Aug. 10, 2004

by Bridget Merritt, Graduation has come and gone, and I have recently moved into my first apartment that is not owned by USD. A few weeks ago, as I was packing up my place in the UTA's (the best "on-campus" spot to live), I came across something of Lindsey Lampert's: a row of plastic beads that can be hung in a doorway (you know the kind . . . I think they are circa 1970). They were, needless to say, purple and sparkly and so typically Lindsey. I remember when she hung them in her Vista apartment where she lived with Ann Mott and Stephanie Moreno. I remember the beads when she lived in the UTA's with Adrian Frediani, Debra Robertson, and Ali Martin, and again when she lived there with me. I remember when she packed her stuff up two years ago and asked me if I wanted them. I didn't really want them (because while they are fun, they are only as fun as purple plastic beads can be), but I couldn't bear to see her throw them away. And so I kept them, put them in the hall closet, saving this plastic and sparkly remnant to remind me of the three years that she and I played together. There is something unique about packing in the UTA's. The exact same apartment has been inhabited by an endless stream of volleyball players for the last six years, and so it is full of "things-left-behind." The UTA (1325 C, and then D) has been in possession of volleyball players for longer than I have been around, and I have (in one way or another) lived my college life there. I can remember socializing there my freshman year (1999), when Noel Frohman and I were young and nervous, experiencing our first taste of college life. Years later (five to be exact), I found myself sorting through this muddled array of different people's things that they never packed: pieces of memorabilia that were left for the next year's generation of volleyball players. There were so many different layers of things-left-behind, that I was quickly reminded of my teammates who have since moved on from their life at USD. I found a Roxy sticker that Ali Martin put on our mirror two summers ago. A couch that Paige Spaulding left for us. An entire spice cabinet full of Debra's ingredients, used to make her fabulous cooking creations. An old Phillips head screw driver that Lindsey left behind last year. A post card from Ann's trip to Fiji, addressed to all her volleyball girls. An old bottle of glittery nail polish: a gift from Susan Robertson's Angel Bush that she made for Debra and Debra's roommates every Christmas. A faded newspaper article about the Lindquist sisters' debut on the AVP tour, yellowed from two years of being hung on our refrigerator in the middle of the San Diego summer heat. A decaying futon couch that I sat on during my recruiting trip when we kept it in our old locker room (in the sports center), now faded and torn from countless sun-tanning hours on our balcony. A Halloween picture from the fall of 1999, (Adrian is dressed as a Harlem Globe-Trotter, Ali and Debra are fairies, Ann is a space woman), bent and dusty in its forgotten home behind the VCR. A baseball picture of Brynne's brother tacked to our bulletin board, leftover from last summer when she lived there. A large cardboard box painted to look like Spongebob Squarepants, which Christie (so convincingly) wore for my benefit at this year's banquet. Brent's Olympic videos that Lisa, Debra, and myself lost two summers ago (it turns out they were behind the T.V. all this time): a fiasco of which we would never hear the end. And as I looked at all this stuff, I developed a lump in my throat. Sentimental? Maybe. But there, without warning, in the midst of a stressful day of furious packing, a nostalgic feeling swept over me. I felt as if I had been living in a legacy, and now I was packing it up. While trying to find places for all the things-left-behind, I was panicked at the thought of throwing them away. While some of the stuff (let's be honest, most of the stuff) may look like junk to the naked eye, to me each item is a familiar piece of a collage made of my fondest memories. Some of the memories are mine, some belong to my teammates, but most we share together. As my empty boxes were quickly dwindling, and I could no longer justify keeping Debra's old box of colored pencils merely because they reminded me of her, I realized that it would be okay. I no longer needed to save everything, because even if these treasures were gone, they would not be lost. They will never be lost, because I will keep them in all my memories of USD volleyball. It is funny what I remember the most. I certainly remember the games. I most definitely remember the practices. Unfortunately, I remember the injuries. I know that feeling of winning, that familiar feeling of competition, a mixture of sweat, emotion and exhaustion. But also, I remember my teammates. I remember laughing a lot, and I remember feeling like I was at home. What I remember the most, however, is growing. If someone asked me what I did in the USD volleyball program, I would say that I grew up. I learned about pain, and how to overcome it. Trust, and how to freely give it. Strength, and how to maintain it. Respect, and how to earn it. I learned about friendships, and how to live them. The current Toreros have had an incredible spring. They are stronger than ever, and as the girls embark on a summer full of power cleans and sprints, I encourage you to make plans to come out and watch how their hard work manifests itself in the fall. They have been working diligently, and will be exciting to watch come August. Jen has asked me to set up a way to connect our alumni, and I am happy to oblige. If anyone has any information or ideas regarding the past and present Toreros, please feel free to contact me, my email address is bmerritt@sandiego.edu. Last weekend I watched Tammy Leibl and Katie Lindquist play their way through the professional beach circuit. I looked around to see Jen, Ann, Paige, Adrian, Noel, and Kristen, loudly and proudly watching these members of our Torero program excel so poignantly, and I thought about how my teammates and I will always be connected. Perhaps not in the close way we are linked during a shared season, but linked none-the-less. This past spring, whenever there was moment to spare, Lisa, Brynne, and I would turn on our senior video. We would watch ourselves go from young, starry-eyed freshman to nostalgic seniors, holding flowers and standing next to our parents (gripping them ever-so-tightly, in hopes of preventing tears) on the night of our last game in Jenny's Pavilion. The three of us must have watched it at least a dozen times by now, and during each viewing we sit together, three across on the couch, already missing what we have just barely left behind. The video marks the finish of something to which we have given all of ourselves; it is the completion of our passion. It's a strange feeling to be finally finished, but somehow I know that what we've experienced at USD will never really stop, it will simply continue in different avenues. I am leaving the program with two of the strongest people that I know, and I am certain that whatever endeavors should engage us in the future, we are prepared, and we'll come out on top. And back in my empty UTA apartment the packing continued. As I stood there, covered in dust, with Lindsey's plastic beads in my hands, and the trash bag at my feet, I counted my memories, my blessings, my friendships, and I counted myself lucky. Lucky to have grown up here, in sunny San Diego, with a volleyball court to center me, a remarkable University to teach me, and an irreplaceable group of teammates and coaches to support me. VIVA TOREROS.