What a game. I so wish the U.S. had won but...
...go Ghana, I'll be rooting for you now.
So I had a soccer game last night, with a new women's team I joined this summer; my first time playing in a real league in at least three years. I've been playing pick-up on Sundays with a group of mostly men and though I can generally hold my own with the guys, I missed playing with women. Too much testosterone at times even if a lot of these boys have "sensitive sides". My five foot two frame only goes so far against a six foot male. Or even one who's five seven AND three quarters, but faster, stronger, and more coordinated than me and just happens to share my bed. The competitor in me gets frustrated.
So I joined a women's league. And besides, there's nothing quite like soccer to get you back in shape after almost a year off of exercise due to a high risk pregnancy.
But you see that's the problem. I'm out of shape. So I make one overlap run down the wing and there's no way I can get back on defense if there's a quick turn around. Every whistle you'll find me bent over with my hands on my knees trying to catch my breath.
I don't have a "take it easy" button. My skill level is all hustle and guts, not finesse or touch. So I push myself even when I can't breathe.
Last night my team only had seven players, enough not to forfeit but not enough to fill all eleven positions. The other team had four subs on the bench. "Any of you want to play with us?" I called over before the ref blew the starting whistle but no one jumped at my offer. During the game I'd be covering an open girl in the center only to look over my shoulder and see three more open players on the far side. Before our sweeper took a goal kick our goalie would yell, "Come on move for her!" or "Get open!' and I wanted to laugh or yell back "Yeah right!" but I had to conserve my air.
And yet every time I wanted to walk instead of run, when every cell screamed "You need to rest!!!" something inside me would dig deeper and propel my legs forward, labored breath and all.
And here is where I can't help but think of Elias. Impaired balance, movement, vision, and lungs, and yet every day all he wants to do is move. As tired and out of shape as I am, how can I not push myself too? My lungs and legs work. I'm fully able. I may not be a gifted athlete with size and grace but I can chase the damn ball. I can run.
Tonight Elias and I walked around to the front yard to find a spot for a new Pineapple Mint plant. Our across the street neighbors were out front as well. Elias took off in their direction without his canes.
"Elias wants to say hi!" I called across the street and they walked over to the sidewalk in front of our house.
Elias leaned against the chain-link fence and bounced, "Hi!!!!!"
"Your walking really well without your crutches," Meghan said.
"Can I go over and see them?" Elias asked
"As long as you stay on the sidewalk I''ll lift you over and you can walk around to the gate." I hoisted all 35 pounds of him over our three foot fence.
"Without my canes!" Elias squealed, as he walked towards the corner, "Look at me run!"
And he did, down the sidewalk, towards the curb, out of my reach, my little man, with his hands in the air, running.
Running!
Elias and I may never play in the World Cup, we may never dazzle you with our coordinated moves, our fancy foot skills or speed, but if you want someone with some dog-headed persistence despite the odds, well, then pick us for your team.
(I had to include this picture because Elias's shirt reads: "I do all my own stunts")