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Fooling some people, some of the time

By MARLENE SOKOL
Published September 1, 2006

Groan. Creak. Wince.

I'm a weekend warrior.

That sounds good, doesn't it? A lot better than I'm old or I'm older than dirt or Good God, what is that woman doing in soccer clothes?

Weekend warrior is respectable. It sounds more like a person in her 30s, not somebody pushing 50.

It's interesting how far you can delude yourself with hair dye, vitamin supplements and dim lighting in strategic places.

I like to think jogging every morning and spending alternate lunch hours in the gym will keep me young forever.

That, and coaching Under-6 soccer. Something about running around and making animal noises and tap-tap-tapping the ball gives me the sensation of an endless summer, with winter not even a distant thought.

Until the start of a new season. About a week before our practices begin, we all get together for Coaching Clinic.

That's when a real athlete takes us through paces.

Tap, tap, tap on the ball. Now drop to touch your knee to the ball. Again. Again. Now drop to where you sit on the ball. Again. Again. Now toe taps. Now knee taps.

It feels okay while you're doing it. This is fun!

Now scrimmage. Four-on-four format, no goalie. Gee, this is also fun! Okay, so I'm not making it back to the net as fast as they need me to. I'm up when I'm supposed to be over, I sit down for a break while the others are still playing. But that's okay, isn't it? It's hot outside.

I'm fine to go home, pretty good to do the housework and shopping.

Then the next morning.

Creak. Groan.

And the morning after that.

Not feeling any better.

It's hard to get in and out of the car. It's hard to get in and out of my bed. Stooping to pick up the dog's leash? This is painful. No sprinting for the phone, no racing for the doorbell.

And then panic sets in.

In just five more days I'll have my team gathered on the field.

And tell them what? Coach is too stiff and sore to play on the first day of practice? Coach overdid it last weekend at training? Coach is old?

It's strange.

There are kids on my team who could grow up and be professional athletes.

There are kids who will spend their adolescence battling the Pop-Tart.

One was in the child welfare system. Another was monitored for a heart condition.

They have their youth in common.

As my own two hurtle toward their teenage years, the children I coach are ever Under-6. I can reach back to my prime, whatever that was, whatever passes for young in the year 2006, and know it will never be fully over. With each new season a new crier, a new nose-picker, a new set of problems that a lollipop can fix.

I will take hot baths. I will pump Advil. If it doesn't hurricane, we will start on Saturday morning, as promised.

It's rare that I have to admit to my age, and a good long time before it happens again.

[Last modified August 30, 2006, 12:51:44]