High School Volleyball-Personal Narrative

There was only 2 minutes until game time. My ankle was throbbing. My stomach was churning. I could hardly stand. There was no way I could walk to my position, much less play 25 points of constant jumping and moving around. But there was absolutely no way I was going sit this game out. If I sat out now, there would be little chance of me being able to play for the rest of the season. My only choice now was to get on the court and hope that my ankle didn 't give out on me. I 've been playing volleyball for about 2 years. Which by volleyball standards, isn 't a very long time. But I 've tirelessly played everyday to gain the necessary skill for school volleyball. Different brown hardwood courts, varying bright lights, tall nets, and

After several games, our most important game was finally coming up. We would be playing our biggest rival, Perry High School. I was nervous. The term “butterflies in my stomach” didn’t quite do my nervousness justice. I had a constant dizzying worry that I would screw this game up and not be able to play again. The day of the game, I feared the worst, which only made the metaphorical butterflies fluttering in my stomach flutter faster throughout my entire body. This feeling lasted all the way to Perry. When the team finally got out of the luxurious, top 1% looking bus, my nervousness had manifested itself so deep into my subconscious that even blinking brought on images of embarrassment and failure. As we walked into the gym, I was immediately startled by how bright it was. The walls were entirely white, which when combined with the excessively bright overhead lights and light hardwood floor, gave me a great pregame headache. It looked like a run down version of what people expect heaven to look like. I was shaking like an arthritic chihuahua, making it excessively difficult to put my shoes on. I continued to walk around and attempt to tame the wild feeling of anxiety working in my mind.But as we were doing our hitting warm ups, the worst happened. I had jumped with the set and right as I landed, my ankle decided that twisting 180 degrees to the left would be more effective than staying upright. So far in fact that my math teacher wouldn’t be able to measure it using a

When it was time to get started, I did my best to ignore the throbbing pain under my high top basketball shoe. We did our pregame dance, which was the first form of torture for my weak black and blue ankle. After another 5 minutes of standing around and regretting my decision to play sports, the game began. I blocked, hit, dove, ran, set, and passed as if my ankles were made of iron. I can’t remember exactly how many kills and blocks I got, but for someone playing on a possibly broken ankle, it was very impressive. I felt confident subtly limping off of the court. I knew the coaches thought I did incredible. I sat down as fast as I could to nurse my now swollen ankle. I wondered if playing this game had been my best idea. I wondered what would have happened if I had just told the coach what had happened and sat out instead. But these thoughts were short lived as someone bumped my foot, causing another gut wrenching streak of pain to shoot up my leg. After I made it back home, I attempted to nurse my ankle to the best of ability but my lack of experience with injuries made it difficult. Waking up the next day I immediately knew my ankle had gotten worse. It was swollen to the size of a baseball and was almost as black as a night in a country town. Standing up was a very difficult task. I realized that maybe playing in that game was not my greatest idea. I feared for my both my immediate and my long term future in the sport. I also realized that investing in ankle braces