Since shortly after I got to Australia, I’ve been pretty
casually coaching volleyball with the Melbourne University Renegades. And by casual, I
mean I make one out of two trainings a week, rarely go to games (which are
every Saturday for six months), and quite often cancel attending training at
the last minute due to work (or because I fell of my bike, etc.). I have been
pretty epically (for me) and unashamedly (for me) uncommitted. And I have to
say, it’s been great.
On the Saturdays when I’m feeling more committed (often towards
end of season when we’re on the run to the playoffs and I’m just back from a
few weeks in the US), I generally take public transport over to Nick’s (the
real, epically committed, coach) and ride out to the matches with him. This means about 30+ minutes
in the car both ways. I know I’m mostly an introvert, and I’m
guessing he is, too, so it can be a quiet ride once we’ve sorted match strategy.
Over the past few years, our conversation starters outside of volleyball are
often things I don’t understand about Australia. Nick is Australian, and a patient source.
On a recent trip, two police cars went zipping past us in
the right lane (which is the fast lane, because we’re on the other side of the
road).
Nick said “Wow, good thing I wasn’t speeding.”
I said, “But the limit is
100 and your speedometer says 103.” (I know from previous conversations this is
enough to garner a ticket.)
“Yeah, but my speedo is off.”
Aaaaaaand I was laughing. “I am never going to be able to
un-see that image in my head.”
And then he reminded me we’d had almost the same conversation
the previous week (including my reaction; as I said, he's a patient source). “Speedos are speedometers, Amy.”
“Right,
right,” I gasped. “Tell me again what you call the tiny bathing suits?”
And there’s another image I’ll never get out of my head.
