Lilly

I’ve spent the past four days at a soccer camp that has made my life simple and scheduled. We’ve spent six or seven hours on the field each day, split into two practice sessions, followed by a full-length match. Between sessions, we retreated to our dormitories to stretch and complain about our bruises. Our breaks were usually only an hour or so, which meant that anyone who dared fall asleep was going to wake up groggy and not so ready to play.

On one of the days, we wore heart rate monitors: small, innocuous-looking pods that we strapped tightly around our ribs. After that evening’s practice session, my coach showed me the data my little machine had collected: “You stayed in your target heart rate zone longer than anyone else,” she said. “That’s what I call a good work ethic.”

I played my final game this morning, with cramping calves and blistered heels. When it was over, we all stumbled back to the dorms for the last time to empty our rooms and hug our new friends goodbye. High school girls from all over come to this camp. I befriended a pair on my floor that I might not see again unless our teams play against each other.

As we were walking off the field, one of my friends said, “I know we’ve all been complaining about the schedule, but I don’t really want to leave.” None of us did. I’ll probably wake up at 6:30 sharp tomorrow morning, half-expecting to be called down for 8 AM practice. I’ll tape up my remaining injuries and stretch out sore muscles that are finally getting a break. I’ll miss warming up and playing with my friends every day—cramps, blisters, and all. ♦