Dyke on ice / Image courtesy: Jennifer Breakspear
I’m a queer woman. I like (some) sports. Therefore I must be into lesbian team sports. NOT. I have never been on a lesbian softball team. I can’t stand bowling. Football? Forget it! Rightly or wrongly I have long carried the impression that lesbian sports are an incestuous and exclusive enclave of drama and nastiness. Now don’t start yelling at me. If you are right into lesbian team sports and it all works for you that’s great. It’s just that the whole concept has been one I would rather run from than toward.
Here’s the thing. I’ve always enjoyed athletic pursuits. I eagerly jumped into any and all sports and activities. I played hockey for a number of years and skated countless miles on the Rideau Canal. Cycling was and remains a constant for me but I also shot lots of hoops, played badminton, tennis, rugby, skied, canoed, kayaked, and hiked.
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When I came out and started to find lesbian community in Ottawa I learned of lesbian team sports but never joined a team. Lesbian team sports scared me. The women who played seemed to me to be serious, intense, competitive and unfriendly. However I did find casual, less organized dyke sports fun. On summer Saturdays a ragtag bunch of dykes would gather in a downtown park and bat a ball around. There was no formal team structure. We just played with whoever showed up. In the winter a similar system worked for volleyball on Sundays. I enjoyed the casualness of it all. No need to commit, it was non-competitive, more about laughing at ourselves and getting through the game and on to the food and drink afterwards than who won and by how many points. And it was drama-free.
Then life got busy, relationship and work took up time and organized team sports (lesbian or otherwise) feel off my radar. I would bike, hike, and ski when I could but joining a team to play a sport seemed unimportant.
Dragon boating / Image: Jennifer Breakspear
When Laurie and I moved out to the coast we were intrigued by the omnipresent dragon boats racing in the waters around Vancouver. On our first wedding anniversary we decided to give the sport a try by participating in a learn-to-paddle session and from there we joined a team and quickly got right into the exciting sport. We met a few other lesbian paddlers and started pondering the possibility of paddling with other lesbians, maybe forming a team. We put out the word and the next race season saw Sisters in Sync take to the waters.
At first it was all just so much fun. We trained hard, partied hard, raced hard and bumped up against more than our share of lesbian drama. Medals were won, friendships formed, some relationships started, others ended. My love of the sport was able to (usually) outweigh my distaste for drama. After a number of years paddling with the Sisters I moved into coaching and where I share my love of the sport and watch others find their joy in paddling.
And then this fall I saw a Facebook post about a queer women and trans volleyball league. I was intrigued. Facebook messages back and forth assured me that this league is not about competition, that no volleyball experience or expertise is required and drama is minimal.
I could really use more regular physical activity and something social that takes me out of work space is welcome so I waded in. I joined Scared Hitless, a team where I already knew a couple of people, and warily went to the first game. In spite of all the assurances I was certain I would be laughed off the court for my lack of v-ball prowess. I wouldn’t fit in. They would kick me off for flubbing a serve and losing a point. Everyone would be part of some nasty clique and nobody would talk to me.
Was I wrong?! I can’t get enough of volleyball and Scared Hitless. This team is the most fun you can have in a school gym. Magnificently and theatrically missing the ball is cause for much (friendly) laughter. My teammates are incredibly supportive, offering gentle advice on improving my serve and cheering every effort. We have nicknames for each other and email chatter between games continues the silliness beyond the one evening of play.
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Could it be that I was wrong about lesbian team sports? Or is there something in the queer women and trans aspect of this league that makes it all much less uptight? I don’t know but somehow, without meaning to, I’m on a queer women’s sports team. And loving it. Who knew?
