Check it out. Extremely cool.
I am going to be so sore tonight, after climbing last night. I am getting really close to conquering the yellow 5.9 in one go, and so last night I tried a new blue one. It was tough! It may be my new yellow–the one I keep struggling with every week, improving ever so slowly. After that, I climbed a red that the key sheet said was pretty easy, but I had to take like 5 breaks. I don’t know if the marking was wrong (very possible) or if my arms were just too dead to do it late in the evening (also very possible). I’ll have to give it a go again next week. Last night I did warm up on my new favorite route thought–a green one that is mostly easy, but has one challenging move at the top. It’s fun. My new rock shoes felt tighter last night though and were rubbing my heel, I banged my right knee into the wall multiple times (bruise), I took a nice layer of skin off my pinky finger, and I scraped the back of one knuckle. Not the greatest night in terms of boo-boos gotten.
Ok, so I have decided that today is my day to pat myself on the back for 5 minutes. Why? Because I forgot to mention the satisfying personal moment of Sunday night’s soccer game, and that was: it’s always nice to find out that the other team is just a wee bit scared…of you.
Now, I’m an average soccer player, at best. Even when I do play well, I’m not the star because I play defense, and am never the one scoring goals or dribbling circles around the other players. I’m fine with this, in fact, I prefer it this way. My dribbling skills are actually pretty shoddy, which means that my saving graces are two simple things. First, I’m not scared of the ball. My reflexes, though very good when they absolutely need to be, are too unconcerned with things coming at me for me be scared of a soccer ball (but that’s another story). Second, I’m a “big foot” and thus have a good, solid, over-your-head, distance-covering kick. Now, compared to men, or even to college women, my kick sucks. But compared to the vast majority of girls I’ve ever played against, it’s pretty good.
I played for five or six years from about third grade to eighth grade, when I got up the guts to try out for my junior high team. I made the team, but the details are sort of hazy except for one play. We were at home, at Sedgefield, and I was playing stopper. Or maybe sweeper. Point being, I was in the back, in the middle. The other team came charging down the field, but the forward with the ball kicked it just a little too far ahead, and I was able to get to the ball just a couple steps ahead of her. Bam! The ball went flying in the air off my foot, booted back down the field. On the sidelines, as he was just hanging out after school watching the game, Chris Walker yelled something like “wow!” (only remembering Chris Walker, it was probably something much less geeky-sounding and more more profanity-laden.)
I entertained thoughts of trying out for my high school’s soccer team, but I was young and naive and a really big wuss back then, and I talked myself out of it. I used some excuse about doing marching band in the fall, so I wouldn’t want to have to go straight from that to soccer in the spring. Looking back, I obviously wish I had tried out, because I think I had a decent chance of making the team. But I didn’t. And I didn’t play soccer again until my spring quarter at Stanford, when I decided to buy some new cleats and play with the Aero/Astro intramural team. I moved to Houston, joined the co-op team, found out from Cari about the Bay Area Soccer League, and next thing I know, I’m on three different teams and loving it. My favorite team is the women’s team, despite my frequent little frustrations with how our games turn out. I like playing against all women, and one reason is that while we’re playing, we talk to each other, and joke around a little. It makes for some fun moments, and occasionally some unintentional compliments, like those I got on Sunday night.
The first time, the opposing team was running down the field, coming towards me and my defense. Buzz marked the girl on the outside, Maria marked the girl in the middle, and I was left with the girl coming between those two. The ball was kicked up from midfield, and rolled toward me. I was about 15 feet from the ball; the girl I was marking was about the same distance on the other side. I sprinted toward it, hoping to get there before she did.
She took a few quick steps, and then…she stopped. I reached the ball, and sent it flying up to our forwards. I had already taken a few good goal kicks, and gotten a couple other touches in the game, and I guess they had noticed. As I jogged upfield, I heard the girl call to a teammate, “Sorry, but I didn’t want to get in front of that!!”
“Ha HA!” I thought. “Stay away from my kick of doom!” I laughed to myself for the rest of the half. Then, in the second half, a loose ball came rolling toward me. The other team was pressuring, but not hard, and as I dribbed the ball away from the center of the field, I heard a defensive back on the other team yell all the way down the field, “don’t give her time to set it up!” It was too late though, as I already had the ball where I wanted it. Kick. Back up the field it went. And I giggled again.
Like I said: it’s always nice to know the other team’s a wee bit scared of you.
I like soccer.
