Those were the days.

Oh how I miss the days when life seemed so easy. When such great energy flowed through this body. When running in 100+ degree weather was fun. When soccer practices every night were just a part of life. When these frail knees were strong. When these muscles endured slide-tackles, twists, turns, cuts, and bruises with no aches or pain. When “tired” was not in my vocabulary.

Those were the days.

Mexican league soccer… It is definitely a way of life for some people. In fact, the starting midfielder for the USA, Clint Dempsey, got his start in a Mexican league in Nacogdoches, Texas. Pick-up games, dirt fields, phenomenal skills. Mexican league soccer is as legit as it gets.

We like to call ourselves the Mexican league of Midland… but we are far from a true “Mexican league” considering our grassy playing fields, our average skill level, and our fair complexions. We are more of a “white kids getting together to play soccer pretending like we are hardcore league” which is still loads of fun. It is, however, pretty hilarious when we haven't even been playing a full hour and we look at each other, panting, hands above our heads, drenched in sweat, and just shake our heads and say to each other "if only we were still in shape... those were the days..."

It is always a bit nostalgic playing soccer in the hot sun at Hogan fields. So much sweat, even some blood, and many tears were spilled out onto those fields over the several years of my life that I played soccer, and at the time, it meant everything to me. Every ounce that was in me craved a W in our book, ESPECIALLY if it was against Blast (who later became the Texans).

You see, I was a West Texas Heat soccer player through and through. There was nothing in me that would ever even consider going to the other side to team with Chad, Shane, or any other Blast coaches or players. Not that they were bad people, but I knew what I wanted, and I knew that in order to achieve that, Heat was the right choice.

Hahaha okay, okay, enough of that nonsense. I just had to let my competitive side out for a moment. Now, back to the serious stuff…

Soccer was my life. I loved practice. I loved the scrimmages. I loved the intensity the coaches expected from us. I loved the shin guard tan lines. I loved traveling hours and hours for games and tournaments. I loved the ice packs on my knees and ankles after each game. I loved the Crowne Plaza in Richardson. I loved the UTD fields with their thick, luscious blades of grass that felt like we were playing on fields in Heaven compared to Midland’s practice fields. I loved soccer.

Even after I quit playing soccer at a competitive level, soccer remained my favorite sport. Whether it was just going to kick the ball around with a couple of friends, playing on an intramural team, or just pick-up “Mexican league” at home during the summer… I just can’t get enough of it.

Well, I guess my BODY can get enough of it. And I think it has. My joints ache. My muscles are sore. My body is completely shot. But even though my body has had enough, doesn’t mean I am fully satisfied and content. As soon as my phone lights up with a text informing me what time to be at the fields to play, I will be up and out the door in a heartbeat. It’s kind of an obsession. Even when my body has reached it’s limit, my heart and my mind just can’t understand the term “enough” and I absolutely love it.