Oh God. God, I'm sore. My legs ache with a deep burning fire, and I'm dehydrated after drinking several glasses of water. I played futsal last night after a three month layoff and got run ragged by some continental-types who were much fitter than I am.
Granted, the last time they played was Tuesday.
As most of you might know, I'm notoriously bad with names (I think I know the names of 75% of Susie's program kids after a month). So, after politely introducing myself to everyone last night, I promptly forgot everyone's name, forcing my internal monologue to come up with names for them. As a result, I played futsal last night with Irish (cause he's Irish), Fulham (wearing Fulham F.C. shorts), and Ronnie (Ronaldinho jersey), all of whom could have ran circles around me. To my credit, though, I played a full 90 for the first time, breaking only when the ball left the fenced-off court.
I also played against Susie for the first time, and for several minutes, we were matched up against one another. My internal monologue was out of control at that point:
I'm going to score on you.
Wait. It's Susie.
She's on the other team.
Yeah, but she's your wife.
But it would be cool.
But she's better than you.
Then I have to try.
Well, I didn't score on Susie. In fact, I didn't score - I sent a header, my best chance, wide by a foot. But I did have two assists, and my team won 10-9. My time in goal also reaffirmed that I belong between the pipes in a futsal match. People were using it as a breather during the game, but I just feel more at home there.
Now if I can just get my fitness level up.
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