It has been about a year since I have kicked a ball around, and that was for about twenty minutes. Before that my wife and I had raced back from a trip to Lexington, KY five months earlier to participate in a Hispanic outreach put on by my in-law's church. Long story short, a group of kids needed a goalkeeper to play in the tournament and in the final I bruised my ribs.
Naturally when my brother-in-law asked us to go for a kick around Wednesday afternoon we went like sheep to the slaughter. While we stuck to just passing and chatting I was barefoot and grinning. Then as we transitioned to a small sided game I reluctantly wedged my resistant feet into my Kelme (producer of one of the widest soccer boots commercially available) Coffins.
From 5pm to 9pm the group ebbed and flowed with a Persian, an Israeli and a group from various Central American countries joining us. We had a blast, and then we realized that our idiotic and quixotic venture had blasted us. I was so exhausted I couldn't sleep, and yesterday I could barely move.
Sure, my hip flexors have been screaming, calves nearly nonfunctional and back muscles knotting to inflexibility, but at least my fingers feel fine. Down to the other end of my body… As my formerly happy feet popped out of my soccer boots I noticed three very powerful urges:
1. my right big toe felt some back to the future pain (it felt like it did after jamming it on uneven sidewalk while I paid attention to traffic before crossing the intersection nearly two months ago)
2. I wanted to immediately drain the blisters that formed on the outer edges of my feet
3. I also wished to destroy all of my “former life” footwear. I don't know why I still have five pairs of soccer foot-binding-torture-shoes, or my old adidas trainers. The only time in the calendar year that I can recall not being barefoot or in minimalist shoes, other than Wednesday's sadistic soccer, was while visiting a beef farm. Over the course of that hour I put on my Chaco hikers… uncomfortable but manageable for an hour.
Oh, and my brother-in-law thinks we are playing again next week. ONLY BAREFOOT!
Naturally when my brother-in-law asked us to go for a kick around Wednesday afternoon we went like sheep to the slaughter. While we stuck to just passing and chatting I was barefoot and grinning. Then as we transitioned to a small sided game I reluctantly wedged my resistant feet into my Kelme (producer of one of the widest soccer boots commercially available) Coffins.
From 5pm to 9pm the group ebbed and flowed with a Persian, an Israeli and a group from various Central American countries joining us. We had a blast, and then we realized that our idiotic and quixotic venture had blasted us. I was so exhausted I couldn't sleep, and yesterday I could barely move.
Sure, my hip flexors have been screaming, calves nearly nonfunctional and back muscles knotting to inflexibility, but at least my fingers feel fine. Down to the other end of my body… As my formerly happy feet popped out of my soccer boots I noticed three very powerful urges:
1. my right big toe felt some back to the future pain (it felt like it did after jamming it on uneven sidewalk while I paid attention to traffic before crossing the intersection nearly two months ago)
2. I wanted to immediately drain the blisters that formed on the outer edges of my feet
3. I also wished to destroy all of my “former life” footwear. I don't know why I still have five pairs of soccer foot-binding-torture-shoes, or my old adidas trainers. The only time in the calendar year that I can recall not being barefoot or in minimalist shoes, other than Wednesday's sadistic soccer, was while visiting a beef farm. Over the course of that hour I put on my Chaco hikers… uncomfortable but manageable for an hour.
Oh, and my brother-in-law thinks we are playing again next week. ONLY BAREFOOT!
