Page 16 of Rock Bottom Girl
“Fine,” I agreed. I could do this. It was only a couple hundred yards-ish. I was really bad at math. “I’ll run this one with you if you all promise to actually put some effort into the drills this afternoon.”
Yesterday, they’d giggled and sashayed and played their way through every footwork drill I dug up online. Pretending it was a party instead of practice.
“If youfinish, we’ll participate,” Ruby negotiated.
I would finish this sprint if I had to drag my ass across the line on my hands and knees. They wouldn’t break me. At least, not on Day 2.
“Fine. Let’s do this.”
8
Marley
It was hotter than hot. My sneaker was going to melt on the line under the morning August sun. At least that was one thing I hadn’t screwed up. I hadn’t saved the running portion of our practices for the afternoon when temperatures would push into the high 90s.
“Remember, ladies. This is a sprint!” Yeah right. Most of them wouldn’t even be running by the time we got to the far penalty area.
“Ready? Set? Go!” I shouted. I made an effort to explode off of the line to at least make a good show of it. I’d let off as soon as the slower team members started to fall off. There was a point in ball busters when you couldn’t physically worry about anyone else. You were too exhausted to care if you were even alive.
There was a blur of legs, the thunder of feet muffled by grass as both junior varsity and varsity teams came off the line. I hid my grin as Ruby and one of the Sophies accelerated past everyone.
Ha. Just you wait, girls. Just you wait.
I touched the goal box line and ran back to the end line. Next was the penalty area line. Easy peasy. I felt a little rusty, but mostly okay. There had to be some muscle memory in this, right?
Ugh. Center circle was next. I should have let them skip the circle and just go to half field. But I was only thinking those thoughts because I was starting to feel winded. Ruby powered past me, and I swear to God she was humming a catchy little tune.
“This is a sprint, ladies! Push harder!” I yelled, channeling my old, beer-bellied coach.
Reluctantly the pack picked it up a little bit.
“Keep going,” I gasped as I jogged back to the end line.
I was going to knock myself out with my boobs. These girls could not be harnessed by a simple yoga sports bra. No, they needed to be tamed, smushed, wrangled into submission.
Oh my God. I couldfeelmy heartbeat in my head. I couldn’t see, the sweat was stinging my eyes. I swiped at the never-ending river of it with the hem of my shirt. “There’s no rest here,” I gasped at the stragglers that were trying to catch their breath on the goal line. “Go!”
My world narrowed to the sun, the heat, and the hard ground under my feet. I was plodding. It wasn’t even jogging. I wasn’t even sure if this qualified as walking. It wasn’t just hot. It was Satan’s sauna on this patch of crispy fried grass.
I was vaguely aware of girls walking, their breath coming in sharp wheezes heard over the sound of the cicadas buzzing in the trees on the street. This had been a very stupid idea. I might die from this. I might kill one of them from this. I hoped it wasn’t one of the nice ones. I looked up, swiped the sweat out of my eyes, and saw Ruby slowing to a jog at the other end of the field.
“Pushharder!” I yelled.
Out of breath, the words tore through my throat, trying to bring up bile with them. I gagged and slapped a hand over my mouth.Nope. Nope. Nope.
“Suck it up,” I whispered to myself. I took a deep, shuddery breath and pushed on. My feet were made of lead. I pictured my dad at the end of the field holding a platter of snack cakes and a gallon of ice water.
“Can we quit?” one of the freshmen on the team begged from somewhere out of my peripheral vision.
“You donotquit. You cross this line on your hands and knees if you have to,” a voice snapped.Freaking Ruby. How did she still have oxygen to speak?
I was no longer a coach. I was no longer human. As my foot touched the far end’s goal line, I realized that I would die out here on this humid, Pennsylvania kill zone. One hundred-ish yards separated me from my water bottle and that bottle of ibuprofen.Why did I agree to do this? Why would I put myself through this?
To prove myself. A therapist would have a field day with my constant need to prove that I was at least adequate.
The thought punched me in the sternum as I stared down the field. I’d screwed up or lost everything that had been important to me. On paper, I was a loser. But I didn’t feel that way in my heart. I had potential. If I could finish this. If I could put one foot in front of the other, I could do something with my life.
I desperately needed this.
