It's a Thursday, which means it's my early a.m. clinic day. Post carbo-filled lunch, a late night previous, and despite hoards of diet caffeinated soda, my daily 2pm sleepiness has set in full force.
And yet,
I was so excited to go running after work. I was craving to be in the sunshine. And I wasn't talking just a fun run. I wanted to challenge myself, work out to my limits, and as I said to my coworkers,
"I want to kill myself." Figuratively, of course.
I put on my hip-hop adrenaline rushing beats, threw my hair into a ponytail and took off for an unknown running route from Sugarhouse Park. Sure, 21st east sounds like a good starting point... 4 south looks reasonable... yeah, 13th east sounds interesting... and back to my patiently waiting car 8 miles later.
But I wasn't done yet.
The best was yet to come. And that wasn't the ten 100-yard sprints I nostalgically relived from years prior, stopwatch and all.
The best part was sliding my feet inside my old Adidas' Copa soccer boots, lacing them up as tight as they could manage, and feeling like my old self again.
I stepped onto the green, but sparsely grass filled soccer field, and ran my little heart out. I had forgotten what it felt like. My unfortunate left knee has instilled such a fear in me, I have not wanted to vulnerably set it up for a third punishment. And a consequential total knee replacement by age 40, I'm sure.
But..
does anyone know of a co-ed city soccer league in Salt Lake?
'Cuz this once retired soccer player wants to pull a Michael Jordan, and refuel my desire for futbol competition.
mmm hmmmm, I've got the itch again.
Disclaimer follow up: See, Dad. I told you not to read it. My hands are washed clean. I love you! :)
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