I'm 25 and I Play Dodgeball

Two years ago I left Connecticut, master's degree in hand, and returned home. For the first time in six years, I'd be going back to the place I grew up and wouldn't be leaving at the end of the summer as I had every August since 2003. 

I'll admit to being a homebody, so returning to life in suburbia didn't bother me.  What bothered me was that most of my friends did the exact opposite of me, moving to Hoboken or New York City; the glamorous places movies and television tell us all 20-somethings need to live in to get the most out of those years.  I wasn't feeling jealous of their new surroundings, rent payments and shoebox sized apartments.  I was just wondering if my nights were now going to be spent watching Everybody Loves Raymond on the couch with my parents rather than heading to happy hours and hanging out with people my own age.

So there I was: back home in my old room, searching for a job and practically friendless.  This wasn't exactly what I pictured when I made the two hour drive southbound on the Merritt Parkway, heading home to my future.  But relief soon came in the form of an offer from my younger sister (I said "practically friendless"; I wasn't a complete loser).

She and her best friend were subbing for a dodgeball team in the No Idea Sports league. That's right. Dodgeball. For adults.

Intrigued, she asked me if I wanted to join when registration opened up for the next season.  Um, hell yeah I wanted to join.  I wanted to see first hand what I was getting into, so I subbed in one game.  Before we left the house, I asked if I should wear workout clothes.  It was dodgeball after all, a game consisting of pegging people.  How much could you possibly sweat? 

The answer?  A LOT.  I had a nice sweat bib going when I walked out of the elementary school gym after that first game. 

Here's why:

For 45 minutes, you're dodging, ducking, dipping, diving...and dodging (thanks, Patches O'Houlihan).

For 45 minutes, you're running sprints, ripping the foam ball away from your opponent when the whistle blows (I've been known to drag the ball, opponent still attached, over the starting line).

For 45 minutes, your heart is pumping, hoping you catch a ball to get a teammate back out on the court, while at the same time, attempting to avoid being the target of an opponent's throw. 

For 45 minutes, you're having more fun than you did when you played in elementary school.

I've gotten so much more out of this sport and the league than the obvious physical benefits of playing a sport meant for kids in elementary school.  I can't say enough about the great group of friends who I would have never met, had it not been for one small offer from my sister. 

We work in schools and hotels and offices.  We're computer wizards, au pairs, coaches, and marketing professionals, but every Wednesday night we're a team that has fun.  While we might not win as often as we'd like, we do it as a team.  We recap the game and the opposing players during our post-game visits to the bar.  We send inspirational and sometimes ridiculous e-mails to each other throughout the day, pumping each other up for that night's game.  Like a baseball player counting down the days until Spring Training, when the last dodgeball season ends in May, we're counting down the days until registration opens up in the fall and we can hit the elementary school gymnasium courts again.  We've done team dinners, glow-in-the-dark mini golf, bowling nights and karaoke parties.  When my sister threw me a surprise birthday party last year, they made up a majority of the attendees. 

The physical benefits of dodgeball are great.  The relationships I've formed are even better.  To put it in simple terms: I love this team.

I can finally say something I didn't think would come out of my mouth two years ago: It's good to be home.