All things good and simple

We finished off the semifinals in a rather pathetic effort. Our team came out as you might expect a team made up of quite a few teenagers; players were thinking more of the four days off promised to us if we won than of the actual game. We started off down by ten points and didn’t settle down until the second half. We managed to pull off the win despite our poor start and celebrated with our fans afterwards.

I was exhausted after the game, having played all but 20 seconds of the game after a week of two a day practices. But I rallied and celebrated with my teammates at the local Italian bar where we all dominated at DJaying and took turns saying hello to the president and doctor of the football team as well as a professor of some of my teammates. I love small towns where everyone parties together. As soon as I walked in a woman came over and led me to the football team president to say hello. Apparently he’s a fan and my trainer laughs at how he claps even when I miss a shot or screw up.

So four days off. Generally I would be out of here, off to some wonderful central Europe city or finding some cheap flight to somewhere exotic. Instead I am hanging in Ruza for the weekend. I don’t feel the need to escape here, my time is winding down and I’m feeling a bit nostalgic. I want to grasp onto these last moments I have here because I know soon I’ll be on a flight home, leaving my life here, never to fully return to it. I’ve learned that much having moved around: once you leave, you can’t ever really return to what you had.

But I didn’t really want to spend the whole weekend doing nothing or drinking too much. So, I decided to do a number of things. One I planned on fasting, something I had been wanting to do for a while. Second, I was going to go to the kid’s home to use my free time to brighten their day a bit. Third, I had a traditional Slovak goulash party on the agenda.

Friday afternoon I picked up ice cream sandwiches, pictures at the photo shop from our VIP party with the kids last week, and my teammates Efoma. We walked into the kid’s home to running and hugging little ones. Talk about feeling welcome. They grabbed onto my hands and led me to the back room where everyone was gathered, practicing for their dance competition this coming weekend. The group was really talented, had their outfits all coordinated and had obviously worked really hard to get the choreography down. It was fun to witness their growth; they had set a goal, worked for it, and then performed to grand applause. It’s really great to see all the ages living together as well. I think the kid’s home is a really good situation for them; they have discipline and adult help but they all nurture each other as well. Older kids are teaching younger kids dance moves and kids hug each other constantly and siblings get to live together. It doesn’t feel institutional at all; it has the communal feel of summer camp.

Plus they are really good about finding the kids individual talents and giving them opportunities to expand in that area. One teenager is a really good chef, so he cooks and bakes often and even whittles wooden cooking utensils. He gave me a spatula he had made himself. Another is a really good dancer and he takes lessons and hopes to make dancing into a career. A young woman I met is going to nursing school soon.

Most of the kids seem pretty happy although I can’t imagine how much work it’s taken to get them to that point. I am in total awe at the organization of the house and the love contained within it. The adults nurture these kids constantly but also maintain a disciplined environment. Everything is clean and tidy and the kids are extremely well behaved. The worst behavior I
witnessed was someone trying to take my camera away from another kid and yet they resolved the situation on their own without any real conflict.

But it isn’t a carefree environment of course. One girl was visibly sad. I had met her a few times and each time she had her hood over her head. I thought she was just shy or liked to hide a bit. But she never seemed sad until the other day. I just hugged her over and over again since I couldn’t communicate well enough to understand what was wrong. Then one of the social workers told me that she had lost her hair due to an infection and was feeling bad about the loss. I told her about my best friend losing her hair from chemotherapy and tried to convey to her that she was still beautiful. I could tell she brighten up a bit, she became more involved in what we were doing and even smiled a bit. It just served to remind me how similar we all are. We all want to feel beautiful in some way; we want others to understand what we are going through, we want to feel included in a group. Adults are exactly the same way, we just mask and manifest these feelings in other ways, most of which ensure that people won’t empathize with our situation and in fact push people away. Kids are a little easier to read and they have a vulnerability that makes you want to help them get out of their funk.

Efoma and I got some dance lessons from the experts and then watched the little kids take the stage. They all got up and started shaking their stuff to rap music; little eight year olds were dancing better than I ever could. It was the cutest thing!

After the dancing, we hung out in the rec room a bit, taking pictures and trying to spread around the attention. Kids kept jumping up into my arms or climbing into my lap to snuggle, so generous with physical love. Then it was time to go outside and play basketball. As I walked down the stairs, I had one kid in my arm and two others holding my hands. Talk about feeling loved.

Outside I spent some time talking to one of the social workers, Lenka. She had studied in the states so her English was perfect. Her and her husband worked at the home and obviously had a connection to the kids that made them feel loved. She said the kids gave her just as much by always smiling and reminding her of what is important in life. I felt the same way. The kids kept asking when we were going to return and I promised Lenka that next time I would bring them some new basketballs.

I drove away both happy and sad. It makes me happy to give and get so much love but it makes me not to want to leave here, to not want to leave these kids. And yet, I know that this is my life, that moving and meeting and touching new people is a part of it. But my heart aches because I want more time with them, I want to help them, I want to learn from them, I want to continue to visit, to get hugs, to give and get strength, to tell them over and over how wonderful they are.

Saturday
The next day I woke up to more sunshine. I went for a run looking over my beautiful city and all the surrounding hills. Then I got ready to go to the ‘goulash party’.

It was SO much fun. I walked from my trainer Johnny’s house with his wife Susan and his daughter, little Susan, through a small village on the outskirts of town. We had gone running as a team in the same area last week and I spent the whole time marveling at how beautiful it was. We ran by a stream, up into the mountains, looking at forests and sharp green grass.

Walking through the village on this bright sunny Saturday morning, we could see people out hoeing their gardens, planting crops next to goats grazing on the side of houses. Every house had a small plot of land, bright flowers in front, work sheds in

back and people that looked very content tilling their little piece of the world at the base of the mountains. It looked like a very nice life.

We continued walking about the stream path, past the lake and a man teaching his son how to fly fish. There were other goulash parties along the stream and everyone was out riding bikes or horse back riding with their family. I walked along totally content,, listening to the stream running down from the mountains and breathing the fresh air. We could smell wood fires burning and it made me think of camping, and nature, and all things good and simple.

We arrived at our plot, the cauldron already on the fire and lots of men going back and forth from the river to the fire, holding ice-cold vodka and chilled wine. It was an absolutely perfect day, the sun was shining and the bright green of the grass, the dark green of the forest, and the blue of the sky made it seem like the world had just woken up from the winter.

It felt very tribal, very traditional, very organic. There was a mix of different people, from middle class people in their Volkswagen and babies, to young people riding motorcycles, 75 year old grandmothers arriving by bike, to working class men with no teeth and another with a cane and a hump back. Everyone was drinking liquor with %50 alcohol, kept cold in the stream and smoking. Age differences and socioeconomic classes seemed totally irrelevant. They’d all been friends for years.

It was entirely unpretentious. Someone had a guitar and started playing Slovak songs while everyone sang along, clicking together spoons and playing the tambourine over the trickle of the stream, while others fell asleep in the sun or played soccer in the grass. One woman was gathering flowers in the meadow to make tea. Much to my relief, there was no hemp clothing or bongo drums, no Whole Foods grocery bags or talks about the burning man festival. People just came as they were. There was no feeling of trying to recapture nature or get back to anything we’d lost. We just were living. And it was fabulous.

After a long day in the sun, it was time to go to the soccer game. It was a beautiful evening and as the day slipped away, I watched our town soccer team play below the mountains with old men screaming at the refs behind me. Everyone in town was there I think and we all cheered as our team went up 2-0 at the half. It was spectacular. Unfortunately, it’s entirely probable that the referee was paid off since every call went tfo the other team in the second half. So I joined in on the rants, mad because our team should have upset the first place team Instead it was a tie and we all walked away bitching about referees in Slovakia.

Afterwards it was time to meet up with all the boys from the goulash party who had continued the festivities at a dive bar near the soccer stadium. Since I was attempting to prepare for my fast, drinking was not on the agenda but it was entertaining to hang with the guys, all of whom had been drinking virtually the entire day.

Sunday
Today I am fasting. Its not quite lunchtime yet and I’m hungry but feeling good. Its liberating not revolving my day around food and I’m very excited to cleanse my body. I’m not doing it to lose weight but it does feel good to feel skinnier. All week I’ve been cutting down on food, attempting to prepare myself for the ultimate of no food. Every thing I ate was with a goal in mind, choosing even healthier options than usual, knowing that my body would thank me.

I’m fasting more for self-discipline and health, although I think on the path to spirituality, food is an important and often neglected part. Its one reason I could never understand church potlucks filled with mayonnaise filled salads and Crisco casseroles. It seems to me that if you really have found spiritual salvation, you wouldn’t feel empty and need to comfort yourself with food. The body, mind connection is very real to me and I like the idea of learning more about it by bringing my
awareness away from food if only for a day. The body as your temple has always rang true for me.

It feels weird not eating. Its not that I’m hungry, which I am, its more that I feel a little odd not revolving my day around meals. I woke up this morning and thought about breakfast of course, it’s generally the first thing I think about. I never skip breakfast and yet I had to find a new way to organize my day. Drinking water and cleaning my apartment just isn’t the same as drinking a cup of coffee and boosting my metabolism with food.

I’m realizing how much of my enjoyment in life is based on food. And yet when you take that away, you are forced to find nourishment in other places. I’m looking at the hills while I drive in a new way, I drink water with a new appreciation, I’m thinking about what I want to do today outside of meal planning. It’s freeing. Its not comfortable but it’s a new way to approach things and in that it is exciting.

I went to the lake today and walked around, read in the sun and generally basked in the warmth of spring and nature. I was a little hungry but mostly just relaxed. I concentrated on getting my nourishment from the beauty all around me. The mountains were green with dark trees or carpeted with fresh, lush grass. In the short distance were the snow capped Tatras. The sun was reflected off the green lake and the river poured its freezing water in loudly. It’s a lot like Washington really, but it’s literally two minutes from downtown Ruza. It’s absolute paradise. I felt like I was on a meditation retreat except this is my life. Central Slovakia really is incredibly beautiful.

The health benefits to fasting seem to be well documented. Since your body doesn’t waste energy on digestion, it spends its time taking inventory and cleaning. It rids itself of dead and unproductive cells and flushes out built up toxins in the organs.

Like I said, I’ve wanted to fast for a while. I’d read a lot on the subject and really believe that our bodies do have an innate power to heal itself, that too often we end up poisoning ourselves instead of just letting go and letting our body do what it does best. However, basketball training doesn’t allow low blood sugars so I’ve put off actually doing a fast. With four days off however, I figured now was the time to try.

I watched a lot of people fast in Turkey during Ramazan and was always amazed at their self-discipline. To them, it wasn’t such a big deal. They fast for Allah and didn’t think much of it. However, abstaining from water all day and then gorging yourself when the mosques announce the end of fasting at seven pm didn’t seem like the healthiest option. Nor do I think that drinking cayenne pepper and maple syrup is a very healthy way to clean out my colon. I figure natural is the way to go and so I am doing what people have been doing for centuries for physical and spiritual benefits; I’m fasting for a day.

I’m thinking a lot about the kids today. I’m not pretentious enough to say I am fasting for them but I think gratitude is an important aspect on the path to spirituality. Seeing such hope in young people that have been given nothing in their life changes my perspective on my own life. My attitude towards struggle has shifted; the problems we waste energy on are all pretty negligible in the grand scheme of things. And so, this weekend, motivated by a group of fantastic, talented, beautiful children, I’m cleaning my mind and my body. Out with the toxins of feeling sorry for myself, of magnifying insignificant things, of creating anxiety or struggle out of boredom. I’m busy letting myself be me and I have some cute little kids to thank.

All I want for my birthday....

We won our first game in the second round of playoffs on Thursday. It’s a best of five series so defending our home court to start off was important.

I’m pretty sure the point guard on the other team hates me. I have about forty pounds on her and for the first half of the season she played for an opposing FIBA cup team in Hungary. We kicked their ass all over the court and she had to guard me as I posted her midget self up. After that she came to a Slovakian team and after our team played like hell for 39 minutes, I hit a forty-foot shot to win by 1. But then things got complicated and we lost at their place a few weeks ago. And that is when things got personal.

We played horrendous defense in that game, every ball screen was followed by a ball reversal and a made shot. We somehow couldn’t figure out how to help the helper and proceeded to get lit up on every play. It was frustrating to say the least.

Now that we are in playoffs, the stakes are a bit higher. Our team management told us in no uncertain terms that if we didn’t’ advance to the finals, the whole season would be considered a disappointment. I had to agree.

And so we won. We killed them. I absolutely decided we were going to win, had 12 points in the first quarter and then let my teammates do some of the work. It was wonderful.

After the game I signed some autographs, got some hugs and proceeded to gather my things when my teammate ran over to me with a blindfold. I had no idea what she was doing, blindfolding me and walking me across the court but I nervously went along with it. Soon, I’m standing in front of 15 young kids, singing me happy birthday with a cake and candles, presents and parents taking pictures. One of the girls was crying and hugging me. It was unbelievable, totally unexpected and totally sweet.

Back in the locker room, we devoured the cake and chocolate, showered quickly and headed up to our VIP room where 20 young kids were waiting for us.

Back in December we attended a Christmas concert where our sponsor gave out charity money to the kid’s house in town. The money would be used to send the kids to summer camp so the kids were in the stands excited to be honored. Some of them ran up to us, waving, giggling, and wanting autographs.

I hadn’t known there was a kid’s house in town but after that night, I insisted that a few of us go visit before the big holiday. So in a rather last minute effort, we made it to the kids house the morning of my flight home, touring the facility, passing out chocolate and ornaments, and watching the kids in impromptu performances. Some of them were really shy and you could tell life had given them more problems than they deserved; others seemed to be flourishing. The den mothers seemed like angels on earth, loving and taking care of all these children like their own. Not many of them spoke English but I passed out Christmas hugs, each time hoping that a little love, a little strength got passed through. It was a wonderful day.

After Christmas of course, I got back to me, me, me. I hate when that happens. I got busy with basketball, thought about myself more than is healthy, and generally perserverated on the good and bad of my comparatively perfect little life. But in the back of my mind, I wanted to do something for the kids again. And so we planned a game where they would be VIP guests. That day was last week.

I made my way up to our VIP area and walked into a room filled with smiling children. They all ran up to me with arms open as we took individual pictures, signed some autographs, ate some pizza, and fumbled through mixed languages. They were so excited to be a part of our day; they loved watching the game, and had the energy that comes from a very important occasion. I think they felt special.

I was heavy with happiness. Seeing these kids with some outlet, some relief from a life of hardship made me feel warm all over. I don’t feel a duty to them because I am an athlete and a role model; I feel a duty because in the grand lottery of life, I was blessed with parents to love me. The two people that were supposed to care for me did. Simple as that.

And yet, I know as a basketball player I have a platform to show these kids some strength within them. By dedicating myself to something worthwhile, maybe they’ll see an example to follow. Most likely, not one of them will choose basketball or even sport but I hope that they can learn something by watching my team battle on the court. Lord knows they have their own, more important battles to face.

Next week I am planning on playing basketball with them and I’m probably more excited than they are.

Afterwards, a few of us walked to our favorite Italian restaurant to relax and eat after the game. I was feeling great, mentally tired but physically felt awesome. Then I remembered I had only played 20 minutes instead of 40. What a difference that makes.

We ran into some of the kids from the kid’s home on our way to the center. They ran up to me, tackling me and laughing. The whole walk they rambled on and on, obviously filled with excitement from the big night. We took pictures along the way, walking arm and arm with the cute little ones.

They kept talking about seeing me on television. The Ruza reporters did a ‘day in the life’ of an American basketball player.This is a small town and it’s been quite the topic of conversation. Most of this comes from the fact that the local television channel replays the same program over and over again for the whole week. Friends kept telling me they saw my documentary eight times, at least.

The documentary inciuded fun things like having them come to my apartment at 8 in the morning. Puffy faced and stuffed up, I answered questions as they watched me make coffee and pour cereal. I’m sure it was fascinating. I finally saw it on television towards the end of the week. They actually did a good job but since it is dubbed over in Slovakian, I can only go on memory on what we are talking about. I do know that they asked me about dating; I told them there are a lot of 19, 20-year-old guys in this town. My teammate gets interviewed and says that when we go out, I always get hit on by 40 year olds. Everyone thought this was hilarious.

My actual birthday came and went without much fanfare. I did get flowers from all the men in my life: my coach, my trainer, and my manager. So now my apartment is filled with beautiful smelly roses. And I got lots of chocolate. Unfortunately, despite my birthday falling on the coveted Saturday, I was home by six and asleep by 10.

We played the next day and I told my manager all I wanted was a win. ‘That’s the only present I want. And its free!’ I said. But then quickly reminding him that it’s actually not free for him. Not even close to free.

We won the game. It was a lot closer than the last one and we struggled a bit until we pulled away midway through the fourth quarter. Now we get them at home on Thursday. It might be a difficult game since everyone is planning on us winning, as if we’ve already done it. In fact, if we win, we have four free days. So hopefully, I’ll have time to play with the kids, watch a little soccer, and relax in Ruza before the finals start next week. Time sure is flying fast….

Ruza

Sometimes its takes one awhile to find the heart of a place, to find your way to where it makes an imprint on who you are and who you are becoming. It took me awhile to really enjoy Athens but in retrospect I think that was due to my own immaturity. I didn’t yet understand how new places can reveal new parts of yourself. And yet, now, I always think fondly of my experiences
there, knowing that the good and the bad have shaped who I am today.

Istanbul took me about five minutes to fall in love with, partly because the chaos of the city takes a hold of you and partly because of its attitude of indifference, a quality I respect in both people and places. Istanbul hits you over the head and really doesn’t care if you like it. It says ‘this city has been her for 7,000 years, been the capitol of four different civilizations, we don’t need you.’ But of course I did like it, loved it and was sad to leave.

But I’ve now officially fallen in love with Ruzomberok. I’ve found the essence of this boring small town in Central Europe. There. I’ve said it out loud. It took me awhile, and we’ve definitely had our differences, but I think we’ve reached an understanding. In the beginning I think I wanted Ruza to change for me. I wanted more to do, I wanted more places to be open after noon on Saturdays, I wanted a disco where I wasn’t comfortable going in sweats, I wanted some fashion, some fancy food, some beautiful men. I wanted a slice of cosmopolitan life. Well, that it ain’t.

In all the places I have lived, my balconies served to open my life up to the world. My perch where I felt safe and secure but due to my perspective, could watch and learn without having to participate. I’ve loved participating, loved learning new cultures and finding my place among the natives, but it’s tiring. Sometimes you just need a book in English, or a drink, or a place to rest without struggling through tongue acrobatics and new words, or fumbling through Pidgin English, pantomiming your way through conversations. So my apartments overseas have been important, and more specifically so have my balconies.

My first apartment in Greece was on the top floor of a private home. My landlord lived below and I used to hang out with him as he drank whiskey and coke and pontificated on the merits of Dove soap. He was always there for me, not really for anything specific but consistent. We never really talked about anything significant; he wasn’t my shoulder to cry on or my ear to just listen when I needed to talk. It’s more that he was present and sometimes that seems to be enough. Plus, he normally had his pants half undone so he made me laugh. The house was white with dark blue shutters and I would open them and sit on the ledge, looking out onto our enclosed garden and watch Manolis’ daily friends stop by; all of them, just as anxious as he to waste away the afternoon drinking Nescafe or whiskey and talking about whatever crossed their minds. I’d hear them from my lookout, my own private villa, my respite in the craziness of Athens.

My second year in Athens I had a real balcony, three of them actually, that looked out onto a courtyard where a turtle and a dog would play, where every neighbors underwear hung in the sun, and family fights or singing traveled through the air and my open door. On days I wasn’t up for the beach, I would sit in the sun on my balcony, letting the cool air sweep through my flat and read my book. (Yes that was my life)

In Istanbul, I had a penthouse apartment in the heart of the city where I would look out between fiber glass windows to the Bosphorous and watch the tankers come in and out of the city, watch the sun go down, reflecting on the mosques, and hear the muffled call to prayer that wailed in and out of my daily life, sometimes noticed, sometimes not. I could feel the pulse of the city cloaked in chaos. I could hear the sounds of condensed living; cars and buses and motorcycles on the nearby thoroughfare honking and yelling, the aluminum collectors with their deep moaning announcements and rickety carts, the kids playing soccer in the street, the women yelling out windows for orders of bread and milk.

Due to the weather here in Ruzomberok, my balcony has only been recently discovered. I’ve known it was there, waiting for the snow to melt and the sun to come out, reflected on the nearby mountains. I have half of a fantastic view from my kitchen and living room. Above a recycling center in my back yard, stands low mountains, bare of trees in patches where sheep graze and our team cross trains.

Daylight savings came the last week in March and the sun opened up to welcome the yearly milestone. It was a beautiful day as I walked around the city, stopping for coffee and marveling at the green hills bright in the afternoon. The river through town was flowing fast from the melted snow and everyone had a lightness to their movements, awakening from the long winter hibernation.

I sat on my balcony in the evening, basking in the sun and the extended daylight. The energy of the town was palpable, kids playing basketball at an outdoor hoop in the next apartment building, old women stopping to talk with grocery bags weighing them down, laundry set outside to dry in the warm air. People with roller blades stopped at newly reopened ice cream stands. It was magical to watch the sun settle on the hills behind my house.

It’s wonderful to have longer days. Before the time change, I walked home in the dark, the streets deserted and warm light emanating from apartments serving as the only sign of life. Everyone spent the cold, dark nights at home, safe in their cozy houses with no desire or energy to do much else. The day was done by the time I left the gym.

But now, the evenings are long and relaxed and people take their time settling into their houses. I walk home now witnessing the slow approach of night. It’s comforting to see people winding down, stopping to talk to neighbors or grabbing ice cream or coffee at outdoor cafes with friends. I can watch the closing of another day from my balcony.

It feels good to have found my place here. It’s like a little accomplishment that is only for me. Basketball has been great too but that’s my job and there are a lot of other people that play into that success. But being happy here has been mine, a goal that I get better at each day, a challenge that has forced me to find myself and be open to all this world has to offer.

I’m more aware now of what a challenge it is to open yourself up. I don’t mean to go play or work overseas, anyone can do that. I mean to live every day with a vulnerability that allows you to find yourself. And to do it while you are overseas is the ultimate challenge. It’s different from traveling. Traveling you have a set amount of time and an expectation for adventure. You have a self-administered license to extend yourself, to step out of your life and be someone else. Hell you are even paying for that opportunity. But when you are doing it as part of your life, it’s a very different experience. Its not just that there isn’t a time limit, its that mentally you know its the true you that you are offering up.

And it’s so easy to be negative when things are difficult or new or different. It’s easy to think you are above things or better than other people. It’s a choice you make to protect yourself but it only serves to close you up. I’ve shed that part of me. I came here with a good attitude; I was intent on being able to make a life, convinced there are good and wonderful people everywhere. But then reality hit and actually making a life and find good and wonderful people was easier said than done. I spent the first week with no one to really talk to and my optimism waned a bit. I flirted with the idea of building up walls within me.

I recovered and spent most of the next few months alternating between attempting to be positive and struggling to not be too negative. There were ups and downs of course but I felt like I was on a solid path, aware that I wasn’t living in the hub of entertainment but intent on making the most of it. I slowly shed my big city girl narcissism and started to accept that there were benefits to living a small town life.

I also have learned that I am a bit of a contradiction, maybe another thing we learn to accept as we gain life experience. We are taught to find definitions for ourselves and others, to classify, to describe with certainty. And yet, I find I am both a small town girl and a big city girl. I love that I can look out from my coffee shop in town and see rolling hills totally uninhabited, snow capped mountains off in the distance and nature hugging this life of mind. And I realize that this small town atmosphere, of going to the same restaurant where everyone knows my name is something I search out in my life, whether that is in a city or town. I love meeting new people; I love the excitement of diversity around me, interesting subjects, people, vocations, stories, culture. But I also love a place where I know the regulars, where I can go alone and find someone who already knows my stories.

Basketball helps a lot for sure. Having people that love you and appreciate you always makes life better. But it’s more than that. Most people don’t know I am a basketball player or don’t care. Only at the games do I really get attention for my basketball accomplishments, and that is just fine with me.

That being said, our fans are the best. They run up and ask for my autograph every game, pull out camera phones and sneak over the rail to take pictures, they draw me pictures, give me stuffed animals and pottery and love me even when I play like crap. They try to speak English sometimes or shyly reply when I ask them something in Slovakian. They are ridiculously cute. The other day a girl ran up to me with a pen, excited and out of breath. She asked me if I was number 21, which I’m not, and immediately ran away when I told her who I was. Love it. I love how kids have their favorite players even when it isn’t me. It’s the innocence of watching sports as a kid and the innocence we are all trying to recapture.

The mentally handicapped are my favorite though. There are about 6 of them that come faithfully to every game. They have newspaper clippings and posters and ask us to sign things even if we’d already signed it the game before. Their enthusiasm is contagious so I say the three phrases I know in Slovakian as they rattle off responses I can’t understand as I nod and say ‘good’ over and over. We all took pictures on the court last game, each one of them waiting their turn to take an individual picture with me. I wish I could convey to them that I was equally excited to take a picture with each of them. It’s tough to feel too bad about a horrible game when you have them waiting for a high five after every single match. It’s humbling; it reminds you that what you do as an athlete is both totally insignificant and yet can mean everything.

I think I appreciate adoration more now because I know that it isn’t going to last forever. I know that when I finish basketball no one is going to be asking me to sign their arm or take a picture with me as I am picking my kid up from daycare. I know that its ephemeral, that it should be, and that these are sweet morsels of memory that I will take with me when I leave here.

But honestly it isn’t about basketball. It helps because its keeps me busy, it gives me a group here, a purpose, and a chance to feel productive. But it’s been more about the comfort of finding my place in this very foreign land. It’s not a Greek island; people aren’t smiling all the time over iced coffee or inviting you into their Turkish carpet shop for tea and kebab. Like I’ve said before, Central Europeans make you earn it a bit more. And maybe that is why I feel a sense of accomplishment; things always mean more when you’ve worked for them. And finding my place here has been work so now I find myself very much enjoying the fruits of my labor. What can I say? This little mountain town has grown on me.

Tatras Training Camp

After I returned from Krakow, it was time to head up to the mountains for a weeklong training camp with my team. I didn’t really know what to expect since the last training camp consisted of us staying in a hotel, eating bad food, and driving to our gym for practice two times a day. Never really understood what the point was but since I didn’t have to pay for food for four days I figured there were worse way to spend my time.

I had higher expectations this time around however, since I knew we were going up to the mountains and skiing would be involved. So after Monday morning practice and weight lifting, we all loaded our bags into the van and spent the next hour driving up and through the beautiful High Tatras Mountains. The same huge, jagged, snow covered mountains I’ve been admiring from afar these past few months. It was an unforgettable week; sore muscles, fresh mountain air, meeting new people and eating too much food. All you could ever want in a ‘vacation.’

Monday:
We arrived at a ski resort white with snow and crawling with skiers, everyone with rosy cheeks and smiling faces. We made our way through the center of town, past all the cozy wooden lodges and vendors selling wool caps, past the hot wine stand, and to the base of the large ski lift.

Our hotel had a plaque boasting that it was built in 1970 and clearly hadn’t gotten so much as a coat of paint since then. It was totally old school, unpretentious, and charming. Our room was clearly built for skiers who spent most of their time on the slopes and the beer garden since every time Dita and I moved at the same time around the room it was followed by an ‘excuse me’. We practically had to sleep together. But the view was amazing.

There were Olympic sized ski jumps at the base of the mountain, of which we had a front row view. We came back from breakfast one day and spent the whole rest of the morning ‘oohhhing’ and ‘ahhing’ and pointing every time we caught a glimpse of the ski jumpers practicing. It was so much fun to watch them slide across the starting pole, let go, gather speed and then take flight. I had images of the jumpers being cut up, athletic men with an appetite for danger. At afternoon training that day we did sprints right next to the jumps and, much to my disappointment, the jumpers looked like they were about 17 years old. I was impressed though. After fumbling my way across flat snow all morning, I sat in awe of people actually jumping from great heights and not killing themselves. Let me just say, watching on television doesn’t come close to giving this sport justice. It was absolutely unbelievable to see in person.

But I’m getting ahead of myself. On Monday, after settling into our room designed for midgets, we headed out to our first training session, adequately bundled up and unsure of exactly what we were getting ourselves into. Sure enough, it was freezing outside with piles of snow everywhere. Our Coach declared that afternoon training was to consist of running to the lake, around it twice, and then doing sprints up a snow bank. So we take off, too cold to wait and stretch, and run our 6 kilometers around the lake.

The lake was completely breathtaking (which had nothing at all to do with basketball players suddenly being asked to be cross country runners at altitude). The frozen lake sat gleaming in the sun, with jagged mountains all around it, and white frozen trees and mountain lodges along the perimeter. People were skiing around the trail or over the lake, so we dodged people and tried not to sink too much in the snow during our laps. I learned snow running can be an awful lot like sand running, meaning one feels as if you should be moving forward more than you actually are. Surprisingly though, I didn’t feel the elevation or the distance too much since we’ve been practicing a lot. Dita and I took off, leaving our teammates in the dust and looking up every so often to look at the scenery around us. Afterwards we had to run up a hill, which consisted of a lot of awkward missteps into snow banks. On the way home we tackled each other in the snow constantly, big piles of tall women screaming and laughing and throwing snow in each other’s faces.

After our first successful workout, we made our way back to the lodge where hot tea awaited. Then it was time for my first lesson in Slovakian ski tradition; Slivovica. I was freezing cold by the time I returned, on a high from endorphins and felt totally cleansed from the mountains air. The perfect time to take a shot of the strongest alcohol I’ve ever tasted. So I downed a Slovakian plum brandy and proceeded to almost fall over when I stood up for dinner. I was warm and hungry and really drunk off one shot. I felt awesome.

Dinner was buffet style and hearty and after a long day of workouts, our whole team dominated the line. The highlight, however, was that a men’s water polo team was also training at our hotel for the week. There is a God.

The hotel facility was old and in dire need of updates but extremely comprehensive. I’ve never seen anything like it. In addition to the ski slopes, cross country courses, hiking trails, and downhill runs, the hotel contained a weight room, a pool, a basketball court, a sauna, a water regeneration facility, and a spa. It was a labyrinth of space, rooms leading to hallways, leading to workout rooms, to saunas. Everything an athlete could possibly need for a week of hard-core training.

After dinner the first night we headed to the eucalyptus sauna, sat next to naked men and then crawled into wool blankets on wooden cots and relaxed. It was amazing. It is such a great feeling to get really hot then curl up to keep in the heat, stretch out and watch the snow fall outside. Big fan of a sleeping room next to a sauna.

Afterwards I joined my trainer in the wood paneled, velvet-cushioned bar for a beer. The water polo team was at the next table over so I assigned Johnny the task of finding out when they practice. Next thing I know, we have a soccer game scheduled between our team and theirs later in the week. Score!!!!

Tuesday:
Tuesday morning we woke up early, hit up the breakfast buffet and went to get fitted for cross-country skis. Let me preface this by saying I’ve been on skis twice in my life before my parents decided that the money they were spending on AAU basketball was not going to be wasted on a ski injury. The first time I went was with my brother who got quickly bored with horizontal cross country skiing and decided that we were going to go up the ski lift and down the trail. This was still a time in my life that I thought my brothers ideas were the word of God so I trailed along side him like a dummy. Snow plowing was still a very elusive skill in my two hours of experience so I spent the entire time trying not to fall off the ski lift when we descended and rolling down the trail, swearing at my brother for taking me downhill skiing on cross country skis.

Also let me say that basketball talent does not necessarily transfer to skiing coordination so my team spent a lot of time laughing at each other while we tried to get up. The most talented basketball players often looked the most ridiculous balancing in the snow and our least coordinated player was passing us all on the ski sprints. All in all though it was extremely fun and a great workout. We spent two hours on skis, first doing organized laps then being set free to dabble along the trails. Most of us headed to the lake, made snow angels and tackled each other some more. I kept saying ‘I’m on a lake!”, overly excited for my first time on a frozen body of water. The sun was coming out and the ice-covered trees were glittering.

We made it back to the hotel for lunch, spent an hour in our room coaxing our groins and hip flexors to relax, and got ready for afternoon workouts. First we were in the weight room for an hour then bundled up again for an outdoor workout. This time we did sprints on skis, racing each other up and down slopes trying to score points and not fall.

After dinner we had practice again. I’m not kidding we worked out constantly. But it was so much fun. We finally hit up the gym, which was probably colder than it was outside and had a floor that moved like ocean waves every time someone moved. When you ran you literally could feel yourself sinking each time your foot hit. We played soccer for an hour then headed to water regeneration.

Water regeneration was a room filled with various odd contraptions containing water. We sat in huge blue and white tubs that someone said looked like time machines, soaking our muscles and trying to talk over the drone of the machines. One enormous machine had a hose for water massage so we took turns forcing water onto sore muscles before gathering in the hot tub and calling it a day.

Wednesday:
Wednesday morning we all woke up to new found muscles and gathered around the breakfast buffet, tired but with smiles on our faces, filled with the satisfaction that comes from complete physical exhaustion. Plus I found myself stopping and chatting at the water polo player’s table on my way out. At this point, language barriers mean nothing, if there is a man around, I’m talking to him. Plus one of them spoke Spanish so I could at least have a 1st grade level conversation.

We headed to the weight room for our first workout of the day where my coach first freaked out when I started dead lifting 30 kilos, then proceeded to have the littlest player on the team try to emulate me. I had to veto that idea, however, since the girl has never lifted a free weight in her life and weighs a little more than the bar itself.

After an indoor workout, it was time to get cold so we headed out into the snow for sprinting. In between groups, we watched the ski jumpers and looked longingly at the intertubbers screaming their way down the hill. Then we headed for a loop around the lake before lunch.

The afternoon consisted of only one workout but it was intense, short but sweet. We ran sprints in the gym for an hour; medicine ball and basketball line drills with every combination you can imagine, picking up, putting down, backwards, over head, dribbling one, rolling the other, etc. We finished up the day with one player hyperventilating and all of us feeling tired but great.

The evening was spent at the base of the mountains, watching a men’s basketball game. I’ve only gotten to see a few while in Slovakia since we don’t have a men’s team. This game just reminded me that I am not missing much. I’m pretty sure I would average twenty in the men’s league.

Wednesday night everyone was in the hotel lobby watching soccer, my teammates in the back playing cards and drinking hot cocoa, me and Dita in the front, drinking beer and talking to the water polo players. Did I mention we have an age gap on our team? I had zero interest in being a team player at that point and figured at some point in their lives they would realize that guys don’t have cooties but I wasn’t going to wait around for that to happen. The guys were nice, some spoke English and about half of them were older than me so it was a nice change from the dating scene in good old Ruza. We called it an early night though, still some big workouts ahead of us the next day and high hopes for our last night in the Tatras.

Thursday:
Thursday morning it was back to the skis. This time we followed our ski sprints with ski jumps in place. That’s right, we actually stood there, squatted on the ‘down’ call and jumped in the air, sometimes changing direction, other times jumping in and out of the ski tracks. Finally, my coach has lost it I’m thinking to myself. I was shocked when we finished without an injury. Afterwards it was free skiing time so we headed to the lake, through the trails, down hills, and over the frozen lake, taking pictures and completely enjoying our paid vacation. Skiing is so much fun and even better when its part of your job.

After another lunch of hearty sour cabbage and pork chops, salad and soup, with a side of flirting, it was time to rest and workout again. The afternoon was beautiful and sunny as we walked around the beer garden to the other side of the lodge. This time we did sprints without skis and once again lost our footing in the snow bank repeatedly. What was supposed to be a speed drill turned out to be more about balance and avoiding frostbite on one’s ankles. Afterwards we ran our 6k around the lake twice and finished at the hotel. I decided I had earned another shot of slivovic and since Dita joined me, I had someone else to laugh at when she couldn’t stand up for dinner.

Thursday night was our last night and it promised to be a fun one with our much anticipated soccer match with the water polo team. Coach declared the workout optional so there was some debate as to who was playing, or even if the game would be played. Sure enough though, the draw of the opposite sex brought every player from each team to the gym. My team kicked ass until a water polo player decided to flirt instead of play, passing to the other team right in front of our own goal. I had to sub him out.

All in all though it was super fun to play soccer with the guys. I’ve always enjoyed playing sports with guys and I realize how much I miss the camaraderie We were all exhausted though so after kicking the opposing team all over the court, we called it a match and went to water regeneration, but not before making plans to party in the water polo players cabin later in the evening.

I gathered the older players together and much to my surprise, they were all willing to go party with the boys that night. Why this should be surprising is beyond me but I was glad we were going to do something as a team, well half a team. Coach set the curfew for 11 o’clock with the understanding that the older players will ignore him. Sure enough, we were out till the wee hours, drinking in the bar, fumbling through the snow to cabins, and talking in five different languages. Since the bar closed early with had a eclectic mix of alcohol, bought and brought from different sources so people chased shots of fernet with champagne and sipped on chardonnay in between beers. I stuck with beer, remembering that the following day we would be sprinting through the snow again.

It was a really great night on a number of levels. I think it was good for us older girls to bond a bit and the distraction of having men around let us spend an evening together relaxing, not being a team, just being girls. I think both teams needed a break from training and a little flirting goes a long way.

Friday:
The next morning was hilarious as we all walked through the buffet line hung-over and laughing. Certain people had difficulty making eye contact with certain other people, and some walked around with guilty looks on their faces. It felt a bit like college; people trying to be adults but not quite ready to take things seriously.

In the end though, we really had a good time with the water polo team and it added a whole new dimension to our week in the mountains. Since that week, we’ve played in their town about four times and each game half their team shows up cheering. We have hot water polo groupies. Love it!

After feeding our hangovers, it was time for our final workout in the mountains. We lifted weights, sprinted in the snow and then packed up and headed back to Ruza. Finally that afternoon we had basketball practice. The final workout of a long but beautiful week.

The Buddhists say that when you come down from the mountain, your perspective is forever altered. I came back to Ruza refreshed. A week of feeding my soul on fresh mountain air and exercise; a week of watching the sun set over mountains and valleys, or sparkle against the icicles on trees; a week of being in awe at the shear magnitude of nature all around me. Beauty like that might make me believer in God.

So when I returned from the mountains, I saw my little town as a gateway to all the beauty around it. Sure its boring and there isn’t anything to do but the mountains are right there and just looking at them makes me smile. I felt rejuvenated by getting away, I appreciated the small restaurants and bars we go to, the places where we know everyone. I looked at my town in a whole new light and I have to say I loved what I saw.


PS. I think I'm in Love.....

As I am writing this in a café in Ruzomberok a 9-year-old boy came up trying to sell me a small Easter egg. I’ve seen him before, usually selling something small and unusable. A few weeks ago I saw him at the grocery store with a friend, the boys racing carts down the aisles and running around crazy. Nothing like being let loose, unsupervised in a grocery store! The boys kept running up to me and counting in English as fast as they could, ‘1,2,3,4,5,6,7,8,9,10” they would yell and run off. Then they started with ‘your name is Erik’ and I’d reply ‘no MY name is Erik” and they would ignore me and yell out ‘I love you baby’ before taking out their cell phones and taking pictures of me and my teammates. I’m pretty sure they weren’t basketball fans at all, just two bored kids in a grocery store with some cool graphics on their camera phones. I didn’t think much of it, we gave the kids some money, laughed about how cute they were and left.

But Erik came up to me again today, so I gave him some change and showed him my computer. He was excited when I showed him the built in camera and giggled at the distorted picture options. Mind you we can’t actually communicate but it was obvious he wanted to use the Internet. Unfortunately the hotel people wanted him to leave and he got noticeable uncomfortable. So I decided to take my business elsewhere, not really too high on a place that kicks out little kids. Erik and I headed to the next café, connected to wifi, got him some juice and spent the hour with him playing online video games with a smile on his face. He is SO cute. I just sat there and read my magazine, getting nothing done that I had intended to, happy to have a little kid to hang out with.

He kept using my cell phone and wanted to meet up tomorrow so I told him maybe and then tried to put his number in my phone. That’s when he yelled to the girls working behind the counter that he didn’t understand me. Great, I’m thinking, now I look like I’m trying to get the digits off a 9 year old.

P.P.S. Hit a Buzzer Beater a few weeks ago and our superfan put it on YouTube
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LjXLTr1JLS4