Soccer

I went and played indoor soccer last night.  Let me just remind you that I am 30-years-old and the mother of 4.  I try to excercise regularly.  I played soccer in my younger days.  But let's not be silly here.  Neither of those facts add up to my ability to play soccer today.  Let me start by describing how I looked last night. (I will not include my teammates in my story because they do not deserve to fit into the same category as me.)

I was wearing an old painting t-shirt that was splattered with brown and white paint. My hair was in pigtails and my face free of makeup. I was wearing a pair of capris that I wear for running and a pair of knee high socks. (You might ask why knee high socks with capris? Well, other than the fashion statement I was making, I don't own shin guards so I had to borrow some and the knee high socks were not for fashion but rather for protection against germs.  And just as your imagination has led you to believe, my appearance alone was embarrassing.)  I wore my running shoes since they are my best athletic shoes, although typically in real indoor soccer I should have been wearing indoor soccer shoes.  Do you have a complete picture of me in your brain?  Good.  Now take that little image and compare it to this image of the other team. 

The young women on the opposing team were freshly out of high school and it appeared that several of them had played on the high school soccer team.  They were adorned in proper soccer gear including one who was wearing indoor soccer shoes.  They were thin, strong, agile, smart, strategic, have strong bladders and don't pee a little when they run.  Before I even stepped onto the court I knew I was in serious trouble.  After two brutal halves the finishing score was 10-0.  The sweat spots under my breasts and pits complimented my paint stricken shirt as I gave high 5's to the other team congratulating them on their well deserved win.  Then I limped out of the building and went home where a disgusted and embarrassed look on my husband's face greeted me.  I think he was glad that he had not come to watch the slaughter.  And as sore as I was last night those feelings were magnified this morning when I rolled out of bed.  I can feel bruises multiplying and raising on my legs.  My quads and buttocks need ice and deep tissue massage.  I was so tired last night that I fell asleep in my clothes and am still wearing them while typing this post.  Can you smell me through the internet? 

It's a sad day when you have to grow up.  And it's even more sad when you realize that your brain still thinks that you're 15 but your body keeps screaming something different.  Keep me in your prayers today.  It's gonna be a long one.