laughed and I almost understood something he said once... I think... Ahahah!
The rest of the weekend was spent sword fighting from the couch and playing games with the sweetest little boy in the world, the Treasurer's eight year old son. We completed an entire "Ou est Charlie?" book, he whooped me repeatedly at Memory (a matching game), he learned how to shuffle cards, and we watched cartoons ("Shiva" is Legos in French!).
The Treasurer got the ball rolling for my transfer paperwork, insurance, and - drumroll please! - we went to visit an apartment that looks like a keeper. All in all, it was a super fun and productive weekend.
Just FYI - I'm watching Scoobie Doo in French right now and IT. IS. AWESOME.
After walking everywhere so much this week in my flip flops, last night the right side of my foot started to throb. I should've thrown an ice pack on it right away, but instead I shrugged it off and decided a night of rest will probably do enough good for it to feel better in the morning... WRONG! How many times do I have to learn this lesson?!?!? When it hurts, put an ice pack on it! It makes me want a version of this Portlandia skit for injured athletes:
Ahahaha... PUT. AN. ICE. PACK. ON. IT.
Today, the President accompanied me to see my dream apartment, I finally got my FIVB international transfer number, and started my temporary long-stay visa paperwork for France. All this bureaucratic bull on top of my nagging foot pain kinda put a kink in my outlook on the day. So, while Laurent made lunch, I blasted some of my favorite music: King Crimson's Walking On Air, Erik Satie's Je Te Veux, Simon and Garfunkle's Greatest Hits, and this Bell Chant.
The music sparked a deep conversation about the incredible life of Laurent Cahu. We ate and talked. He's been really great about opening up his home and sharing everything with me... He's also been a very patient French teacher at every opportunity he gets. He takes the time to explain expressions and words to me - for example, well, every bad word in the French language, slang for "cops", the word "mothballs", etc. Ahaha! :)
I can't say my foot or my mood had fully recovered by the time we rolled up to the gym, HOWEVER, by the time I laced up my shoes, every thought from my day just completely faded away into team thoughts. Volleyball practice has a way of quieting the mind that I just love so much... Once that ball is in the air, the team is all that matters... A lot of the credit for this feeling goes to the coach of course. She's doing a really good job setting the tone, working us out, and starting to get us to think as one. Oh man, just typing this gives me such a good feeling! Love my team!! Love this sport!!
The Head Coach gave me a lift back to Laurent's place. It was a real privilege getting a chance to talk to her. She told me her volleyball history (she's my hero) and I told her about how much I love hot yoga. She said that if you buy the TGV tickets for Tours-Paris far enough in advance it can be as cheap as 20 euros!!!! I said, "GET OUT!" I'm stoked... This means that I can go practice bikram in Paris - maybe as often as once a month. This is great news! Can't wait!
Opening the door to the house was like walking into a scene from Ratatouille - ha! - Laurent had cooked up a specialty of his, a very meaty sausage and vegetable stew. So, I made an exception and tasted it. Delicious! This is the first pork I've had since May! I sauteed some zucchini on the side and ate while icing my foot and then almost fell asleep on the couch. So beat!! Bed now.
Yesterday I jogged a 5k with my bro here. After that, he took me shopping to an organic market where I spent around 22 euros of my own money on a few days worth of food (even though the president is putting me up/putting up with me (haha!) I think I can manage to contribute a loaf of bread and some peaches here and there). When we got home my bro left to kick off his Friday night and I attacked the kitchen in full force! I made a garlicky quinoa tabouli with raisins, almonds, tomatoes, onions and mushrooms. Mmmm...
The president and his girlfriend took me to a BBQ at the team captain's house for dinner, so I brought the dish along to share and everyone seemed to like it okay... Even though they know I'm having difficulty integrating with my level of French as it is right at this moment, everyone was really nice! The captain of the team has two children and a beautiful house with a garden outside of Tours. They showed me a real French meal, with an aperitif, starter, main course (vegetarians get crudites), cheese, pie, digestif - voila! We dined under a wide French sunset and then the group talked and laughed until dawn. I mostly listened and tried to pick out as many words I could (not easy!)... This was my first real language challenge and I can't say with confidence at this point that I passed. One on one I'm okay for now, but when the conversation is moving along quickly in a group I'm not confident enough in my ability to speak concisely within the context of the conversation to just jump in. I'll be honest - I ended up being the quiet creeper at the end of the table who everyone could poke fun at for dozing off. In any case, they had fun and we made it home safely, so all is well. What a night!
Today, I went online to search for apartments and to contact some local cyclists about maybe getting a bike and latching onto some group rides. I NEED TO RIDE, but it just rained a little and it smells amazing, so maybe I'll run instead. That's all for now... More later!
PS - I forgot to mention in my Day 3 post that when I wasn't thinking about Gordon Ramsay's encouraging words, I was actually belting out bars from Sound of Music's "Climb Every Mountain"... (So funny how things come full circle because Heidi Bell taught me to play volleyball and if I recall correctly, she played Mother Superior in her high school play - ha!)
After yesterday's let down of not making the top 14, I woke up determined to play my best today... I was so jazzed that at 6am I was lacing up my shoes to go for a jog through the hilly paths just south of Hotel Dras. The forest here is dense, but the early morning light was cutting through the trees in fabulous shades of pink and gold. I actually stopped and stared - no, not to catch my breath! wink wink - to admire many of the little details about this place... The wildflowers are in full bloom. I spotted two deer and whole duck family (they "kvak" here - ahah!)...
In addition to the ski runs here (which double as mountain biking paths in the summer time), there is a ropes course, a golf course, a slide down the mountainside, two gondolas, a soccer field, an outdoor bounce house, a resort with yoga, swimming pools, a spa, and bike rentals... Oh my gosh - this town has so much to offer! Blah blah blah - Maribor is great!
After doing some yoga on the edge of a little reservoir outside our hotel, I went into the hotel restaurant for an early breakfast. (Have I mentioned how amazing the food is here??) I knew this would be my first morning that required coffee because I was up SO LATE and then woke up SO EARLY last night - I think my brain just needed to process the reality of hanging out at the bottom of this incredibly impressive lineup of skillful players/leaders, and thinking about how I've got to be ready for my close up today! :)
Right after breakfast, we said goodbye to two of our roomies - and five became three. Such mixed feelings!! I'm so excited for them and the adventures they are about to embark upon, I'm jealous of their success, I'm so so sad to see them go... Ahhh! It's so confusing... One second we're picking a girl up off the floor and telling her she has the next ball - the next second you're fantasizing about breaking her legs - haha!
ANYWAY - got ready really really carefully just to be sure my pre-game routine was done to a tee. It was. Unfortunately, we arrived in the gym to some bad news - that is - no more coaches are coming here to watch us... The bright side??
1. We are going to get some much needed down time tomorrow
2. We will receive more personalized attention from our agents/coaches at trainings
3. While we continue to improve, we buy time for the agents to drum up the best jobs that are still out there
4. We might be embarking on a little road trip of our own to visit them
Even with this disappointing news, I felt good as soon as I stepped on the court. No joke - I played the best volleyball of my whole entire life for the next two hours! I know the other girls noticed, and of course, ha! I could barely recognize myself, so I noticed, but it's really hard to say if anyone else noticed... My mission over the next week is to just keep doing things that get attention for the right reasons, and to continue to forge bonds with this incredible group of women... Oh man, I am impatient for the fulfillment of all of our dreams of making a team.
In the afternoon, we practiced again and after lunch, I rented a bike and ventured into Maribor on my own. It felt so so great to be on the bike... (More on this later - hehe!)
It's only the fourth day here and I already feel like I have truly experienced a lifetime range of emotions. I have laughed till my face is sore... I've shouted "let's go" more times than I can count... Sang "Climb Every Mountain", sat quietly, meditated, sobbed like a baby, and screamed YAY! like, well, like a school girl - which is how young I feel to be playing the highest level volleyball I've ever played right now. This experience is like a roller coaster off the tracks...
It's very late, so I must be going to bed now... More tomorrow! Good night!
Ahahah... So apparently Maribor, Slovenia was host city for the First International Festival of Laughing Without Reason... I think this is going to be a fun trip!! Check out this guy:
