Winning

Today I played in one of the most fun soccer games of my life. I play on a team filled with people that I love, but last year we did not win a single game. This afternoon we played in our first game of the season and won 2-1 against a team that killed us in our first game last year.

Victory is very sweet for many reasons, but the game was great in other ways, too. There was a little boy who watched almost our entire game from behind the fence. Every now and then he would ask the score or smile shyly at one of the players. Another bystander was an older Asian woman who stopped to listen to a peptalk our coach gave. There were two men (I believe to be Ukrainian) who sat on a bench and commented on the game throughout. And at the end of the game there were a group of men who had barbecued steak for their team, and gave us leftovers for free.

Alan always compares our team to the Bad News Bears (and the similarities are astounding: losing streak, terrible field with divets and broken glass, etc.) and today was like the film-victory we always wanted: a tie game for all but the last five minutes, random bystanders following the game, and wild jumping and cheering when the final whistle sounded. I think winning could be one of my new favorite things.

Little League vs. Professional Baseball

The only baseball games I have been to in years have all been professional. Today, a friend from work and I went to a baseball game for a 14 and under league in Brooklyn to watch one of our students play. There were a few minor differences, and I'm still not sure whether I enjoy professional ball or little league better.

ONE - Errors abounded. In two hours only four innings were played. I know when I played ball at this age there must have been just as many errors, but I just don't remember it like that. (Point: Professional)

TWO - There was no back fence, so the ump called each hit as a single, double, or homerun. He also had to stop play whenever someone wandered off the walking path and into the outfield. It added a little element of danger, wondering if a pop up was going to hit a person or a car or a window of a nearby buildling. (Point: Little league)

THREE - The batters never talk to me at professional games. At today's game, my student yelled to me while he was on deck "Hey, if I get a homerun can I have no homework for the rest of the year?" I agreed, afterall, there's only a few days left. (Point: Little league)

FOUR - Many students from my school were playing in the game and the game immediately following it. It's always entertaining to see how students respond to seeing you outside of school. There was a lot of: "What are you doing here?" It was nice to just relax with students and cheer for the team. (Point: Little league)

FIVE - There were no homeruns. (Point: Professional)

SIX - There was a whole new lever of excitement with regard to double plays. When my student jumped up in the air to snag a ball in Right Field, then threw out the player trying to sprint back to first base. It was the highlight of my weekend. (Point: Little league.)

SEVEN - Everyone knew each other at the baseball field. The teams have been playing each other for years, the ump and scorekeeper have been the same for even longer, and the parents were great to talk to. Once they found out what school we taught at, one that many of them attended, the questions abounded. There is something to be said for anonymity. (Point: Tie)

In just a few weeks the league will have it's championship series. And I already told another student I would be there. Looks like I'm a whole new kind of baseball fan...

Offside

I love when the women I play soccer with go out together. My friend Amy refers to these times as soccer team field trips. Usually our "field trips" are to a local bar, but occasionally we do something a little different. After soccer practice today, we trekked down to the Village, still decked out in our windpants and shin guards, to see Offside, a movie about a group of young women trying to see Iran play Bahrain in a World Cup match. Why are they sneaking into Azadi Stadium dressed as boys? Because Iranian women aren't allowed to go to stadiums in Iran.

Seeing this movie with the women who love soccer as much as I do was wonderful and appalling at the same time. There are so many rights that I take completely for granted. At one point, the women are talking with the soldiers who are holding them. They refer to a previous soccer match against Japan in which Japansese women were allowed to attend. However, Iranian women could not attend because they knew Persian and could understand the curse words that Iranian men might be saying during the match. And this is only one example of some of the absurdities women face there!

The movie is banned in Iran, and I doubt that many will have the opportunity to see it in America. But if it's playing near you, definitely go. And if it's not, find a manager to bug at your local theater.

Five Miles Later

This morning I was greeted by a parent waiting for me. This is a parent who suffers from paranoia, and today she completely flipped out. I tried and tried to calm her down, though her concerns were utterly strange. I finally reassured her that I would do my best to help her son, then went to my awaiting homeroom class.

When I arrived in homeroom, one of my students who is chronically absent was present for the first day all week. I made a comment about his absence. In response he handed me a letter from the Housing Authority stating that his family had been living in a shelter in the Bronx for the past week and had applied for emergency housing.

These two events occurred within the first hour of my day. The rest of my day was filled with meetings about these two events, and with planning sessions for a 14-year-old student with almost no formal education who doesn't yet know all the letters of the alphabet.

Some of these stresses are the types of challenges that I thrive on, but today I felt a bit beaten by the system. I met my roommate and wandered around the Lower East Side, then called a friend to see if she wanted to go for a run. Right around the time I'm usually preparing for bed, I was heading out of the house to meet her. Five miles later, I'm feeling ready to take these challenges on, while also wondering how it is that I occasionally forget how essential running is to keeping me emotionally and mentally balanced in the face of the day-to-day demands of being a teacher.

Why do we run?

Today I ran the Joe Kleinerman 10K in Central Park. Though it was not the longest, nor the most demanding, it was one of the hardest races I have ever done. For the first time in my life I trained almost entirely on a treadmill. So when the race started at the top of the park with a giant downhill run followed by a ridiculously long uphill, I was in a bad place mentally before the first mile had even been completed. It was the only race in which the first half was more difficult for me than the last half. In fact, the last three miles flew by.

But during those first three all I wanted to do was stop. And, like I typically do when any question pops into my head, after wondering "Why do we run?" I researched some potential answers. I found some websites and articles with interesting ideas, but nothing that really suited me. I'm not sure what gives me the desire to get out and rack up miles. And I'm even less sure about why the more I run the more I want to run. I know that a large portion of my race today was extremely unpleasant, but I am still disappointed that I can't run in next weekend's race. I know that I am determined to figure out a way to be prepared for the first of the NYC Grand Prix half marathons on January 21st. I know that I am desperately wanting to run the NYC marathon next November.

And I know that in running I am harder on myself and more competetive with myself than in anything else that I do. I had a poor time today, and the disappointment was greater than anything I can remember in recent history. I spent a large portion of the rest of the day looking at training plans and eating choices.

A friend in college used to say that I had a reason for everything (including a reason for why I had reasons for everything,) so this inability to understand why I am hooked on running is strange to say the least. So I reserved a book at the library called Why We Run: A Natural History by Bernd Heinrich. Maybe Mr. Heinrich will provide me with some answers.

Slightly Bruised

Typical Friday afternoons this year:
3:00 Play basketball with colleagues in the school gymnasium
5:00 Change out of basketball clothes, go to happy hour with said colleagues to meet other colleagues
6:00 Leave bar to go to soccer practice
6:45 Get back to Astoria, change into soccer clothes in my car, hop out and start running laps with my teammates
9:00 Finish soccer practice, begin that weekly debate: go out with soccer friends or go to bed

I love my Friday afternoons, but usually they are so busy that by 9:00 I know there's no way I'm going out. Last night I stayed awake long enough to shower just because I needed to warm up after two hours of playing soccer in the rain. I woke up this morning with a variety of bruises like I have never seen before: cleat marks on the instep of my left foot, a bruise in the shape of the seams of a soccer ball running along my ribcage, and a rainbow of colors on both knees.

Don't get confused, though. There is that warped, athlete-mentality that loves these things. By the time I get to soccer, I'm so ecstatic after playing ball and socializing all afternoon, that my teammates often ask if I'm drunk. (Which I'm not, by the way, keeping it to a one-beer minimum between basketball and soccer...) I think that it's endorphin-overload, and I might just be addicted to it. I already can't wait till next Friday, bruised or not.

Tribute to the Killer Grapes

At the moment I am coming down from an extreme high. I have been bouncing off the walls for roughly two hours because I have finally found a soccer team to play for. I will be waking up super-early tomorrow, a Saturday, to make it to the soccer field at Van Cortlandt park (all the way up in the Bronx) by 8:45. And nothing could make me happier!

There is something about organized sports that just can't be matched by any other part of life. I love every piece of it: being hit hard and getting back up, the matching uniforms, the sound of my cleats on hard ground, cheering on teammates, the agression, clearing the ball for 40+ yards, the whistles, running around with your arms straight up in the air after your teams scores a goal...

I started playing soccer when I was four years old. While I played very seriously for a few years, I also played sometimes just for fun (once for a team with purple checked shirts and the joking name of "the Killer Grapes" -- we lost almost every game.) My last two years in Arkansas, my friend Julie and I would set up scrimmages after big storms with the requirement that everyone play barefoot in the mud. It was slightly dangerous but incredibly fun.

I feel fortuante to have so many of my childhood memories linked to the soccer field. I also feel fortunate to have a roommate who tolerated me dressing up in shin guards, socks, cleats, shorts, and jersey and walking around the house like that for an hour while exclaiming repeatedly, "I can't believe I get to play soccer tomorrow -- on a real team!"

While I'm always cautious not to set my expectations too high when starting something new (though it may not sound like it in light of that last paragraph,) I'm very excited to bring soccer back into my life on a regular basis. It won't be barefoot in the mud or the Killer Grapes, but I am looking forward to a Saturday morning of competition with my new team, The Chaos.