Lilly

I made a mistake. What I do too often is settle for something less than even I think I deserve, and this goes all the way down to the little things. It’s been six months since I’ve been on a soccer field and, for all of the encouragement I’ve received, it shows. So at my high school’s open gym yesterday, my first remotely competitive play since August, when my ankle started twinging and I didn’t want to risk running much more, I offered to play goalkeeper. Might as well stay on the field, right? It’s a good way to practice reading the game, getting your angles right—

That was not necessarily my mistake. My mistake occurred 30 seconds into the first game, when one of the varsity senior boys slammed a shot towards the top corner of the goal to my far left. I do not remember jumping. I do not remember my hand coming up. I do remember the ball glancing off my extended fingers and tipping over the crossbar just so. I do remember hitting the ground, knee to hip to shoulder like I’ve seen so many keepers do on my television. And I do remember my teammates cheering, half in awe, half in disbelief.

That was my mistake.

Or maybe my mistake was the string of similar saves I made in the next half hour.

Or the fact that one of the best players on the pitch never put a shot past me. (There was much loud swearing on his part.)

Or when my coach sidled over to my right goalpost and said, “Do you have a secret desire to be a goalkeeper or something? Because—” and my answer was, surprisingly, not a flat out “No.”

My hatred of the goalkeeper position used to be visceral. I don’t care that I can use my hands! This is a big goal and I am very small!! It didn’t help that when I was in fifth grade my rec team’s goalkeeper broke her wrist stopping a shot from one of the big eighth graders on a rival team. Or that the longer I remained a field player, the less hand-eye coordination I kept. It’s a running joke that I’d be better off playing basketball with my feet.

But here’s the thing. I’m not small anymore. I’m five foot ten in my bare feet and I am strong. Everyone in my P.E. class look at me sideways in the weight room because the only person who regularly loads more onto their barbells than I do is our teacher (who’s also the school’s cross country coach and is probably some kind of minor god). The training I did in physical therapy has improved my balance and hand-eye coordination and reaction time. And it wouldn’t be my first time playing a brand new position to start the season. My club team made me a starting defender even after I vehemently declared myself a forward. That didn’t work out terribly. So maybe I made a mistake. But if my coach thinks it’d be best for the team, then I’m not going to argue. The team comes before the player. ♦