Sunday, September 14, 2008

Bend It Like Bells

The weatherman lied. Again. He told me that today would be dark and rainy. It was bright and sunny. I can't keep up.

I went for a jog this afternoon, after having shamefully slept in for far too long. I've decided that Tuesday nights are not meant for parties. I couldn't slow down to recover until now. And I'm still a little dazed and confused. But then, since when am I not?

Back to the jog. Or power-walk/jog. I don't want to give you the impression that I'm an athlete just yet. I was exploring a foreign-to-me section of my neighborhood when I came across a soccer field, packed with young families. And as I huffed and puffed along the sidewalk, I eyed the tournament and thought, "I want that."

And then I started arguing with myself:

"But you hated soccer."
"No, I didn't."
"Remember the time you scored on your own team? And you were the goalie?"
"Shut up."
"More than once."
"Fine. But I still had fun."
"If you consider public humiliation fun."
"It can be if it's followed up by an ice cream cone."
"You lost every game."
"Winning isn't everything."
"What about the year your coach died?"
"That's not a good reason to give up on a sport. TV characters die and I don't stop watching TV."
"Look at those socks. They're sweaty."
"They're cute."
"They melt your shin pads to your legs."
"War wounds. I can take it."
"You don't really want that."
"I do."

I change the song on my iPod. I can hear the happy cheers of overly enthusiastic parents, siblings and teammates.

"Fine. Maybe I want the chair on the sidelines."
"You'd have to lug that chair from field to field."
"I lift light weights for a reason."
"There's no shade there."
"I can wear a hat. And sip water."
"Like a soccer mom."
"Yes."
"Oh."
"What?"
"You don't want to play kiddie soccer, you want to take your kiddies to soccer."
"Maybe."
"You're dreaming of the minivan now, aren't you?"
"No."

I speed up, actually running now. I pass a family of four, water bottles in hand. The kids shouldn't be walking on the concrete with their cleats, but they are.

"You want that."
"Yeah."

1 comment:

Sarah said...

Ah, I've had conversations like that before, between me and my ovaries. I used to be able to ignore them, but they seem to be screaming at me a lot these days :/