Soccer Practice

The temperature is 98F, technically, but with the humidity factored in, it's well over 100F. The sun, a gentle playmate in spring, suddenly turns and glares. I can feel my skin soaking it in, growing warmer, redder. I can almost feel freckles growing.

My feet pound, cleats biting the surface of the field, the scent of fresh mown grass, sweat, and dust mingling in the air. The warm up laps are wonderful. I still have energy and lope easily across the ground. But when we start the long haul, my body protests what my mind tells it and what the coach is yelling. My hamstrings stretch and pull and calves scream and then go numb. My legs, once fresh and active, have turned to mere dead weights. But this is nothing compared with my lungs, parched and gasping, contracting more when I reach up to brush trickles of sweat from my face. And I look up, at the long, green field stretching out in front of me. And I smile. I love it.