I have a pair of cleats that have seen me through 2 baseball seasons, 3 ultimate frisbee seasons, a year of a.m. drills on a wet, muddy field, and, now, football practice. They are well worn, slightly coming apart at the seams, and all heart. Whenever I pull them out of the closet, I know something big and exhilirating and challenging is about to happen. Cleats make me feel strong and powerful. When I lace them up, I have a sense of purpose. And a desire to conquer obstacles.
Today was my first official flag football practice. I am vying for a spot on a A-league team. I'm the rookie. The one who asks "What's a hook?" and "How much is five yards" and "What does the rusher do?" It's all fairly embarrassing next to a dozen strong women who have torn up the field and won championships together for 12 years. Still, I persevered. Mastering a new sport is the best new challenge.
And so I laced up my cleats, high-fived the girls, and practice began.
Being the newbie, initiation was first. Which meant, while the team did drills, I was off with two of the coaches running patterns, learning terms, getting it right.
Hooks, 5 and In, 10 and Post, 5 and Corner, Slant In, 5 end... they taught, they threw, and I ran my heart out. I caught some. I missed more. When I missed, they critiqued. "Shorten your stride after the cut!" the coach yelled. "Make a bastket!" another piped in when I took a ball to the face. On and on. Drill after drill.
"You're not joining the others until you catch 10 in a row."
So they called the play. I ran the pattern. And I went in for the catch. 5 in a row. 3 in a row. 9 in a row. Then, inevitably, a fumble.
And I started at scratch.
When I huffed and puffed, they had no mercy: "Get back out there!"
When I finally made 10 in a row, i did a little dance worthy of an NFL touchdown.
Then the coach said: "3 more in a row!" and then bellowed to the QB: "Make them tough!"
Eventually, I held my own, joined the team, rushed, hooked, slanted, yard after yard.
It was mad fun.
at the end of practice, the coach said "Kim, come out next week. I want to see you in a game. Then we'll see if we offer you a contract to play." (Ouch! Scary! So big leagues.)
Two and a half hours from the first stretch to the last drill, I took off my cleats – cakes with wet grass and mud and wet through the sole.
When I look at them, they tell a story.
And I love what I'm hearing.
