HERMOSA BEACH, Calif. — They called her Susie, and for seven weeks, Susie, a 27-year-old American working a farm in rural Sicily, lived a life that Zana Muno had long dreamed of.
She’d be on a bus by 8 in the morning, piling in with 13 others from around the globe, ranging from 70-year-old women from Sweden to peers her age from Germany and everywhere and every demographic between, and off they’d go, sometimes to the farm, sometimes on a field trip. There would be a lesson, coffee and cake at 10, lunch prep followed by, of course, “the most incredible lunch,” Zana said, another lesson, and the bus ride back.
The only semblance of her former life as a professional beach volleyball player would be a lift or hill sprints on the land of her host family before she’d return to the new: A home-cooked Italian dinner and a two or three-hour conversation with her host parents. They “didn’t speak a lick of English” Muno said, and she didn’t speak a lick of Italian so they’d chat over Google translate until she couldn’t fight sleep any longer.
“That was every day,” she said on SANDCAST: Beach Volleyball with Tri Bourne and Travis Mewhirter. “It’s something I will never forget.”
For nearly two months, that was Zana Muno’s life. During those two months, she did everything she had sought to do, everything she had designed for her life, save for one rather notable exception: play volleyball.
Nobody in Italy asked her about volleyball.
“They didn’t even know what a volleyball was,” she said. And for the first three weeks, gosh was that a beautiful thing. The weight of a mercurial 2023 season, the very weight that pushed her to spontaneously send in an application for the program without much thought, began to lift.
“I was so burnt,” Muno said. “Physically, mentally, emotionally, I’d never been in a place like that.”
It wasn’t that Muno’s season was bad. Not by most standards, anyway. It is difficult to label a season a bad one when a semifinal run at the Manhattan Beach Open is made. But it was somewhat directionless. A partnership with Kerri Walsh Jennings was put on indefinite hold as Walsh Jennings recovered from a foot injury. It left Muno in a strange limbo, playing mostly with Deahna Kraft — but that would only be until Walsh Jennings returned. She never did, which left Muno idling, playing with whomever was available while understandably holding out for the greatest player of all time to come back to the sand.
“She’s the goal,” Muno said of Walsh Jennings. “You can’t do better. Any time with her, to me, felt very valuable.”
So she popped around, defending for Jessica Gaffney in Mexico, split-blocking with Carly Kan in New Orleans, defending for Allie Wheeler in Brazil, defending for Kraft in a number of tournaments, splitting with Savvy Simo in Chicago and Carli Lloyd in Laguna.
Sometimes it was fun, playing with new people, people she loved, exploring different sides and positions. Much of the time it was difficult, sacrificing the development of a bona fide team for a strange aimlessness as her peers began making runs at the Olympic Games, AVP titles, jumping up the rankings.
After finishing last in Chicago, Muno was scrolling through TikTok, coming across a video of a girl at a farming program in rural Sicily. The familiarity struck her: Maddy Klineman, younger sister of Alix Klineman, had enrolled in the same program years ago.
“She would post these little snippets and I was like ‘Whatever you’re doing, I need to go,’ ” Muno said. At the time, Maddy was a senior at UCLA, Muno a freshman. Muno asked everything there was to ask about the program, determining that trip to be her new “lifelong dream.”
“I always thought whenever I was done volleyball, after kids, I’m going to this program,” Muno said. And then, in that hollow space after losing consecutive matches and finishing dead last in the final AVP of the season, she saw the videos on TikTok. She found the website, read how to apply, didn’t hesitate.
“I figured I’d apply, I won’t get in,” Muno said. She even missed the application deadline, atoning for it with a pleading email that read something official-sounding like “please please please please,” Muno said, laughing.
Her family and friends, no stranger to the impulsive nature of Zana Muno, asked if this was such a great idea. At 27, she was entering her athletic prime. She was still one of the best defenders in the United States. Disappointing results aside, she had a wonderful life in Hermosa Beach.
Was this really such a good idea?
“I know I can’t be the person or player I want to be if I continue on this route,” Muno told them. “I’m not playing well, I’m not happy, I’m very not happy, it’s coming out in my performance. If I keep on this path, I need something to change. Why not go big?”
“I was really looking to explore myself not just as a volleyball player because I always identified myself as Zana the Volleyball Player,” Muno continued. “I was like ‘What else can Zana be?’ ”
In Italy, Zana the Volleyball Player was an afterthought.
Enter Susie the Farmer.
“When I got there I couldn’t care less about volleyball,” she said.
What Susie cared about was seeds and their fascinating history. Culinary work. Eating seasonally. Working with her hands. Trying — and failing — to milk a goat. Butchering animals that would be on her plate an hour or two later. Meeting individuals with stories as deep and rich as any of the athletes Muno had long admired, stories that wouldn’t get shared on ESPN or NBC, stories that were only passed along during bus rides through rural Sicily or over dinners late into the night over Google translate.
“It was really eye opening,” Muno said. “I’ve always idolized Kobe Bryant, Tiger [Woods], all these sports heroes, but there’s so many incredible people doing other incredible things out there. It didn’t take away from my love for volleyball but it opened my eyes so much.”
It opened her eyes, primarily, to what is real, the tangible aspects of life that can be felt and tasted and smelled. Since her debut on the AVP Tour in 2019, Muno has cultivated one of the largest followings in professional beach volleyball. There are 115,000-plus people who follow her on Instagram, which means 115,000-plus opinions about what she wears, how she looks in a bikini, how she plays on the court, how she speaks, even how she phrases her captions. Almost without her noticing, Muno began to curate her real-life persona around the one she was crafting online, not the other way around.
“The biggest thing I’ve learned when I’ve been gone is who the F cares?” she said. “I was so worried about posting the right thing and the right caption and being the right person that I started altering who I actually was. It’s really terrifying. Who is this person that I’ve curated because I feel like that’s what I’m supposed to be doing?”
Her peers in Sicily noticed. They saw the Zana Muno on Instagram and compared her to the Susie the Farmer, identifying the sizable disparity between the two.
“Somebody there said you’re not like you are on Instagram, you’re really goofy, you’re so goofy,” Muno said. “And that’s who I am. It was a really special experience.”
It was also a touch terrifying.
Halfway through the program, the Beach Pro Tour Finals were being held in Doha, Qatar. They were streamed anywhere with a device, which included Muno’s, even if she would go 10 hours a day without cell service. Watching the best in the world making a living play a game at which she’s quite talented, while she was off on a farm was a cause for no small amount of anxiety and second-guessing.
What was she doing?
Had she just torpedoed her career on an impulse?
“I had an existential crisis a little bit, why am I here, I’m going to be so behind, had a full meltdown,” Muno said. “It was a big risk I guess and I know I’m going to take a step back in this career I’ve been doing for so long. In retrospect I think it’ll be totally worth it.”
She knew while she was still there, too. She’d stalk social media and various websites, sleuthing for partnership updates. Then she’d be on the bus, off cell service, drinking in the wild and rural air, hanging out with sheep.
“Yeah,” she’d think on those rolling hills in Italy, “this was a good idea.”
Putting aside all that she learned about farming and agriculture and food, not to mention the relationships she formed and the indelible experiences made, the simple knowing how much she missed the game was enough to make it all worth it. For her entire life, Muno hasn’t gone long without touching a volleyball. It wasn’t the same without it, even while she was living a different version of her life she’d long sought.
“Rather quickly I realized I missed it, for many reasons, too,” she said. “The reality hit me that I still love playing volleyball, it’s just that the hoopla of beach volleyball is exhausting.”
Now the hoopla will take a back seat in her reorganized hierarchy of volleyball needs, so to speak. Maybe she’ll play on the Beach Pro Tour. Maybe not. Maybe she’ll chase some big, intimidating, far-out goal. Maybe not. That’s the hoopla — the points game, the partner shuffles, the stress of forever reaching.
What’s real? Being on the beach, every day, doing something for which she has a rediscovered passion.
“Being gone I just have so much gratitude for doing this as a job and doing something I love. Being around people who did what they loved and were so happy, and later in life and so proud and grateful to share it with me,” she said. “Just gratitude for getting to use my body every day. I realized how much I value my body and feeling a certain way. Even practices I missed so much. I love the monotony of going out and getting reps and working on my mind and all of those different things.
“I took a sabbatical, and I’m not saying everyone should do it but for me it was really good, I’m really happy with my choice.”
