dis and dots

Bullet points only, people. Here goes...

• My hair is getting longer, and my skin continues to lose pigment. Next shade: transparency.
• Yesterday, Esra and I each paid 30 Lira to have a maid clean our “flat.” How nice it was to come home from practice greeted by folded laundry and zero dust tumbleweeds (those are no joke).
• Tonight we played Nilufer at home and beat them 3-0. Now we have only three more Turkish League matches (of which we usually play on Saturdays). The goal is to beat each of these less experienced teams 3-0, that way we accumulate 12 total points (3 for every 3-0 victory). Currently we are something like 4th place in TL regular season, but if we get all 12 we could bump up to #2. This is all about seeding for playoffs around the corner.
• Even though tonight’s match was Turkish League, I played in the M1 position. It felt good to run behind the setter, though the connection is still all static. Vesna, our Serbian “super-middle” and class clown, sat out tonight to rest up from an ankle injury that incurred a couple matches ago. She a fighter for sure, but it is better that I get practice playing with the team and that she rests—all for the big week next week.
• On Tuesday we board a plane for Munich. We will play a top Polish team in Poland at 6pm on Thursday. Muszyna is the name and we are fighting for a chance to go to the European League Final Four! It is best of two matches, so the following week Poland will play at our place on Wednesday (March 11). Vesna asked if we get more gear for getting to the Final Four. Cemil, our club director guy, laughed, “We give you Armani warm-ups for that!” Yeah—sure. Can you picture the dig’n’roll moves in black leather and cashmere?—Ha!
• I’m reading the book Slumdog Millionaire (as well as many others…). It’s fast paced and interesting. My dad saw the movie awhile back and is still raving about it (huh, Dad?). Today the girls in the locker room were stoked that it is finally at their theatre! Nesve, Busra, and I are going to see it on Monday. I’m really excited, especially because they made it a point to ask ME to go.
• One more match remains for Turkish Cup. We beat Fenerbahce this past Tuesday 3-1 in the first round of the finals. We play them March 18th for the last contest at our home gym. Should be a FINE battle!…*she wipes the drool from her lower lip*
• There is an absurd lack of trash cans in the public places of Istanbul. I left a trail of dripping freezing water all over the mall the other day as I carried around my used ice bags looking…searching…for a dang bin. My Turkish teammates thought nothing of it. All I found near every escalator on every floor were bins with no holes or openings just shallow concave tops. For cigarette disposal, perhaps? CHONK. No, for ice disposal, I decided. Hmpf.
• I am officially a sucker for Turkish pastries. Not the syrupy sweet things as much as the mini, delightful cocoons of flaky, buttery crusts filled with savory surprises such as potato, cheese, spinach, or meat. Or talk to me about the amazing breads swirled with olive spread and perfect elasticity. The opinion is right, I think, that we Americans don’t know GOOD bread. All American, that is, except the whole wheat Queen of everything baked and delicious, Mrs. Shirley Heinmets. But wait…she’s Swedish!
• Stray animals are everywhere here in Turkey. Some are shy, some are bold, and all are mangy and unpredictable. Esra and I were walking home last week from Kahve Dunyasi (the local coffee joint). We were about to pass a man with two dogs walking in front of him—one on a leash, the other roaming free. How strange, I thought. Maybe that’s just how they do it in Turkey? The free one was cute with a white diamond patch on his forehead, but for some reason, as Esra gabbed away, I kept watching him. I was about to avert my eyes as he passed, when he suddenly lunged at her leg! The man basically ran away, but claimed the dog had gotten its shots. Esra was bleeding and went to the hospital later to get rabies shots just in case! We still see the dog everyday, and now I just give the blonde spaz a little more space. I get enough foam in my lattes, thank you very much. (Oh...am I a riot, or what?)
• Have you noticed that my bullet points are each becoming short stories? Why, oh why, do I even try?
• Note to the volleyball lingo analysts: the setter doesn’t “dump,” she tips here.
• My shoulder is actually feeling pretty good—I haven’t even thought about it that much recently. Praise, praise God! Now, if I could just find where I left my GAME…
• Thank you so much, my dear friends and family, for your thoughts and time and prayers. I hope you hear me on that. I’m sorry our communication is so sporadic, but I do feel and appreciate your help that reaches to me from across the ocean.
• We have the day off tomorrow (Sunday). I will see some fellow Americans (men and women) volley it up, and the word is we will grab some Mexican food after that. Don’t mind if I DO….
• But for now, I am exhausted--with a pair of heavy eyes and a heart dusted in frustration. Yet, tomorrow is a new day--a great day.

what is real

I walk the woods in daylight

Under a canopy of shadows.

The limbs climb high and wide and low

Licking my fear.

Ominous

Dark

Yet, only masking the light.

double whammy

The Point

From the My City Hotel on the Asian side of Istanbul, I feel a little twitchy in my contented state. This may be due to the three cups of kahve (coffee) I just inhaled, or perhaps Tracy is finally letting her sheath down a little.

You see, there are many sides to this person working the keyboard. I can be quite goofy and engaging, but I can also be the opposite extreme—reclusive and very shy. I’ve been battling too much of the latter recently. It is my tendency when things are difficult or heavy for me to withdraw in order to regain stability and positive focus—not always a great thing, but sometimes necessary.

This was certainly the case leading up to this past Tuesday’s match against Gunes Sigorta (our fifth and final contest with this team). It was finally a European League match; I was set to start; and I honestly felt as mighty as a lone unripened lima bean. There are many reasons why I felt so small—the poor attack connection with our setter, feeling like everyone was just expecting, waiting for me to blow the big game, etc. Whatever the reasons, I knew there was much work to do to get my mind right. I went through my routine like normal—the studying, the music, the prayer (and the hair). But this time my need for true thoughts to replace the bad ones felt extra vital; the “Fake it til you make it” would not cut it. So I had to search for what was real, what I could control, and what promises from God I could think on instead.

As I filtered through the usual round of thoughts before the match of what it means to compete knowing my value is set and my needs are met by God alone, another powerful truth began to surface. Considering first what was at stake, I think the worst that could happen is that I do completely botch the match; every touch is an error; and the club condemns my career convincing everyone in the world of volleyball to never hire me again. Wow—not cool.

But, truly, even that would not be the end of my story. Volleyball is not who I am, but something I do. It is a gift—a joy to me from the Creator of all. Even more, volleyball is a means to a much greater end in my life—growing to the utmost in character and person like that of the one and only Jesus Christ. My bigger goal is to extract, to touch, to own every curve and grain of my making, my pot. The Potter didn’t spin me into being so that I could be great at volleyball. He didn’t create me to reap happiness or comfort, marriage or praise. These can all be good in life, and happiness is certainly a blessing and desire, but, really, it is not the point of living.

And so, as I positioned the clips throughout the mane and strapped in the ankles for another round of juking and pounding, I resigned myself to simpler thoughts. Get up on time, Trace, and swing fast. Close with your feet on the block and press. Firm hand and pop on the serve. “Next play” mentality. Bring on the battle, bring on the hard, because all I want is to be everything God intended. So I will give everything tonight, and let it be how it will be.

I was struck once again by the words of 1Peter 5:6-7:
“Humble yourselves under God’s might right hand, and He will lift you up in due time. Cast all your anxiety on Him, because He cares for you.”

We competed hard and won in five. The win was very exciting as we then advanced to the second round of the European League, which means that if we beat our Polish opponents next (best of 2 matches) we advance to the Final Four! I believe we can really do it!

I will admit that it is a little strange divulging so much about my pre-game thought in a blog, but the purpose of this thing is to share my experience. And, really, this is the bulk of what’s going on for me right now—wrapping my mind around where I fit in this new professional arena.

Dairy and Daggers

Now, in an effort to move away from the incredibly deep volleyball lima bean talk, I was delighted to discover today that my teammate Nesve (nesh-vey) shares my incredible delight in creamy foods. Cheese, milk, yoghurt, cream…You name it; we love it. And might I go so far as to say if you haven’t eaten dairy foods from countries outside the US, then you haven’t eaten them at ALL. Milk actually has taste here. And Cheese….don’t even get me started on the varieties and shapes and textures that all make your taste buds slap happy.

YEeeaaahh….so besides the BEAN-O, you might want to send me some armor, because the daggers that were flying from some locals a couple days ago were ALL headed in my direction! Nancy and Jason Metcalf (my fellow Nebraska peeps) and I chose to surround ourselves with bags and kebaps and rugs galore at the famed tourist site of the Grand Bazaar. The roofed maze of color and chatter filled my nostrils with ripe leather. The name of the game is bargain, and I thought myself a veteran having filled many-a-bag with China’s Silk Market goods for crazy cheap. And so when we were led to a special room to check out Turkish silk rugs, I was excited for the haggling to begin. The well-spoken man charmed us with apple tea and kind words. In fact, Nancy and Jason had bought rugs from him in previous years. He whipped out maybe twenty rugs, spinning and flaunting their uniqueness. One particular white, red, and green rug caught my eye. He dropped the 950 Lira bomb (over $600). Uhh…. Excuse me? Nancy, Jason, and I talked it over. After finding some stains and imperfections, I decided I’d offer him 300 L. I wasn’t determined to get it, but thought if he bit—sweet—if not, I’ll just walk away.

“This rug is very nice,” I said. “But with the stains and everything, I’ll give you 300 Lira”

“Sure.” he said, rapidly nodding. “Sure. 300 Lira.”

I was floored. Dangit, I thought, I should have asked for 250. Then I noticed his expression. The fumes, the eyes…and the explosion.

“You know she wasn’t going to buy a rug, Nancy! You come in here and waste my time!” He paced the floor and kicked the rugs—arms flailing. “You are insane trying to buy a rug 300 Lira! AHHH!”

I realize now my small offer could have felt very insulting to him, but I was so shocked to see this guy flip the switch so fast. From complete schmooze-fest to fierce anger! Nancy and Jason were responding calmly to his accusations, but I in my increasing anxiety just started backing away towards the door.

I suppose I’m thankful for Mr. Spazz, because I wasn’t as shocked the next time my low-ball offer shuddered a seller. A beautiful Louis Vuitton messenger bag beckoned me and visions of coffee shops. That is, until the guy said it was worth 400 Lira! Say WHAT? For a knock-off? I offered him 50 Lira. He glared at me with a sort of crazed grin. Taking back the bag from my hands, he said, “Sorry, lady. You will never see your dream.”

Ha. So it is true that in Istanbul perhaps vendors are not as bendy when it comes to the worth of their products. I will return to the Grand Bizaare, but next time with a thicker skin (or a chained vest?), more money, and expanded dreams!

Now we play another big match against Fenerbahce tonight (Saturday). Gotta get my mind right. But first, I’m going to find Nesve for a little pre-match cheese.

delighting in rain

Memories of homesickness bring about a cozy couch, mom’s soup, and a pink plastic mug of cold 7-Up. The other, the kind of homesickness people are supposed to have when they leave their country and their comfort zone for months at a time is not as prevalent for me in the memory bank. I mean, I’ve always been away from one parent growing up, and switching states every year or so was the norm. So it’s not a huge change for me to be distant from loved ones or to once again be “the new kid” in town. I see this uncommon perspective as quite a blessing—a great enabler for my independent lifestyle, such as the one unfolding now in Istanbul.

Yet, I suppose it can also be viewed as refreshing when I find myself to be more human, as I simply long for the company of the people who really know me—that these past few days I have not felt so comfortably isolated. For example, I’d like to spaz out in an explosion of wild facial expressions, accents, and lame jokes, but to do so here may result in people cowering in fear of my bulging eyes and rapid English. To do this, to let go might help me forget for a moment my frustrations (mainly with my game) and remember that I must find a way to think well and give my best even on the hard days.

Of course I realize that these circumstances seem so petty when set up against the deeper loss and heartache and pain of this world. Yet, this is my reality—my now. God knows I am thankful for it, but these past few days just haven’t been sunshine and lollipops. No. In fact, I’m soaked from the rain, and the taste in my mouth is reminiscent of dirty cilantro.

Ha. A bit over-dramatic, you say? Perhaps. I do know the sun is still shining behind the clouds. That assurance is the beauty of following after the God of all, knowing that I am exactly where I should be. With that comes a peace that truly does transcend understanding. And on those days (like yesterday) when I wake up feeling powerless, without the strength for a gracious attitude about the coming minutes and hours, I know that I can pull from the endless strength of Christ.

Today I read:
“Again the one who looked like a man touched me and gave me strength.
‘Do not be afraid, O man highly esteemed,’ he said. ‘Peace! Be strong now; be strong.’
When he spoke to me, I was strengthened and said,
‘Speak, my lord, since you have given me strength.’”
~Daniel 10:18-19

In other news, two days ago I found myself surrounded by snowy trees and strange creatures. Swaying gently from the movement of the reindeer-drawn buggy, I saw that seated to my left was the Ice Queen herself. In my hand I held a small square, dusted with white powder. Stricken with glee, I popped the whole cube in my mouth. Chewy—oh so chewy--with a surprising crunch of nuttiness. Mmmm.... the subtle sweetness of my very first Turkish Delight.

…Then, in the lucid playground of my mind, I snatched the whole box from the queen’s icy grip, smacked her with the banana peel in my pocket and leaped out of the buggy! A red couch in the distance beckoned me to rest. And it was there that Esra, our team captain, and I reclined to watch her new documentary about the life of the country’s beloved Ataturk, laughing and learning with our Delights.

Today we have a match against Turk Telecom—one of the other top teams in Turkey. Last night I gave our old National Team coach Jenny Lang Ping a big hug—I was so happy to see her. Though, it will be strange to see her again tonight coaching from the other side of the net. It was funny that even in Turkey her homeland entourage was still at her heels. As soon as I saw her, a Chinese camera man scrambled to his feet to film our exchange. Oh the memories…

to dwell

This may have been post number five if my wonderful computer could figure out how to connect to Internet that boasts the connection as “Very Good.” But alas, it has much trouble with this.

But let’s avoid any sort of rampage about such trivial things, shall we? I’d rather touch on some greatness that has happened these past few days.

First of all, we won our very important match Tuesday night 4-1. This win allowed us to advance in, I believe, the Turkish Cup standings. It is strange, though, that after playing this team twice in a row this past week (both Saturday and Tuesday), we still play them three more times—in Turkish League (different from the Turkish Cup) and in European League. If you’re confused, don’t worry—so am I.

I did end up playing a couple rotations near the end of the last set. I know Beppe was a little nervous since I had only been practicing two days so far. But I was ready and was stoked…and God blessed it. Now, don’t go thinking that I lit up the stat board or anything, because I didn’t (one point, baby!!). But let me tell you that it was such a beautiful way to start my pro career.

The best way to describe it is that I was WHOLLY PRESENT. I had prayed before the match that God would keep me from the great amount of distractions that await in a moment like that, where every eye in that gym wants to see how good this new, frizzy, American really is, thus pride and insecurities and uncertainty were likely to flare. I had no idea what pre-game warm-up was, and I didn’t even have a jersey until we finished peppering! But through God's incredible faithfulness, all this, all these external things would enter my mind and slide right back out, then instead I would notice, encourage others, and ready myself.

“Trust in the Lord and do good; dwell in the land and enjoy safe pasture.” Psalm 37:3

I subbed in. The smiles and “Bravo, Tracy!” from my teammates was a blur in the first moment, as all I could think about was getting to my ready position at the net to block. Raising my already sweaty hands, I felt awkward calling out hitters, because nobody else did it—so I said it quietly to myself. The first ball was a wacky dig that forced me to quick-decision-bump-set Mirka on the outside who crushed it (yeah….she’s Cuban). Whew! Later, I got a bad touch on the block, and after a second of internal scolding, I took my position for serve receive, got the call from Naz our setter, and my heart suddenly leaped a little. I took on a wide smile and was so excited for that ball to come over the net so we could all try again. Thank You, Lord, I whispered. I LOVE this stuff!

Okay… so I won’t give the play-by-play, but if you must know, I blocked a tip straight down due to my sweet hang time (my what?) to make my mark on that scoreboard! All in all, my pro “debut” and our great team win really pumped me up. I am also looking forward to exploring further this notion of being wholly wherever you are. Where anything but the present seems not to exist. Thoughts of the past or future may float in, but quickly dissipate, because the moment, the present seizes every sensation, every attention. Like I said--beautiful.

Today we leave for a Turkish city far, far away. We have a match on Saturday and should return to Istanbul that night. Nancy said we will go by plane then by bus, and apparently in two days we get to spend eight hours on that bus! Ahh….good times and, hopefully, good pics!

A few random things of note about life here in Istanbul:

- Traffic is horrendous. Next time you feel like shouting “duck!” to a wayward driver in the States, remember to be thankful that street lines actually mean something.
- Flip flops are “shocking” to people. In a breezy 60 degree sunny day, everyone was afraid for my life—that I would fall ill for wearing such atrocities.
- It is important to look chic when going to a shopping mall here. I felt quite dumpy simply wearing a black Columbian fleece with jeans. And sweatpants in public—unheard of!
- My Italian/Turkish broken English accent gets better by the minute, people! Just you wait!

day iki

Nothing like waking up to a drill through your headboard. Yes, day 3 here in Istanbul starts with an unpleasant jolt out of my Tylenol PM coma. I mean, I get that hotels need maintenance, but let's not allow people to stay in the room directly above the one where glass must be thrown against itself, burrows must be drilled, and hammers... hammered at nine in the morning! C'mon, people!

Ahem.

Yesterday was full of excitement. I requested to do a mini workout in the morning--dynamic moves, stretch, abs, and band work--in an effort to get some of the jet lag gunk out of my body before the practice with the team later that evening. Our assistant coach Gokhan picked me up and took me to the club's training facility, built solely for the volleyball program in 2003 by Eczacibasi--pretty sweet.

.....Let's take a timeout to get this word right, because it is important and not easy. In fact, I've been mumbling it over and over each day in the corner of my teeny hotel room, rocking back and forth (okay, not really.....but kind of). Turkish pronunciation is different, and they even have some additional letters including o, s, i, c, and g accompanied by little tics in various places, of which my sleek Toshiba keyboard can't handle. The "i"s in Eczacibasi shouldn't have a dot on top, which means they are pronounced "uh;" the "s" has a tic underneath, pronounced "sh;" and the "c" is like a j as in "jelly." Okay, ready? ....Ej-za-juh-ba-shuh.... Now, commence with the rocking, keep repeating, and you'll get it!

Anyway, Gokhan showed me around, let me do my thing, and upon serving me his "famous mocha" (no chocolate in Turkish mochas, just a unique steeping process), we gushed over our shared passion for coffee. I also learned more about Eczacibasi (Good job!) and pro clubs in general, especially the fact that most in Europe are set up like club programs in the states. I guess the word "club" never gave that away for me--nice, Trac. There are multiple developmental teams within the Eczacibasi system including youth, junior, and senior level teams. There is a lot of overlap, though. In fact, we have 30 plus women mixing with 18-year-old on our top, senior team!

After going over setting calls and signals, he drove me back to my random, taxi-drivers-don't-even-know-where-it-is hotel and I had lunch in the perpetually empty restaurant downstairs. I stuck to the same simple meal--salad, chicken, rice--so I'd be well fueled for my first practice. Lena, the team manager, and her boyfriend picked me up for practice, but stopped at Starbucks on the way. Having always avoided delicious coffee treats right before practice, I actually opted out of a free coffee drink, grabbing a bottled water instead.

While there we ran into two of my teammates-to-be (remember, up until this moment I was a secret!), and one of them happened to be the young one, Nesh, I was meant to replace. I was a bit surprised by their genuine smiles and positive energy as we exchanged hellos. Upon sitting down, they spouted off in intense Turkish and wild facial expressions (Nesh has big eyes like me), but Lena assured me that they were just talking about the match last night (an important one, of which they lost in four sets). Later, Nesh and I laughed about my hair as I adored her purple boots, and as if time stopped for a moment, I fell in awe once again of the faithfulness of God. The night before I had be praying for a positive encounters with my new teammates, especially with her.

We arrived back at the gym, where I met Beppe (Guiseppe Cuccarini) our Italian head coach. Beaming a contagious smile, he welcomed me in broken English. Lena then led me into....duh duh duh...the locker room. It was pretty awkward at first, but, hey, that makes sense. Who the heck is this new frizzy chick, anyway--thinkin' she can come onto our team mid season and shake it up? Shoot, team dynamics are fragile and change is often shocking, so when the elder Serbian middle Vesna introduced herself, I totally respected it and laughed along with everyone else.

"I am Vesna," she said. "Super middle."

So we geared up. It felt good to pull on my kneepads and strap in the ankles again! It's also funny that Nancy and I are the only ones to wear spandex to practice. Everyone else wears gray, cotton basketball shorts and no active ankles or tape. The team went to do a few lifts before the "recovery" ball practice would commence. Beppe called me over to warmup with one of our male trainers. "Couples," he said--which is the term here for pepper. Okay, so I won't go into all the details, but let's just say he kicked the poo out of me. It was like a 20 minute tryout burst of intense peppering, two coaches vs me on defense, and block footwork. I was red, heaving, and thirsty. Ha! It was great, though. I was still full of joy during the whole thing--not even kidding. My poor body was disintegrating, but my mind wanted to go harder!

I may have arrived here a little rusty on finesse, but I didn't arrive out of shape. I was glad to notice I recovered well during the rest of practice, not getting out of breath again. The free hitting was decent. Balls to the chest was the norm, as my jumping felt pretty good. I do need to stay off the net and get that quick timing back. All in all, practice went well, and I know I gave it everything I had!

There are many differences in how things are run out here compared to what I'm used to or what I expect. For example, players don't shag or hand balls--it's just not expected or desired at all. I find myself ready and wanting to, but also I don't want to offend by stepping out. Also, I was shocked to see how many balls fall while professionals just watch them or make only a half move. There was a lot of encouragement given among teammates, "Bravo!" and our trainer Dani's 3-year-old daughter (who speaks 3+ languages) seems to be the center of joy for everyone in the club. She weaved among players during our pre-practice huddle and ran out water bottles to us during stretching and warmup. I've never been one to gawk over other people's kids (yeah, believe it or not), but I'm making efforts to share in this joy with them. :-)

After practice, Nancy and I slapped on three bags each of blocked ice, showered, and made our way across the Bosphorus after practice with USA teammates Angie McGinnis and Heather Hughes. We met up with other Americans playing in Istanbul, a couple of the USA men's players and our other USA teammate Ogonna Nnamani, for a Super Bowl party, even though the game started at 1:30 am and most of left before. It was a lot of fun, and it was there that I savored my first (and second and third?) strogwafle from Holland.

...Now it's as if the persistent hotel workers are drilling into my skull. Time to go. Time to eat. Time to pray for 3:30 to come sooner.