Nice Ace

When my 20-something year old friend asked us to play on their sand volleyball team, my 40 year old flattered ego answered yes before my body had a chance to speak up.

All doubt was removed when she told me their team name, and a false sense of confidence convinced me that she wouldn't ask me to wear a shirt that said "Nice Aces" if it didn't apply.

In a hard-core-athlete sad mid-life-crisis kinda way, I started preparing.  Every run on the treadmill, every weight lifted and every stomach crunch was with sand volleyball in mind.  I starved myself of carbs for a week and I traveled to Kohls stores both near and far to find the perfect pair of shorts to flatter my boldly advertised "nice ace" scripted across my chest.

Most importantly, I refreshed my memory with a little research by watching the beach volleyball scene from the movie Top Gun.  Because let's be clear.  It's all about the background music, choreographed flex of the muscles, slow motion high fives and just the right amount of sweat.  This isn't sand volleyball, people.  This is art.  And I was ready.

Saturday was the day.  With the help of Map Quest, we arrived at the destination....an Ostrich Farm.  WTH?  What I found even more baffling was the lack of ostrich on their self-proclaimed farm.  None.  Just what appeared to be a large carport, 2 port-a-potties, 4 sand volleyball courts and approximately 100 pick-up trucks full of beer coolers, surrounded by tents and lawn chairs with people passing around a jug of liquid "apple pie" that my husband warned me wasn't really apple pie.  A lesson he learned after I inadvertently ate a plate of jello shots and showed up drunk to a church picnic. 

But they had the background music.  It wasn't Kenny Loggins.  It was better.  It's like they took a copy of my iPod playlist.  Songs by Justin Timberlake, Ludacris and Florida to name a few.  Songs that convince you that you not only run fast, but that you look super cool while you're running fast.  And they were blasting from the speakers all day long.

Nine hours later, we walked away with 3rd place, which I consider a victory.  I think the sexy music helped.  Our opponents might have been distracted by the stunt plane that was practicing aerial maneuvers above our heads and/or the longer we played, the more drunk they got.  Or maybe, just maybe, they underestimated the skill of a team that included not only 40 year old Top Gun wannabes, but a couple of fierce pregnant women, too.

But watch out.  Because next year, some of us will have given birth and the rest of us will have mastered the all important volleyball-on-the-fingertip-spin...and then you're going down.