Though I still have not figured out how to dribble a soccer ball, today I did solve one of the many mysteries that perplexes me every Monday afternoon.
Not a single one of the young soccer superstars has ever made it through the full hour with both feet on the ground. They fall, slide, and dive as if they were swimming around a pool. Their arms are lined with scrapes, and their pants have more holes than Abercrombie jeans. The standard procedure is to cry and exaggerate the intensity of one's fall, but they always hop back up and keep playing momentarily. It never ceases to amaze me how quickly they return to top form after taking a tumble.
Today the coach fell for the first time. As he followed suit with the tradition of wincing in pain, he did not jump back up as quickly as the little niños. One of the boys ran to his side and said, "It hurts more when you fall because you fall from much higher than us. And you weigh more."
I immediately thought, "Ah-ha! That is exactly why I am so scared of falling on the soccer field (which is actually a cement court). It all makes sense now." Though I technically don't have much farther to fall than the not-so-short eight-year-olds, I definitely weigh more than them after all the plates of paella I've been consuming.
My secret goal is to one day be intense enough about soccer (or any sport really) that I will be willing to wipe out as I try to steal the ball. I'm actually envious of their dedication to the sport. Next week I'm going to wear pants so I can't use my bare legs as an excuse.
No comments:
Post a Comment