You bet your ass I got back up

I’ve started playing soccer once a week with a co-ed team. I haven’t played soccer since junior year of college when I was 20 years old and I don’t know what happened in 7 years – maybe all the ass-sitting, computer-staring, cream cheese-eating going on, but my body hurts a deep hurt in the hips, the ankles, the raspberry on my shoulder where I skidded across the turf, the welt on my knee where I challenged some sweaty douche bag with blue shoes and bones collided, the raspberry on my other knee when I tripped over the ball and not to mention the old injury – the pulled LCL braced with robotic hinges and velcro that leaves scratch marks on my other thigh when I run. You’d think I had 10 knees.
But there’s the run, the sprint, the energy that kicks in no other time in my life than playing soccer. When the old man on the sidelines yells “little girl, you have tons of energy” and I proceed to eat shit over my own feet. There’s the body I used to know when nothing hurt and limbs breezed and molded against other limbs without consequence. I’ve always been proud of battle wounds, praying the bruise would fill out and spread so I could show everyone what I was really made of.

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