I played in a soccer tournament all weekend. It was fun. It was good soccer. I played well and hard. And now, I suffer. But really, it is not like the suffering is that great, I only seemed to have strained one muscle group. It is the muscle that allows me to stand erect, the muscle that allows me to bend and tie my shoes, the muscle that allows me to put one leg in front of the other (aka: walk) and the muscle that supports me as I reach my arms out to pick something up. Other than that simple little muscle strain in my back, I feel great. Well, besides the fatigue, dizziness and headaches from exertion, dehydration and electrolyte imbalance. I don’t seem to have any trouble sitting or lying down, which is great news because my husband, who has a herniated disc right now can’t sit or lie down so together we make one functioning adult!
I am forty-five, but on the field, I play younger (we all do!). Before each game, I coach myself (brain before brawn) “play smart, slow down, stay in control”; but truth is, I love the feel of side-by-side sprinting, and gaining just an edge over the other player and meeting the ball first. It is truly exhilarating. Furthermore, a game with no physical contact would be boring indeed. I am not seeking it, but when it finds me, I am ready to engage, mass-to-mass, sweat upon sweat, legs entangled and then free.
Our final two games we played the same team. They were lithe, fit and young; we are robust, able-bodied and mature. If the audience were at a horse race, and placing their bets based solely on appearance, they would have picked the fountain of youth over the well of experience – hands down. They all would have lost their money, and incidentally, so would have I! The winning was really a testament to our teams’ defensive tenacity. We stuck to them, like a teenage boy dancing his first slow dance. When we successfully defended, we were just that close – but the response was completely different, our opposition wasn’t interested in a slow dance; we got under their skin. They fought to shed us like a cobweb on a nature walk.
We were there to play soccer, have fun and to win, if it was in the cards. They were not only there to win, I think they expected to win; and on the second game, possibly even to teach us a lesson. It wasn’t to be. They left both games congratulating us, and shaking their heads wondering what had just happened. I know their dressing room chatter was not likely reflecting their complete awe at our prowess, but in complete dismay over how they could have let that happen. Our dressing room was simply celebratory, complete with Jello shooters! We knew they were a good team, and we had beat them (twice)– not because we are a better team, simply because we had played well in both ends of the field, for the majority of the game. That’s all. It was minute-by-minute, game-by-game.
The differences between them and us may not be so obvious on the field, appearance aside; but after the game, as they were peeling off their sweaty sports bras and matching shorts and climbing into their lace undergarments and 'skinny' jeans, we were peeling off our ‘protective undergarments’ and cursing the intricacies of aging, while slipping into sandals and sweatpants. We were already icing and lubricating our muscles and joints – and popping Advil, just to get ahead of the aches and pains.
It is after my fourth game in 48 hours that the difference in our age becomes apparent. All the players had to be over 35, but when it comes to sport, each year difference is not simply additive, it becomes more like ‘dog years’ (7 years for every year). Regardless of how much physical fitness I do regularly: running, biking, weights, core and walking – I pretty much come out beaten and depleted. It is in the recovery; my ability to rebound is sluggish to the point of not being able to ‘come off the wall’ at all. Everyone around me has to adjust. My full time job, taking care of home and family, is hampered; I let down those that I love and I feel so ‘out of body’ for the next day….or two. Is it worth it?
I feel like I have played soccer my whole life, despite only recently returning to it after taking a ten to twelve year parenting break. In the same moment I simultaneously think, ‘I can’t do it anymore’ and ‘I don’t want to quit’. It is why I stayed away for so long when my kids were small, I knew it would take something from me that I wasn’t ready to give. There is great benefit for me to play soccer, and there is also a cost. After a tournament it sure feels like the cost is higher, even with the lingering high of winning the tournament. But when I am on the field, it is the only place where I am truly in the moment; I neither think about nor care what is for dinner, who has homework, whose fault it was, or when I am going to find time to do all that I do; I am simply playing soccer with a team of ageless and beautifully spirited women with the aim of giving our best in that moment, that game. Can I really give that up?
No comments:
Post a Comment