The days in Wisconsin were hot in the summer. Smoldering hot. The soccer fields were so dead and yellow that it looked and felt like walking on hay. People were shouting, running around and bumping into each other as they ran across the field, red and blue jerseys wavered in the wind as the practice went on. The stench of sweat was heavy even in the farthest back position possible, goalie.

I hate soccer. It wasn’t always like this though, in fact I used to love playing, but the coaches are ornery and snappy, even with their miniscule amount of knowledge of the sport, they were supposed to be coaching. There were no bonding activities for the players, no snacks brought in by loving parents, and no breaks for water. The last time I’d stopped to grab myself water had been the last practice, and that was because I hate drinking water. The taste was so metallic and dry that it made my throat scratched and shriveled even though water was meant to make you feel better.

Ugh… It’s so dumb that I don’t get to practice with the other girls as a normal player. What if I lose my stamina and strength? I thought to myself as I rocked back and forth on my heels in the dry, cracking dirt. Goalies had their own “special” practice that they had to do. Not only did they only practice diving, but they stood in the back during scrimmages and didn’t use their legs other than the half a mile run at the beginning of the 2 hour practice. It was hard to keep myself invested in the game, so I substituted the players with monsters or foods, just to give myself something to laugh about as I waited. 

I was pretending this time that the players were berries, but the field was hot and my goalie shirt was chafing my neck, cutting at my arms with how sharp the seams were. My hands were sweaty under the gloves as I waited for my teammates to lose the ball again and leave me on my own to stop the players. I’m only one person, why did they think I could stop a whole team from scoring?

I watched as the raspberry tripped over the ball, tumbling onto her stomach as the blackberry stole the ball from her and kicked it in my direction. The group of blueberries ran towards the ball, coming straight for me as the strawberries fumbled to get back into position. I felt my heart drop when the ball landed just outside the box, and ran forward. I spread myself out into a shield, blocking only a small portion of the ginormous goal as the strongest kicker on their team reached the ball and pulled her leg back to strike.

Oh god no. Please, for the love of god, someone guard.

The strawberries slowed, stopping to watch her kick it into the goal, but this time I could reach it. A straight shot to the post, no berries in the way to block me, and only a little bit off the ground.

I jumped out, stretching myself like a cat on a sofa, launching out to the ball. I heard a loud popping noise. The sound of the ball hitting off my gloves and smacking against the goal post. 

I got it! I thought, rising to stand for the corner kick with a smile. That pride didn’t last long, because when I shot up from the dirt, I straightened out my leg and felt something shift in my leg. Something snapped, crackled, and popped in my thigh. I was confused until I felt the pain, wanting to cry out, but the game was still going and stopping would mean the team would have to put in one of the untrained substitutes. Afterall, we barely had enough players to substitute a single person out.

I swallowed down the urge to shout and shook my leg rapidly, punching it to dull the pain that pulled tight at my thigh. It wasn’t hard to distract yourself from pain with more pain, but it wasn’t a permanent fix. Whatever was going on in my leg was going to last a while, if not for the rest of the soccer season.

They would’ve stopped the game, but my brain wasn’t functioning correctly from trying to process the pain and the situation around me. All I could think about was trying not to cry and stopping the ball from getting in the goal.

Another teammate fumbled with the ball, falling and tumbling as it was kicked out from under them back towards me. I was more annoyed with my teammates than ever before. I blocked the ball for them and yet they can’t even get the ball past the center line?

I felt a throbbing in my leg as I got back into the receiving position, watching as the opposing team chased back at me with the ball in their possession, and my team watching.

She’s going for the corner again.

I watched, waiting to see the ball move even an inch from where it laid in the grass, and knew right away that my leg wasn’t going to hold out. Jumping out to reach a ball puts loads of strain on your leg muscles, and my left leg was my dominant leg.

I’ll just grab the ball and keep going, it’s not like the scrimmage will go on much longer.

The ball left her foot, straight to the corner again. Yet again, I stretched out and flung myself towards the ball.

SMACK. I heard, my eyes closed from the impact. If I had just told them I was injured, then I wouldn’t have had such trouble with my legs. If I had just told the coach that I felt that not practicing normally was going to affect my performance then she surely would’ve let me join the other girls, wouldn’t she? If I had just voiced my concerns I wouldn’t have been in this situation.

It was too late for that now. My leg was bent at the knee, cleats planted in the grass and arms wrapped around my leg as it laid tight to my chest. The smacking noise wasn’t the ball hitting my gloves, it was the ball hitting into my knee, and because of that my leg was now hanging by a thread from becoming the most painful thing I’d ever experienced. No one had noticed that I was taking too long to get up, not a word of concern passed between me and my teammates.

“I can’t move anymore. It hurts too much” Was all I could think as I stayed in that awkward position. The only person to notice that something was wrong was my coach 2 minutes after the fact I got injured and helped me off the field, resting me down on my butt so I wouldn’t have to bend my leg. The game continued on, but this time with the only sub in goal. I sat there crying for 15 minutes straight.

“ Of course you were crying, who wouldn’t cry when they’re in pain?” That’s what you were thinking right? You would be right on usual occasions, but in this one I was more worried about what my teammates and parents would think of me now. 

The doctor had told me that my lack of muscle mass in my leg from not using them had resulted in a knot in my muscle, which stopped me from using my leg for anything other than walking. I was unable to play for the rest of the season, doing physical therapy to build up my strength. I cared less about the pain in my body or the inability to do certain things, no, I was more concerned with the thoughts of other people. I was so focused on the eyes of people surrounding me that I was blind to my own needs and my own health.

After my injury, I had continued pain and aches all over my body that gradually got worse with time. My lack of exercise lowered my stamina, motivation, and most importantly my physical capabilities. I lost the drive to continue playing soccer, and soon I was only playing softball. It was a great sport and I really enjoyed it, but my inactivity over break didn’t help my bad legs and I still have complications to this day with one of my knees. I remember the sadness, anger and shame I felt during my decline in sports very vividly, not only because of my injury but because of the coaches and my own neglect of my health.

I think of this time often, and sitting at my desk in school I see just how much it affected my life from just one injury. When you need something, say it. When you feel that you could be doing something better for yourself in any field, then do it. You cannot wait for others to help you if they do not know you need helping. Not everything can be resolved by someone else for you.