Updated: Dec. 26, 2015
Originally Published: Aug. 9, 2015
Choosing to embrace my inner Californian while still keeping my brunette hair and skipping out on those trendy happy hour sushi gatherings, I soon found myself feeling quite isolated. The longing for a sense of community crept in, and I realized that joining groups and participating in activities was the key. But what could I do without looking like I was trying to turn back the clock to my twenties? After all, California seemed to be filled with a sea of youthful, wrinkle-free twenty-somethings, while I was approaching the big four-oh.
My couple friends often dragged me to beach volleyball matches where, despite my towering 6-foot frame, I always smiled and politely declined their invitations to play. “Maybe later,” I would say, but in my mind, that meant “never.”
People assumed that my height automatically granted me volleyball prowess, and back in high school, I had even been scouted by small college coaches. But when they saw my less-than-stellar spiking skills during a gym tryout, they quickly changed their minds and hurried out.
However, my perspective on beach volleyball began to shift as I observed my friends play. While they competed, I would lounge on my towel, engrossed in my latest beach read, yet I couldn’t help but notice the warm camaraderie among the players. They greeted each other with enthusiasm as if reuniting after years apart, high-fiving after every point, and shrugging off mistakes with ease. They played for the sheer joy of it, with the stunning Pacific Ocean as their backdrop, and I found myself inspired.
So, I decided to take the plunge and signed up for an adult beginner beach volleyball class nearby. I was determined to finally impress my seventh-grade P.E. teacher by spiking that ball like a pro.
On the first day of class, we gathered in a circle for introductions. To my surprise, I was one of only two girls in the class. The instructor asked us to share our names, where we were from, and how long we had played volleyball. I raised an eyebrow at the question, thinking we were all newbies. However, the guys chimed in with “four years” of experience, leaving me a bit dazed. The other girl, when asked, said, “Four times,” and I immediately claimed her as my partner—I figured if I was going to embarrass myself, I’d prefer to do it alongside someone else just starting out.
Our instructor began with the basics—throwing the ball. As we passed it around with one arm, I struggled to shake off my self-consciousness. The hot sand burned my feet, and I could feel my skin turning red from my lack of sunscreen. My arms started to ache, and bruises appeared from repeated attempts to bump the ball.
But the most notable thing? I kept saying “sorry” for every single mistake I made.
By the second class, I arrived with a renewed spirit. I silently repeated, “I am good enough,” each time I hit the ball—and it went in the wrong direction. I straightened my posture, standing tall and proud at 6 feet. And you know what? It worked! I hit the ball harder, my confidence blossomed, and I no longer felt the need to apologize for my blunders. Even the instructor remembered my name this time—quite the feat considering how much time he spent with me in comparison to the others.
As I continued to play, I began to appreciate volleyball and my limited skills. I noticed a shift in how I carried myself off the court too; instead of looking down, I held my head up high, and people began to notice the change in me.
At almost 40, I’ve learned that it’s never too late to discover something new.
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Summary
At nearly 40, Jenna Marlowe shares her journey of discovering beach volleyball as a means to build community and confidence. Initially hesitant due to her age and perceived skill level, she ultimately embraces the sport, finding joy and camaraderie along the way, proving that it’s never too late to learn something new.