A few summers ago, a friend has posted on their social media that they needed more girls to sign up for their adult soccer summer league. I had been a fan of the game for several years, but it had been a long time since I gave up the sport at the age of eight. I expressed my interest, and they were more than happy to have me on the team. We played about seven games over the course of the summer. Of course, I wasn’t the best player out there, but I was determined and really enjoyed myself while playing.
Shortly after the season ended, I packed my bags and moved to Madrid. Included in my suitcase were tons of closes and my pair of soccer cleats boots. You know, maybe I will have a chance at playing while in Spain. Within the first few weeks of starting the program, one of the girls in the program had a Spanish friend whom she had worked with before, who helped her organize intercultural matches. For a small fee, we played hour-long matches separated by white and black shirts.
The first game was fun. Everyone was impressed by how hard I performed on the field. I’m pretty sure I scored a few goals. It was great to play with and against people from all over the world. As the weeks wore on, many of my fellow English teachers stopped coming, especially as the weather became colder. (Yes! Madrid gets very cold in winter!) I still continued playing, often late into the night. The Spanish guy who organized the games found other English teachers to play, as well as other expats.
The games became a mix of cultures. There were Americans, Spaniards, Dutch, South African, Uruguayan, Colombian, and much more. I think there was even a Bulgarian guy who came. It often seemed like we were broken into English-speakers vs. Latinos, which often ended up with my side getting destroyed. Still, it was fun even though I was usually the only girl out there. I always preferred playing with guys anyway.
As the days grew longer, more and more teams wanted to come play on the fields in the south of the city. Sometimes we would play at 10:30 at night. I was still game, but that meant I usually didn’t get home until after midnight. I never felt in danger at all commuting between my apartment in the northern part of the city down south and back.
In late May, we were playing a match in the warm spring night. The game was going well. Then, the American goalkeeper for the other team went to stop the ball, but he missed. I went to kick the ball while he was scrambling to get the ball the safety. We collided. My ankle twisted. Over my many years of cheerleading, I rolled and twisted my ankle many times. I knew this wasn’t good. I crawled off the field. The Latin American players who have played since they were little tried telling me to “walk it off”. I knew that wasn’t right to do, though. Someone went to get ice for me.
After our time ended (when the flood lights were turned off), I had to hobble home. I thought about getting an Uber, but the place was a little out of the way and I didn’t want to overpay. Plus, I still had to make it down to the street. I pushed my way to the metro, but it took a much longer time to get down there. At Avenida de América, I had to change metro lines. I was in so much pain and I couldn’t fathom walking across half the station to get to where I need to go. So, I ended up walking out of the station and getting an Uber.
It was after midnight by the time I got home. Luckily, my students had an exam in the morning, so I didn’t need to be at the school until later in the morning. Still, I set my alarm early and went to see a doctor to make sure there weren’t any breaks. My first year in Madrid, I had private insurance, so I don’t really know the experience of the public system. I had to get my vitals taken and then they took me back to the X-ray. After waiting a little, they called me back to get my results. It’s not broken, just a sprain. That was it. The doctor didn’t tell me anything else.
I was still in pain; it was too difficult to walk on my ankle. I called my American friend who lived next to me. She said I should get crutches. But where do I do that? The doctor didn’t give me any. I had to go to a pharmacy to get them, but not all pharmacies do that. One pharmacy that I know that had them was near my school. So, I took the train down the suburbs of Madrid and stopped at the pharmacy before going into the school to rent the crutches. They also use different crutches there. They are more inclined to use the arm-band crutches rather than the under-the-arm ones.
Of course, being me, I pushed myself to go to the school and continue as if everything were normal. Everyone was shocked to see me in crutches and asked me, “¿Qué pasó?” Soccer injury. -hair flick- One of my teachers told me that I could have told them about the ankle and taken the day off, but I don’t like to take breaks! After school that day, I didn’t have to go out the eastern part of the comunidad like usual for Fridays for my master’s classes, but instead we went to a conference in the city center. You think people would be nice on the metro, but no. They saw me with crutches and not a single person on the metro offered me their seat. Nice.
Also, of course, being me, I don’t like being held down for long. After a day or two, I stopped using the crutches. In hindsight, I probably should have continued to use them for a few more days, but I felt like a faker because the doctor didn’t specifically tell me to use them. Maybe it wasn’t so bad. To make matters worse, two days before my injury, I had signed up for the adult summer league back home. It was too late to pull out now. Over the course of the summer, I continued to play on my ankle. The league required at least one girl on the field at all times (a maximum of three guys, not including the goalkeeper). Most of the time, the other girls didn’t show up or came late, so I was playing almost seventy minutes on my Friday nights on a bum ankle. On top of that, I had signed up to do a half marathon in my city before going back. I barely ran on my ankle that summer, but I still ran six miles before run-walking the rest of the way.
I really messed my ankle up that summer. Continuing throughout the year and even on my Camino last summer, I could still feel my ankle wasn’t right. Even now, I still feel some twinges. Twisting my ankles is a big fear of mine. I don’t like to ice skate, or even regular skate, after all the ankle injuries I’ve had. This last one has been one of the hardest to go through, though. I wish I had had the good sense to pull out of the soccer league, to use crutches, and to defer my registration for the race, but alas, I am me and I can’t stay down for long.
