Today, 8 p.m. EST, I will be located on a indoor turf field, chasing some ball, praying to The Baby Jesus I don't pass out from exhaustion. Or a ball to the face.
After a two and a half year hiatus, I am playing soccer again. The team is of the co-ed variety and I, being of the tender age of 38, am guessing I will be on a team of those whose date of birth may *technically* render me old enough to be their mother. I wonder if I'll yell over to a kid, "Pull up yaw draws, Baby Gap!" I could be that old lady.
Once upon a time, I looked like this:
See how bright (beet red) and cheery I am? And this is after a game. Sure, I'm what, 16 (and a HALF!) years old here? Somehow am thinking this is not how tonight's game ending will look. Maybe I'll be a vision of beet-red in the face loveliness, but am guessing that's where the similarities will end.
For you see, I have essentially gone out my way as much as one can to NOT prepare for this evening's events- unless MLS counts "holding a kid on a hip" as some form of strength conditioning. It is my hope (and prayer) my scrappy personality counts for something here, and translates on the field. Just let me stay upright. I don't think that's being greedy. I am also guessing (just a thought) it might serve me to have the inhaler ready. Even better, it might actually be a stellar idea if I actually remembered that inhaler. Damnit. I guess a pit stop to the CVS is going to have to happen.
Speaking of other adventures in highly organized preparedness, I thought I had it on good authority the sorta-kinda exact locale of my cleats. So color me completly stunned this morning when I decided to look for them- as I packed my bag (also this morning) that they decided to not be anywhere near where I thought they were. WTF, cleats? So this little oversight cost me a trip to the City Sports at lunch today. Fortunately, the pair I got were 1. on sale and perhaps of greater importance 2. not ugly.
(You think I'm kidding about #2 being a factor in my buying decision.)
(You don't think these will make my calves look fat, right?)
Back in the day (about 4 years ago), I played in an indoor game and got checked by some dude into a wall. In the process of that collision, which I feel the need to add I don't think he was going out of his way to hurt me or be a prick, my hand got pressed back into the glass. When it was over, immediately the wrist hurt like HELL. I got off the field, checked it out. I could move it, but it really hurt. Sure it was starting to swell, but I decided to go back on and play some more. Because I am smart.
When I realized that I was always bracing my arm across my abdomen to run, I thought probably it was best to call it a night. When I got home, I showed it to Mike, and then, after calling my sister/nurse for advise, went to the ER. X-Rays confirmed I had broken my wrist.
All this to say, I've used this as an example to have it in me to be incredibly bad ass I am (I have mentioned how tough I am on labor & delvery floors i.e "don't worry, I play soccer") (Seriously, I played soccer with a broken wrist- what have YOU done, chief?). Or, as some people close to me have generously pointed out, incredibly stupid.
So here I go, totally unprepared, only armed with a desire to get back into it, after missing it so much for so long.
I am either incredibly bad ass or incredibly stupid.
We'll see where I think I landed on that one tomorrow morning.