I took off running without any idea how long I would go for, how far, or how fast. I ran to get out of my own head; because I didn’t know what else to do. The soccer team I help coach had just lost in the 2nd round – the first time we didn’t play in the finals in 6 years. It was a shock to say the least. I still can’t believe it happened.
I had a need, a compulsion really, to run that I hadn’t had in a long time. As the game replayed through my head, I also wondered if I was (again) holding soccer too tightly in my life. Was it normal to get this upset about a game? Numerous times people have asked me if I am glad soccer is over and truth be told, I don’t really understand the question. I could never be glad that we ended the season with a loss, nothing less than perfection would satisfy me.
You could probably make a case that I am holding soccer too tightly and you might be right. However, as the days have passed though I am upset, I am not devastated – I really never was. I don’t feel incomplete as if part of my identity was taken, I am glad for the opportunity I had to spend time with that group of girls. My need to run that night was a way for me to process, not escape. I had just gone through 80 minutes (or 5 months, depending on how you look at it) of an emotional roller coaster and I just couldn’t sit still. I needed to run, to use the emotional energy that bordered on angst as fuel for something, anything, that would get me out of the race in my mind. Running is and always has been a way to “not think” and that night was no different. Do you want to know the last thought I had before I came inside?
Man, I wish I had started my watch because I was flying! – oh well, such is life.