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My muscles are begging for mercy, my braid has been completely destroyed by the rain, my hair is sticking to the sides of my face in a way that’s triggering every sensory issue I’ve ever had, and my visibility is low.
We’ve only got a couple more possessions to make a play before the game is over.
Just as I’m thinking that, one of my teammates makes a phenomenal pass to me through the middle and I pick up the ball before running it up the side of the pitch.
A player comes at me from my left but I make quick work of her, faking one way and going another as I cross the halfway line.
I can feel my stamina dwindling, the combination of general exertion and the weather conditions having exhausted me, but I keep pushing.
I see someone running at speed towards me and I dribble the ball, trying to off-balance her. Maneuvering around her, I kick the ball smoothly between her legs.
It makes it through but she’s just as fast to turn around and is on the ball before me.
Fuck.
Fuck.
She takes possession, easily manipulating it between her feet to avoid my jabs as she turns towards my end of the pitch.
I aim to tackle her with a slide, but miss.
My momentum coupled with the torrential rain have me sliding past her, unable to stop myself. I finally come to a halt with my body almost out of bounds.
All I can do is watch helplessly as she runs past me, the name on her back perfectly legible in spite of the weather and taunting me like a bad dream.
Hawley.
Anger has me back on my feet in an instant and running after her, but I’m too late.
She passes the ball downfield. Her wide open teammate receives it, turns and with a beautiful strike sends the ball soaring past our goalie and into the net.
In the same breath, the ref blows the whistle, calling the game.
Dismay roils in my stomach and I have to look away from their celebration.
I had it.
I was this close to getting us back into the game and in an instant, with one mistake, I messed it up.
It’s simple – I got outplayed.
If this game is any indication of how my performance will stack against the competition, then I need to put even more focus towards training.
As much as I want to slump my shoulders, bow my head and let my disappointment lead me off the field, I can hear Trish’s voice in my head, clear as a bell.
“Leaders are defined by the way they react to losses, not wins. So chin up and shoulders back!”, she’d tell me.
I roll my shoulders and paint a smile on my face as my teammates approach. I say a quick word and give a hug to all of them as they head to the locker room.
After I thank the ref, I start jogging towards the building and the promise of what is hopefully a very long and very hot shower.
Looking up, my eyes instantly catch on a dark mass hovering in the bleachers.
It’s nothing more than a faceless black outline drowned out by the white fog, but it appears before me like a foreboding specter.
As I get a little closer, visibility clears and I see him. The mist parts for his large body, almost like he’s bending it to his will.
He’s still far enough away from me that I can’t make out his expression, but I can see that he’s drenched.
