Tuesday, September 27th, 2021.
If you would have asked me how things were going four days ago, I would have probably said, okay, but been thinking, very, very shitty.
At this point, my team’s results since I had been cleared to play went as follows:
Loss.
Win (but shit performance).
Loss.
Loss.
Loss.
Looks bad, right? Well, it felt even worse. The funny thing is, we weren’t even getting blown out. All of these games we lost narrowly. We were consistently out-possessing our opponent, but creating very few dangerous chances on goal. Each game we improved, but we never could do enough.
Losing is one thing, but not having an impact on the game is really what keeps me up at night. I bagged an assist during my debut, but in the following games, nothing. No goals. No assists. I probably had one shot on goal. Maybe.
There are other ways to impact the game, don’t get me wrong. But I wasn’t getting the ball in dangerous positions either– not in behind to utilize my speed, not isolated on the wing to allow me to cause havoc on the dribble, and not in the box to blast goals home.
More Soccer, She Wrote
01. THE RIGHT TO DREAM | SOCCER, SHE WROTE
02. THE PRODUCT OF UNPROTECTION | SOCCER, SHE WROTE
Soccer wasn’t fun. I started to question why I was doing this. I felt frustrated and underutilized week, after week, after week.
You can call it fate, karma, the universe at work, whatever you want to call it– I call it God– but at my lowest point mentally, I began to suffer from intense physical pain. A couple weeks ago, I developed a cyst that became infected and inflamed at the base of my tailbone.
I’ve experienced this ailment one time before, and am not exactly sure what causes it, but what starts out as a small lump that’s tender to the touch increasingly grows bigger, redder, and more painful.
To treat this, one typically goes to the doctor to have it drained. If that doesn’t work, then it has to be surgically removed. I had mine checked by our doctors last Tuesday, and they said it was too deep to do anything, and that I should come back the following week.
By Friday, I couldn’t lie down on my back, I avoided sitting as much as possible, and each step on the field sent a reverberation of pain through the spot. I tried to shield a defender from a ball at practice, and when she came into contact with me, it felt like I was electrocuted.
Despite everything, missing our game on Saturday was never an option. We had a must-win match and I was not going to let pain stop me from doing my part to help the team. I knew if I could make it through the warm-up, the adrenaline during the match would carry me, so long as I didn’t get hit or hit the ground.
As most of you saw from my highlights, the game went extremely well! We came out with a bang– I assisted our first goal in the 2nd minute of the match, by beating two defenders and crossing a beautifully weighted ball to our trialing midfielder who then bent it home. Then after conceding a goal, we went up again on a counter attack where our striker skillfully cut her defender and drained the ball into the back of the net. Then to put the nail in the coffin, I weaved past my opponent and blasted the ball home, giving us a 3-1 lead.
During most of the match my pain was manageable. However, ten minutes before halftime, while dribbling out of a tight area near the sideline my defender hit me from behind. It felt like I got swung by a hammer. The pain was so intense, I couldn’t sprint for the rest of the half.
My mom says moments like these are where champions are made. I’ve already won my fair share of championships, but there are certainly plenty left out there for the taking: the Danish Cup and Kvindeliga title, to name a few.
After the match, I went out for drinks with a few of the girls to celebrate. While everyone else was sitting, I stood the last hour. On our drive home, I laid across the backseat. By 4am I had probably gotten one hour of sleep, the rest of the time spent tossing and turning in agony from the burning sensation on my backside. By 4:15 I was crying. At 4:23 I texted my assistant coach asking if she could let me into the locker room in order to access the Ibuprofen I left in there. Luckily, she answered; thankfully, the pills worked and I was able to go to sleep.
What’s crazy, or coincidental, or lucky, (or God!), is that after weeks of mental and physical distress, both were gone within hours of each other. When I woke up later that morning (I’ll spare you all the gory details), my cyst had burst and started to drain on its own, instantly alleviating the pain. I’m not sure which was better, the relief I felt after finally doing my thang on the field, or after the fire on my ass was extinguished!
The one thing I know is, cysts come back and droughts on the field are inevitable, but regardless of whether we’re holding a trophy at the end of the season, I think my mom is right.
Thank you Big Man.
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Soccer, She Wrote is a bi-weekly Blog by Mariah Lee, following her journey as a Black-American Woman playing professional soccer in Europe.
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