Muscle Memory

I'm not a pretty woman, I know that. I never was and never will be. But I used to be a terrific athlete. That's better than being pretty.

Until I blew out my knee, I was one of the highest scoring midfielders in womens college soccer. I was asked to try out for the 2000 Olympic team, and I was being scouted for a professional team. But three weeks before the Olympic trials, I was on the escalator at the mall and an old woman two steps above me had a seizure. She fell back onto me, and I tumbled backwards down the steps. Tore my medial collateral ligament like it was a losing ticket at Churchill Downs.

I never got to qualify for the Olympics, and I lost my chance at a pro soccer career. But what I miss the most is the pure physical joy of the game. I miss racing flat out down the field, dribbling the ball. I miss leaping into the air for a header. I miss the the feel of kicking the ball, making it bend. I even miss the contact, crashing into another player, knocking her down or getting knocked down myself. I probably shouldn't admit it, but it's fun to slam into people. I miss that. I miss how fast I was. How graceful.

That was nearly seven years ago. Now I'm just a homely, sedate public relations manager for a company that sells medical technology. I have a condo near the beach, and every couple of weeks I walk down there and watch the dogs play. People think I'm a dog lover. I suppose I am, in a way.

But it's not dogs that I love; I wouldn't want a dog around the house. What I love is the way dogs play. They remind me of when I was a healthy young animal. They run flat out, totally unconcerned about conserving their energy. They juke and spin wildly, totally unencumbered by the thought process. They leap and turn for the pure physical delight of it. They don't care how they look. They don't care if they get dirty. They don't care if they appear awkward or ungainly...and because of that, they rarely are.

I remember being like that. My body remembers it. I may not be pretty and I may no longer be an athlete. But there were times on the soccer pitch when I was as beautiful as anything you'd ever want to see. And when I hear one of the men in my office whisper to a buddy that I'm a dog, I think to myself "I wish."

posted by greg @ 4:04 PM