I was never that active ‘sports’ person. You know that friend who wakes up early to go running, or that friend who was on every team in high school and has drawers and closets full of medals and trophies and such? Yeah well, that was never really me. I was that friend who stayed after school to be part of ‘super band’ and who finished off a 20-pack of chicken nuggets with you on the regular.
But when I turned 21, I kicked myself in the ass and decided to go out on a limb and try something new. I joined a soccer team. I didn’t own cleats, or shin guards or pro-wrap. I didn’t know I wasn’t supposed to kick the ball with the top tip of my foot. I didn’t know the difference between a yellow or a red card and when/how I could even get one. Yet I was lucky enough to have found a team who embraced my cluelessness and a coach who gave me a chance. I was never great. I wasn’t (and still am not) even that GOOD. But it made me feel fantastic. Honing my battle scars of bruised knees and twisted ankles and almost-bloody noses, I fell in love with the game…but most of all I fell in love with my team.
Fast-forward over 8 years later and I’m still playing. But coming back to my team after having baby Frankie was…well…interesting. I was SO excited to get back to my old ways that I jumped back on the field in August barely 6 weeks postpartum. Frankie was still only sleeping 2-3 hour stretches but I was willing to forego sleep just to get back out there. I was ready, I told myself.
My team was incredibly supportive. I subbed often and quickly because I hadn’t done any form of exercise in over a year. But my body just didn’t feel like my own. I felt bloated and lumpy and sore. Sorry for the TMI but I had to make sure I scheduled time before my games to pump so I wasn’t too engorged and I couldn’t forget to stuff my too-tight sports bra with nipple pads for fear of leaking milk all over my jersey. I couldn’t leave the house without wearing a pantyliner to my games because without a doubt, I would pee a little EVERY. SINGLE. TIME I went to kick the ball. And the best part? I would wake up in the middle of the night after all of my games with this stabbing pain all along my pelvic area. Sounds fun right?
But I kept pushing. I enjoyed the game way too much to let those things stop me. My teammates had made a few comments about how much calmer and less aggressive I was on the field now that I was a mom. I hadn’t even realized and to be honest, I didn’t want this to be the case. So I kept pushing. I ran on the sidelines while I was subbed off so that I could keep up my cardio and burn more calories. I showed up to all my games, no matter how late, no matter how little I had slept and no matter if I had to find a babysitter.
And slowly, my uniform wasn’t as tight as it was back in August. And suddenly, I could play for longer periods of time without subbing. And then one day, after a particularly aggressive game, one teammate yelled out to me after the game ‘THERE SHE IS!’. And it took me a minute to realize but she was right. Despite knowing I still had a long way to go, I started to feel like my old self again.
I’m softer. I’m slower. I’m a bit less aggressive. But I show up every week and I find myself through my team. And I push myself weekly to redefine the term ‘soccer mom’.
Thanks Adrenaline, I love you all more than you know <3