Oil Change

Ok, I know I'm no longer in my 20's. I hit the big, dare I put it writing, 3-0, twenty-five days, 4 hours, 10 minutes and 2 seconds ago...not that I'm counting. I don't feel thirty. And from what I'm told, I don't look thirty, yet - thanks to some good genes (mom, dad - I owe ya.) But dear GOD - after practing with my high school players this week, me 'ole bones are feeling it. WOW.

I must say, this really scares me. Over the past year, I played in tournaments where we've had 4 games a day for two days straight, and no subs. And yeah, I was sore and tired, but I never felt it as much as I have since kissing my twenties goodbye.

My assistant coach and I jumped into the 7 v. 7 drills during our high school practices this week to rev up the attack and really challenge our defenders and goalies, in wake of today's rivarly game against St. Francis. Unfortunatley, it left me in need of a serious an oil change - this time I'll splurge and take the premium upgrade please.

It wasn't until last night, when my fiance nearly crushed me with one of his bear hugs, did I realize in what rough shape I was in. I have, (hold up....I'm counting) 9 - yes 9 - HUGE, purple, deep, tissue bruises scattered throughout my body. Arms, back, hips, fingers and some other weird places I didn't know could bruise, let's just leave it at that.

Sadly, I have to remind myself these high school gals are 1/2 my age. They were born in the 1990's. So while I was headbanging to Pearl Jam, donning my 5 X-L flannel button up, green-cuffed jeans and fusia lipstick, they were still in diapers. They don't even know who Dean Cain is - DEAN CAIN - you know SUPERMAN?



I need an asprin and the heating pad - STAT.