Tuesday, September 12, 2006

Tylenol for Two

The Pretend Husband has watched me leave for soccer game after soccer game (and sits in the stands for many of them), and often laments that he doesn’t have an activity to keep him busy and in shape. He mentioned a month or two ago that he would like to join a soccer team, which he hasn’t done in more than 15 years.

We went to the soccer field one night to kick the ball around, but the topic wasn’t brought up again until this weekend. One of the teams I’m on is having a “rebuilding season” where we’re struggling to get enough players to games. We’re in the most beginner division in the league and some players haven’t played in just as long as the PH.

Which led to the PH, who had gone to the game with the intention of reading the paper and enjoying the sun, borrowing a T-shirt and some shin guards and getting into the game. The poor guy actually had to play his first game in cargo shorts and sneakers– which are slippery on the grass and didn’t do much to help his play.

Mr. “I-Have-The-Endurance-I-Just-Need-To-Practice-My-Skills” got five minutes into the game and one length of the field before feeling like he had to vomit. To his credit, he played the entire game and was still on his feet at the end. And he even touched the ball twice (although both times were when someone kicked the ball at him and it kind of bounced off his body in a random direction).

And now he’s a hurting puppy. He is sore from head to toe, although not in the places he would have expected. Rather than having blistered feet or sore thighs, it’s his back and ribs that hurt the most. I’m not allowed to make him laugh because it hurts. Hugging is not allowed either. And I think he sometimes even holds his breath because that hurts too.

I don’t like to see him suffer, but I especially don’t like it when it affects me. I asked him last night if he wanted to “fool around” and his response was, “Go ahead.” Apparently, I’m allowed to fool around all I want as long as it doesn’t involve him having to move!

I tried to play the sympathy card by pointing out that I played three games in three days and was a little sore myself. But I was told, “You’ve been playing for 20 years so it’s not the same kind of soreness.” We both have the next couple days off from work and it’s going to be interesting to see if we actually leave the couch to do anything or just sit around nursing our sore bodies.

I’m proud of the PH for playing the entire game (even as a part of me wants to shout “I told you so!” when he mentions what a tough sport it is) and I’m even more proud that he intends to keep playing. I’m sure he will be in soccer shape in no time. In the meantime, I’m buying stock in an ibuprofen company.

1 comment:

Molly said...

Face it, women are just tougher than men, end of story! We're as hard as nails! (you have to imagine me saying that in a Yorkshire accent, even though I am not a northerner at all, but a midlander of the UK! Yorkshire accent - think Daphne Moon from Frasier).