Soccer at 45. Don’t try this at home or perhaps anywhere.
I will turn 46 this Wednesday but until then I am going to behave like any normal, queer girl would…I am going to try Pilates for the first time, then kayak for several hours the next day, after wards I’ll schedule an appointment for a large tattoo.
And gosh while I am at it, to round out the weekend, let’s try soccer. You see I thought it would be a great way to (meet women) exercise and enjoy some delightful fall weather. The league is for women over 30 and I am in great shape. I mean I work out all the time – I can do 45 minutes of cardio, I benchpress 100 lbs. I was an all state high school and even played some college athletics for goodness sakes. Piece of cake, soccer. I mean you run, you kick the ball. Easy.
There’s just one thing I really had not thought about. I have not played soccer since I was 12 years old in gym class. And some (all of them actually) of the woman over 30 on the field are really, really good! Well one person wasn’t but I had a great outfit and you know the outfit is important.
Introductions commence “I’m Janet and I’m new”. I did not tell them I had never played before, the team captain had this information and took me because 1. they are desperate for players 2. they are desperate for players 3. they are desperate for players.
It was suggested that I play forward but there are only three forwards and forwards are supposed to kick goals, that seemed like a lot of pressure, it made me nervous. I asked a mid-fielder to switch with me.
Big Fuc!@#!! mistake. A soccer field is really big, really, really BIG and a mid-fielder runs playing both offense and defense. Within moments of running around having no idea what I was doing – I felt like someone was pulling my lungs out through my ears. I fell down several times (going for the ball, I am nothing if not tenacious). I kicked the ball several times, not particularly well.
This happened. It really hurt.
Some bitch kicked my foot – and I made a note to myself, it reads design steel toed soccer shoes. They would be really fun eh? I could get out a whole lot of childhood anger and adult frustrations (oops I digress).
Anyway I noticed when I was about to pass out in the line at Meijers, just from the physical excursion of standing in line (it had been a hour or more since my last dose of ibuprofen) – that my foot is bruised. My lovely foot (people on the street often stop to tell me ‘your feet look just like those of Dara Torres’) my foot is hideously disfigured.
Ok a wee exaggeration but it really hurts and I took this photo just a few hours after the game, how is this going to look tomorrow?!! (yeah my point exactly)
Icy hot is being applied to every inch of my body that is not a mucus membrane, the heating pad (extra large and frankly it’s too damn small) is on high…a nice glass of shiraz, more ibuprofen.
On a positive note…
I was really glad that I had a sense of the game and where to be on the field, I am aggressive and tenacious — and I had good speed… I could often beat people to the ball but alas I had no idea what to do with it once I got it. For some reason my team mates didn’t get the ball to me very often (unless of course they were desperate).
Janet had no idea what to do with a ball.
I wouldn’t have done any of this if I was 46.
And now I am not the least bit worried about the pain associated with getting a large tattoo ’cause peeps it’s nothing compared to the debilitating pain, a 45 years young woman feels playing soccer for the first time, in a very long time.
ouch (I really could use a deep tissue massage, where is that cute little red head?) Maybe a lesbian reading group…