16 posts tagged “soccer”

My evening:

Flaming crepes with rum, coconut, and ice cream.  I suspect the point behind the flambé was to burn off the alcohol in the rum.  They did not succeed.

Followed by a Gym Class Reunion Party.  We played tag and four square and drank.  Pictured with me in phys ed glory is my incomparably lovely friend Annabelle. 

For the win!

My morning:

Little gopher bastards turned the soccer pitch into an ankle-spraining mine field.  To add insult to potential injury, one of them kept poking his little head up during the game when the ball was in play on the other side of the field. 

On the one hand, I felt a bit guilty for stomping loudly all over his choice piece of real estate.  On the other, he's a rodent and I don't want a broken ankle.

I did a spirited slide tackle in the first half, which resulted in the surprisingly painful scrape pictured above.  Good thing I wore my short-shorts last night, as it'll be a while before I can rock them again.

My afternoon:

My local coffee shop has a selection called "Whim of the Barista".  It costs $5, and is exactly as described:  based on their highly variable and very whimsical inclinations, these excellent and extensively-trained (and many other adjectives for which I have no room) baristas whip up whatever the hell they feel like. 

Most of them make it very clear that this drink isn't an exercise in democracy.  If you order The Whim, you don't get to inquire or make requests.  You can mention things that you don't like, and they may or may not huffily oblige.  Imagine Google's "I'm Feeling Lucky" button, but with espresso and spices.  It's like playing with fire: dangerous, irresistible, fascinating.  Even though I'm terrified of paying $5 for a drink I hate, I can't stop ordering them.

This week I've had an iced latte flavored with cinnamon and peanut butter, and a latte with cocoa, ginger, and nutmeg.  This afternoon's whim: a savory-sweet clove cappuccino.  I continue to be enslaved by the whims of the baristas.

I still don't know precisely what's going on with my shoulder, but I still got the worst possible news at the ortho today:

That's right... they're putting me in the bright shiny coffin. 

Understand that getting an MRI is the most terrifying of prospects for me, on the order of 3x if x = flying cross-country in a thunderstorm without Xanax.  I get completely freaked out in small enclosed spaces, most especially if my arms are pinned at my side.  It's so bad that I sometimes can't even make it under the bed if something has nudged its way too far out of reach.

I found myself thinking highly irrational things, like:

• Why couldn't it have been my knee, so that way I wouldn't have to go into the thing head-first?
• Why couldn't I have just broken my shoulder, so that way I'd only need an x-ray?
• Maybe if I remind them that my sport is soccer, they'll decide that my shoulder isn't important enough to warrant an MRI?
  

So, the scoop is that I did indeed dislocate my shoulder.  While it's great that it popped back in on its own, there will still be some amount of damage to the surrounding ligaments.  The best case scenario is that I've just stretched them out, which means I'll need physical therapy and will have to go 4 to 6 weeks without soccer.  The worst case scenario is that I've detached or severely torn one or more of the ligaments, which means arthroscopic surgery and 6 to 12 weeks off the field.  Note that even the best case scenario is awful, however, since I need to spend 15-30 minutes in the bright shiny coffin before I get the prognosis.  And (of course) being unable to play soccer for any number of weeks is no fun at all. 

awooooooooooooooooooooooo!

There is, however, one small scrap of silver lining in this dark and stormy cloud:  I get drugs!  They'll be giving me Ativan, which is basically a short-term tranquilizer.  Wheeeeeeee, drugs!

About 4 minutes into tonight's indoor soccer game, I found myself splayed out on my front and in excruciating pain.  I had just tried to perform a very clever turn up against the wall.  Instead of executing it flawlessly like all those ambiguously foreign men in YouTube football videos, I tripped over something (probably my own feet) and went hurtling towards the ground. 

My arms flew out in front of me instinctively, trying to brace me against the fall.   I had so much forward momentum, however, that they just slid forward until my face nearly planted on the turf.  I felt my left shoulder pop, and then I felt an explosion of pure, unadulterated ouchie. 

I mean... ow.  I've hurt stuff before, but this was the most disconcerting feeling I've ever experienced.  It was so much of a feeling so unexpected and so very wrong... I just didn't know how to process it.

After two seconds real-world time (2 minutes of freaked out Elaina swimming through an ocean of pain time), I knew I had to haul myself off the field.  As I straightened up, I felt another pop.  The pure, unadulterated ouchie subsided and was replaced with a strange "jibbly" sort of sensation... one that has been steadily growing into constant, aching pain all around my shoulder.  Moving it hurts.  Not moving it sorta hurts too.  I'm no doctor... but I think I dislocated my little wing.   :0( 

Ortho... ho!

Good

Finally getting the chance to play on a soccer team with my Pigeon, and breaking him (and possibly myself) in the course of getting his cardiovascular fitness up to snuff.

Bad

Having one bag and one container of garbage and one container of lawn waste rejected by the City of Santa Clara because I didn't follow their rules that they didn't bother telling me about when I signed up for the utility.  It wasn't even my damn garbage... it was here when I moved in.  And it smells like either rotting beans or rotting dog food, neither of which is appealing in the mid-summer sun.

Good

The summer sale at DSW, and buying 4 awesome pairs of shoes for less than $200:
 

The fourth, unpictured pair is possibly my favorite.  Red and beige wingtip-style wedges. X-D

Bad

Cutting myself 3 times in the last 24 hours, because A) I'm clumsy and B) handling all this cardboard is sapping all the moisture out of my hands.

Good

Having the kitchen stuff totally unpacked.

Bad
Finding a live spider in Richard's day-old glass of drinking water that hasn't found its way off the nightstand.

Good

The fact that this live spider incident has probably cured him of keeping glasses of water on the nightstand, which (incidentally) drives me nuts... in that cute married couple way, of course.

Bad

The large flying buzzing around the living room, bouncing off the large mirror and making that annoying sound flies make when they repeatedly fly into something like a glass door, window, or mirror.  Also bad is the fact that the live spider did not eat the fly before he found his way into Richard's old glass of water, and before I helped him find his way into the garbage disposal.

Good

Finding delicious new Indian restaurants near your house.  Indian food in general.

Bad

Eating too much rich Indian food.  Gastrointestinal woe in general.

Hit in the face... again.  Playing soccer... again.  At least this time the assailant did me the courtesy of being a fellow female. 

We were racing for a long pass to the corner (me on defense, her on offense), and I caught her elbow on my right cheekbone.  I bellowed reflexively, and then fought a short but nearly irresistible impulse to smash her face into the Plexiglas.  She made it 800 times harder to resist said urge by saying in a sweet, teeny voice, "Sorry.  That was an accident."  Tee-hee.

First of all, isn't it supposed to be the defender who makes egregious fouls (or accidents, whatever) when the pressure is on goal?  Secondly, WTF is your elbow doing at the level of my cheek?  And in conclusion... where was my call, ref?!

Total bollocks.  After the game, I asked a couple of girls on my team how it looked:

T:   It's puffy... just a little bit puffy... and it's got a bit of color.
E:  Color?  Like blush?
M: Like purple blush."

It's not so bad, really.  I'm a little swollen, and a little bruised, but I don't think we're going to get Shiner #3 out of it.  Not that I'm complaining.  This is why I can't play for at least a week and a half before my wedding.  I don't want to be a black-eyed bride.

... as my Limerick-born cousin Nora Mulqueen would say.  And I am one.

I played indoor soccer last night without my brace for the first time since my injury.  I realized that I hadn't put it on just as the game started, and I thought to myself, "Oh... I sprained it months ago, and I've played on it for weeks.  It'll be fine."  Then the teeny voice in my head which I mostly try to ignore these days said, "You're totally going to get injured now.  You just jinxed yourself. Put your f'in brace on."  But I didn't listen, mostly pretending that I didn't hear.

So... I played indoor soccer last night without my brace for the first time since my injury, and consequently re-injured my ankle for the first time since my injury.  It wasn't trauma-induced, either.  We were setting up a goal kick, and I was just standing there catching my breath.  I shifted my weight from my right foot to my left and it just went out on me.  And I fell down.  And it hurt.  And I proceeded to hobble off the field and cry like a little baby.

Proper eejyut.

There's no swelling or bruising today, and I can bear weight on it... but it's tender and a bit on the dodgy side. 

My punishment?  Instead of buying fabulous books with my $25 Amazon gift certificate, I had to buy resistance bands and 4 rolls of medical tape.  Boo.

The aforementioned are the reasons I've been mysteriously absent of late.  Indulge my delusions, and let me believe that you've missed me.

Frankenankle - I sprained my ankle at my indoor game on Thursday evening.  It became alarmingly swollen that night, and the next day phased through putrid shades of purple and yellow.  Hence, the nickname.

How can I describe my emotions at this catastrophe, or how delineate the wretch whom with such infinite pains and care I had endeavoured to form?

I'm hard-pressed to explain why an ankle injury stripped me of my desire to be bloggy, but I don't make the rules.

Wedding - I'm still having one.  In three short months, in fact.  And it ain't plannin' itself.  So I plan, and I fret, and I fuss... in a decidedly Elaina way.  The Elaina version of fretting and fussing includes apologizing to the lady at the bridal boutique for hating all the wedding gowns and explaining to the florist (with great difficulty) what is meant by "muted, prudelike flowers".

Cyclons - And my love affair with sci-fi continues to blossom.  Richard just bought Season 1 of Battlestar Galactica, and we've watched about 10 hours worth in the past 3 days.  And I'd rather be watching it right now than finishing this sentence.  *sigh*

The director of one of the local outdoor co-ed soccer leagues insists on marking each and every one of his emails as "high importance".  He always sends messages in twos and threes, thus spangling my inbox with annoying little red exclamation points. 

After months of playing soccer like a wet dish cloth, I've scored three goals in my last three games.  Tonight marked the first-ever right-footed goal of my entire, not-so-illustrious soccer career.  This is both impressive and perplexing, given that I'm not a leftie.  Probably the same as everything else... I do better when I don't overthink it.

In any event, I'm glad that my mojo returned.  I was tempted to retire early.

Oh, Lord.  I went out and played an hour-long pickup game this afternoon in blazing California sunshine.  My slapdash sunblock application resulted in a freckly sort of tan only on my upper lip.  I look like I have a misstache now.