I had the most amazing week! From feeling strong, eating right finding myself a new pal on the same path to workout with, gave a little back and right into the fact I got to hit the Boston Breakers faculty for some training.
Yet, God forbid I have a full week of happiness, joy or just simple peace and quite. Here I am one my “day off” at the doctor. I was sure to have “Socially Scene” submitted early, all work aside, training is to rest and I had scheduled in my mind a little Sex in the City marathon on the couch.
My reasoning for being here is that my knee is not getting any better and during futsal yesterday felt like it was about to crumble. I had gone against my gut and player a coed soccer game recently that I knew would bring regret.
I stopped playing coed soccer about two years ago for a few different reasons but mostly for the fact, I hate the flow of the game. You never know what your going to get. There is always some over weight former football or hockey star who thinks his fat ass can “play that gay European sport”. Sorry to burst your bubble boys but soccer players are one of the most conditioned athletes out there.
One thing you can always count on in coed soccer is your typical insecure guy getting out there. They have two very predictable traits that come from, “can’t stand it a girl has more skill”. One, he hogs the ball and generally looses it and the game. Two, so awful that his only defense is to foul the hell out of you in hopes to boost his ego that he just beat up on a girl.
The last thing you can most likely find on a coed soccer team is, “the chic”. The girlfriend of usually a pretty decent guy player who is there only to latch onto her man a little more or just fill the girl quota on the field. She is always a riot to play against. Super slow, no skill and still to this day the worst injury I have ever had!
I was playing in yes a coed league and had burnt this grenade of a girl so bad that by the time she caught up to me, I had blown right past her. So of course her monterous leg had power behind it when she was finally able to swing it and just tore my ankle to pieces. The worst part was when I got up to punch her directly in the face a few times, I couldn’t. It was my fault I took the field in a situation I was far more superior than.
Don’t get me wrong there are teams and leagues out there that have talent and can get a good game out of. Yet more often than not you find at least one of the above listed players in each match and sometimes it’s all you have to work with.
Now having an understanding of coed soccer, off to the point. I know a very reliable caption in the coed circuit who always puts together a quality crew. With all my plans for getting back into professional status I knew I needed field time. I took a chance and reached out to Henry mentioning that I was willing to play.
So of course I get a call and it was a Saturday night during the holidays. I made my way there, a little weary but more excited to get a game in. The team I played with was great and just what I expected from good ol Henry. Even the other team was putting up caliber competition.
Now who would of guessed that it would be someone from my own team that has put me in this lovely position. I had come back to play defense and was covering my player well. I found that perfect moment to make the tackle just outside the box to block his shot.
Well within tenth’s of a second I see my goalkeeper come sliding into me from behind after I had already made the play of course. As any athlete knows those moments are vague at game speed and not much to be remembered. I knew it sucked then but got back up and continued to play.
After the match it was sore and didn’t think much of it at the moment. But now, it has officially hit a point where I’m pissed. After much care,ice,ibuprofen and rehab on my part it’s time I take it to the professionals, so here I sit!
Just my luck that we picked up that player for the night and no one knew who he was. I would love to track him down, break a leg and then give him a few pointers on goal tending. Problem is, this is my fault.
I have been told that I give the very best advice. Why can’t I listen to my own. I quit coed soccer for plenty of valid reasons and then my impatience got the best of me. So here I sit, upset, scared, alone all because I didn’t trust my gut.
I am at 25 days and counting and will just in time pull this off with my shape also speed. I am full of intelligence and my advice is key but why the hell can’t I listen to myself. I stepped onto that pitch knowing better and right now would give any things for the courage to nose dive right off the Tobin Bridge but… I won’t.
No matter how messy things get, how hurt my heart, tired my body and being told time and again I’m crazy for trying, I just won’t. This strength inside is nothing more than a curse more often than not. I will never give up, I don’t understand just dreaming and not doing and will not be surprised if at my funeral someone says, “Here lies Angela she lived by her motto “Impossible is Nothing”, always gave it a shot and she sure died trying again, again and again”.
So as much as I want to run out of here with whatever result, grab a few dirty martini’s, bottle of vino and greasy Chinese, I won’t. I will take the doctors orders, smarten up, trust my gut, do what I can and keep on fighting to the top.