![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
Still working my jaw...
Jul. 14th, 2005 12:14 pmTwo nights ago, I joined a couple of the U.S. managers on a walk "around the block" that forms the perimeter of the world within which we are allowed to wander (and even then, with restrictions), and we could not help but notice the hullaballoo of voices coming from a volleyball game in progress not far from our path. I assumed that the French - who had imported a volleyball net and ball along with the inflatable swimming pool mentioned a couple of posts ago - had strung up the net and were going at it full bore.
I have always loved to play volleyball, though with the passage of the years, my ability to jump and dive has, um, declined. The last time I played volleyball on a regular basis was over a decade ago when I worked at Borland, which sponsored a team in the community league in Santa Cruz. I made a note of the location of the court, and decided to wander by last night and see if I could join in.
I was mistaken as to the nationality of the participants. The French, as it turns out, have not yet unwrapped their volleyball net. Instead, the crowd that has been assembling at least these past couple of evenings has been 100% Russian. Correction: last night, there was one American on the court. Moi.
It was the first time in longer than I could remember that I engaged in such physical activity, and though I made my share of mistakes, I also made my share of good shots, passes, blocks, and even a spike or two. What I could have done without was the collision with another player that sent his elbow into the side of my head, whereupon physics took over and tried to send my jaw in one direction while the rest of my skull went in another. I am still working my jaw from time to time to relieve the discomfort of that blow. When I left after playing for 90 minutes, it seemed as if the participants were just warming up.
The Russians play a different brand of game from the one I recall playing in the States. For one thing, a point accrues to the side that wins the serve, as well as when the serving side wins the point (in other words, if side A starts the game by serving one into the net, the serve passes to side B with the score standing at 1-0 in favor of B). [UPDATE: I was told over lunch today that this conforms to the current rules, which just shows how long it has been since I've played volleyball.]
Another major wrinkle, which I believe is completely local, is that players may use their feet to strike the ball. (The first time a kicked ball came my way during a volley, I caught it instead of hitting it - silly me, I thought the point was lost - which caused a lot of "why didn't you hit it?" looks to be thrown my way.)
One thing that seems universal is the rhubarb that's exchanged among players and between sides in the course of the game. Surprisingly, though there were numerous references to pancakes and horseradish - the Russian words for which being euphemisms for common vulgarisms, much the same way "shoot" and "fudge" are used in some places in the States - there was none of the kind of language used that you might expect from a bunch of guys playing a pick-up game of volleyball, say, in Santa Cruz.
* * * As I was scheduled to work later in the day today, I decided to catch the launch of Discovery, which was to have taken place at around 2 am local time, and when that didn't happen, I went to sleep, getting up at almost 9 am. Connectivity from the hotel remains lousy and ILS is still working on getting me dial-in access to the network from my room, so I was not able to call home.
After breakfast, recalling the downward trend of my treadmill workouts the past couple of days, I made up my mind to burn 500 calories or better. I did, by 21 calories.
In addition, recalling my good wind during last night's volleyball (especially when running to fetch the ball, which had a distressing habit of bouncing over the 2-m high fence around the court), I tried ramping up my speed to 6 mph during this morning's treadmill session, which basically forces you to jog on the apparatus. I continued to jog for a whole 3 minutes, which was pretty exhilarating for me, because a couple-three months ago, jogging even 50 yards would completely wind me, while today I was merely breathing hard after jogging for just over a quarter mile. While this is certainly not an Olympian achievement in general terms, it's an excellent result for me. It's what I call progress.
Lunch calls, after which it'll be time to go into the полтинник until this evening, when all will gather at the Proton to celebrate Bastille Day.
Cheers...
I have always loved to play volleyball, though with the passage of the years, my ability to jump and dive has, um, declined. The last time I played volleyball on a regular basis was over a decade ago when I worked at Borland, which sponsored a team in the community league in Santa Cruz. I made a note of the location of the court, and decided to wander by last night and see if I could join in.
I was mistaken as to the nationality of the participants. The French, as it turns out, have not yet unwrapped their volleyball net. Instead, the crowd that has been assembling at least these past couple of evenings has been 100% Russian. Correction: last night, there was one American on the court. Moi.
It was the first time in longer than I could remember that I engaged in such physical activity, and though I made my share of mistakes, I also made my share of good shots, passes, blocks, and even a spike or two. What I could have done without was the collision with another player that sent his elbow into the side of my head, whereupon physics took over and tried to send my jaw in one direction while the rest of my skull went in another. I am still working my jaw from time to time to relieve the discomfort of that blow. When I left after playing for 90 minutes, it seemed as if the participants were just warming up.
The Russians play a different brand of game from the one I recall playing in the States. For one thing, a point accrues to the side that wins the serve, as well as when the serving side wins the point (in other words, if side A starts the game by serving one into the net, the serve passes to side B with the score standing at 1-0 in favor of B). [UPDATE: I was told over lunch today that this conforms to the current rules, which just shows how long it has been since I've played volleyball.]
Another major wrinkle, which I believe is completely local, is that players may use their feet to strike the ball. (The first time a kicked ball came my way during a volley, I caught it instead of hitting it - silly me, I thought the point was lost - which caused a lot of "why didn't you hit it?" looks to be thrown my way.)
One thing that seems universal is the rhubarb that's exchanged among players and between sides in the course of the game. Surprisingly, though there were numerous references to pancakes and horseradish - the Russian words for which being euphemisms for common vulgarisms, much the same way "shoot" and "fudge" are used in some places in the States - there was none of the kind of language used that you might expect from a bunch of guys playing a pick-up game of volleyball, say, in Santa Cruz.
After breakfast, recalling the downward trend of my treadmill workouts the past couple of days, I made up my mind to burn 500 calories or better. I did, by 21 calories.
In addition, recalling my good wind during last night's volleyball (especially when running to fetch the ball, which had a distressing habit of bouncing over the 2-m high fence around the court), I tried ramping up my speed to 6 mph during this morning's treadmill session, which basically forces you to jog on the apparatus. I continued to jog for a whole 3 minutes, which was pretty exhilarating for me, because a couple-three months ago, jogging even 50 yards would completely wind me, while today I was merely breathing hard after jogging for just over a quarter mile. While this is certainly not an Olympian achievement in general terms, it's an excellent result for me. It's what I call progress.
Lunch calls, after which it'll be time to go into the полтинник until this evening, when all will gather at the Proton to celebrate Bastille Day.
Cheers...
