Personal Narrative: Try-Outs For My Soccer Team

Cut.
I woke before the sun had grazed the horizon, crept over and snagged my mom’s old mac laptop of the small cream nightstand. I opened it and let the harsh blue light illuminate my dark room, not expecting the glow to temporarily blind me. I quickly shut my eyes and fumbled around the keyboard until I had adjusted the brightness, and refocused onto the task at hand. Three days prior I had completed try-outs for my soccer team and today the results would be posted at 6. My alarm clock lay precariously next to my bed reading 5:45. After four attempts and misspellings, my quivering hands managed to find the tryouts results sheet. I checked the better team first, because why not be optimistic, and saw the names of my friends; Abby, Isabell, Jill, Theresa. But not mine. I must have checked that list ten
times before I allowed myself this first rejection and returned back to check the other team. I steadied my breathing and clicked the link to U13 girls team Gold. Carmen, Caty, Cory, Danielle. The names stared blatantly at me the second I clicked. I lay passively for 10 minutes searching at the list hoping my eyes were fooling me. Praying maybe the list would change. Then it sunk in. Tears flowed down my face onto my neck and drenched my pillow. Soccer. The sport that had carried me through three moves, four schools and been ever so constant in my life was gone. I knew I was no Beckham. However, I never expected to be cut before I was ready to call it quits. I felt a pit in my stomach. Soccer was my identity. It was the girls I sat with at lunch. It was how I spent my Friday nights at practice and my weekends at tournaments. It was how I first made friends. And now it was gone. The next day was hard. I saw my friends in the hallway, they had seen their names listed among the elite teams and I had not. I sat at the same lunch table and went to the conditioning but after a couple sessions, it felt useless since I was training for a game that would never come. The hardest part of losing my team was I had never known life without soccer. I started at the ripe age of 5 and was hooked. Slipping on my pink shin guards and running around the field was practically a tradition every Saturday in my house. As I grew older the teams got more serious. I progressed from rec to club to traveling. By the time I was 12 I spent two nights a week at two-hour practices and three other days were spent conditioning in a gym for an hour and a half. And the weekends were spent out of town at tournaments or at games. Soccer became my escape and my rock. Adjusting to life without soccer was strange.
I had time that I didn’t know what to do with, my after school routine was filled with naps and procrastination. I missed the thrill of competing and working towards a goal; so, I joined swim team. After three months my chlorine allergy and I decided that it wasn’t the sport for me. So next I followed my older sister to the Cross Country Team. As her biggest fan I attended all of the races. My short twelve-year-old self would admire the tall, slim girls whose ponytails sung effortlessly in the air while their legs and arms pump furiously over hills and into the finish line. I knew this was what I wanted. So I ran; first track but then built on. My 7th grade year I joined track; and in 8th grade added Nordic Skiing. Today I find myself Varsity and Captain of all three and I have never been happier. This trifecta of cardio has become more than soccer ever was. These sports, together, have formed more than my calves of steel; they have created a new sense of identity, friendships that will last many lifetimes but most importantly shown me how much a reaching out despite failures can not only restore but improve one’s
life.