Football and Friendship, what more does one need?

After reading my last post, it’s very possible, and even more so for those of you who don’t play soccer or have a direct connection with women’s soccer, you have been wondering why the heck does this girl care so much about soccer? Why does she get so excited about a sport that, even though it is the world’s most popular sport, at the end of the day is just a game?

I could tell you it’s because of the competition, the adrenaline pulsing through my veins when I make my way onto the field, shake hands with the opponent and wait anxiously for the referee’s whistle to signal the beginning of the match, the emotion which takes over after a spectacular save which leaves the opposing fans in silence after they had started to cheer just a second too soon, the feeling of pure joy after winning a championship, a clásico, a hard fought game. I could tell you it's because of the life lessons soccer offers such as hard work, dedication, healthy lifestyle, punctuality, patience, and sacrifice. I could even tell you it's because of the recognition which comes with being a female athlete, but then you'd really realize I would be lying.

I'm not saying that those are not valid motives, nor that they do not contribute significantly to my love for soccer, but none of them is the main reason—I recognize that love often cannot be explained by reason, but sometimes it can, as in this case. If my love for soccer was for any, or even all, of the reasons listed above, I would have stopped playing years ago; I might not have even finished playing out my four years of college eligibility. No, if it was for any of those reasons, I would definitely not be writing this blog, living in Argentina, and playing at River Plate; I would most likely be in medical school somewhere in the US, which my parents might have preferred, but that's another story... Anyway, why am I saying all this?

This past weekend, my best friend came to visit me, another player who, like me, is not yet ready to hang up her cleats and leave the game behind. We met at my first college, the University of South Florida, where I studied and played for two years before transferring to Rice University (no it's not named after the food...). We weren't close friends from the start; it took a little while for us to realize we had a lot in common: our faith, our way of thinking, goals, values, sense of humor (okay, I would like to think that, but the reality is she's way funnier than I could ever hope to be), among many other things, but on the field, the situation was completely different. She was our starting defensive center midfielder, was named captain her freshman spring, and was a consistent figure for the team throughout her four seasons while I mainly maintained a marginal role, on the sidelines if you will, as the backup for our ridiculously athletically talented starting goalkeeper. Despite the differences in our college soccer careers, we became friends, and, since then, our friendship has continued to grow. I consider her my sister, a blessing from God, and we are united by an intimate bond which I'm sure will last a lifetime. 

Well, all this to say that, in my opinion, what makes soccer so special are the relationships which are born and cultivated through it. I use my best friend as an example but I could tell you countless stories of other footballing friendships and relationships which have influenced and molded me in some way.

I remember goofing off with my high school soccer teammates at practice and on road trips, hanging out with my sister who was also on the team and realizing she was actually not as dorky as I had imagined but really one of the wittiest girls I've even known (don't get too cocky while reading this, Vanessa...).

I remember how at Rice, despite having a miserable soccer career and experience—easily the worst two years of soccer of my life—I met friends, professors, and mentors who inspired, challenged, and loved me and continue to do so today.

I vividly remember taking off from the international airport in Buenos Aires in 2011, leaving behind my second time training with the Argentine Women's National Team. I can picture the scene exactly, looking out the window at the endless city lights illuminating the pitch black with tears rolling down my cheeks, not because of the disappointment of not being able to continue training with the national team due to complications and delays in the citizenship process but because of the pain of leaving the girls behind, especially not knowing when, or if, I'd see them again (now there are a few I see too often at River... I'm just kidding, I love them and they are a huge blessing in my life).

Even more recently, it's impossible not to mention the support my teammates at River have given me since my injury through messages, hugs, and a even huge banner held before the first match I had to miss. I know I can count on them through the whole rehabilitation process until I'm back on the field. They're my millonaria sisters ("millonario" is a nickname for players and fans of River).

It's moments like these which come to my mind when I think about soccer, even more so than images of games won or lost, than the fleeting feelings of frustration or joy, than memories of innumerable training sessions and matches. Friendships are the essence of soccer, and I thank God for having given me the opportunity to meet and learn from so many amazing people through this beautiful game.

Missing my teammates, can't wait to celebrate with them on the field again soon! (photo credit: Guillermo Larroquette)

What it means to play soccer as a woman in Argentina... Straight from the horse's mouth

Well, after a year and a half (a little more if we’re going to get all legalistic about it) of talking so much about myself, about my life, about my knee, about my rehab, about my musings and meditations, I’m tired of hearing about me, and I imagine you are thinking the same thing. So, today I’m blogging a little differently, I’m going to let some other voices speak, let them tell about what they see and what they live. If you’ve read past posts of mine, you most likely already know what I opine in regards to women’s soccer in Argentina, if not, I’ll provide a quick recap of my thoughts and observations.

Women’s soccer is a sport which is surprisingly underappreciated in a country where the men who play professionally receive so much recognition through wealth and fame. As children, in physical education classes, in recess, and even in their own backyards, the boys are always given a soccer ball and the girls... a doll. A girl who plays soccer is a rarity, an odd specimen among Argentine women. Often, when people find out you, as a “nice young lady,” play soccer, they are left momentarily speechless and stare at you with a look of surprise and astonishment, which takes a little while to fade.

 “But it’s such a violent sport!” they protest.

 “Aren’t you too feminine to be a soccer player?” they ask.

“I would never allow my daughter to play soccer. No, she’ll play a much more elegant and less manly sport, like field hockey,” they declare, as though you had asked for their opinion and as though field hockey were somehow non-violent when essentially it’s soccer played with wooden sticks and a solid plastic ball more than capable of breaking noses, to which my cousin can testify as a former victim of a field hockey ball.

During my short playing stint in Argentina, I’ve been able to observe how women’s soccer is a true counterculture. Despite cultural and social norms, players continue to fight against the current, not necessarily in search of recognition and acceptance but instead they fight for their own space where they can enjoy the sport they love and where more and more girls will also have the opportunity to participate in such an important aspect of Argentine culture.

photo courtesy of Guillermo Larroquete

A few days ago, it occurred to me that maybe I don’t know everything it means to be a woman playing soccer in Argentina (I know, crazy right? But even so, it did cross my mind...), and I began to ask myself... How can I better understand women’s soccer in Argentina and how can I transmit a clear and accurate representation of something which in many other countries just isn’t seen? That’s when I got the idea to consult the experts, the players themselves. Luckily, it wasn’t too hard to find my little guinea pigs, my (lovely) teammates at Club Atlético River Plate.

So, I asked them, “What does it mean to play soccer as a woman in Argentina?” I admit that my question was deceptively simple. Despite being composed of so few words, the answer required deeper reflection and consideration due to the ambiguity and open nature of the question, which left lots of room for interpretation. I like to think the underlying complexity of the question was what made some of my teammates take longer to respond, but I have a creeping suspicion that they were probably doing their best to ignore my inquiry as I have quite the reputation as the annoying girl who asks existential questions when all anyone really wants to talk about is what they ate for lunch.

photo courtesy of Guillermo Larroquete

Anyways, while I sit here sipping mate (see prior posts for an explanation of this highly-caffeinated traditional drink) trying to bring a piece of Argentina to Yanquilandia, the USA for those unaccustomed to the cultured Argentine vernacular,  I’ll share with you my translation of the varied responses, some longer than others but all incisive and perceptive, of my wise fellow “millonarias.” (Millonarios is the term used when referring to players or fans of River Plate due to the clubs original association with the Bourgeoisie of Buenos Aires. The nickname stuck throughout the years, however, despite its vast popularization and recent financial crises.)

Luana Muñoz (defender): Being a women’s soccer player in Argentina means giving a lot of effort, loving what we do, the word sacrifice stands out above everything else. Complete sacrifice, nobody gives you anything, on the contrary. Most of the time it’s fighting against the current, knowing that most likely nobody is going to recognize anything you do, but it doesn’t matter; pure perseverance, that’s what it’s about. Despite all the beatings (excessively) we face along the road, nobody nor nothing stops us, that’s the way it is here. We know we can grow, it’s purely and completely on us to do it, change starts from within.

Micaela Sandoval (forward): Playing women’s soccer in Argentina teaches you to fight for your dream, to overcome obstacles, and never to put your head down. I, as a women’s soccer player, have complete confidence that one day we will receive what we deserve. In women’s soccer, one can see the true love of the game, the passion for the ball, the exertion of pure heart, and the sacrifice down to the last breath. Honestly, I feel proud to play soccer and even more so to play in my country, Argentina.

Ludmila Manicler (forward): Love of the art. Sacrifice and, for many, leaving a ton of things behind. And even though it’s amateur, we play it like professionals.

Ayelen Lagos (forward): Love, sacrifice, happiness, and responsibility... giving everything for soccer and to be professionals, not for the money but to be faithful to this love.

Carolina Morcillo (defender): Women’s soccer in Argentina is breaking “assumptions that women can’t do things.” It’s sacrifice and passion.

Florencia Ferrero (forward): Playing soccer in Argentina is all sacrifice, it’s setting a ton of things aside. It’s giving so many other things away just because we love what we do. For us, it’s simply a passion. We don’t do it for money or for any other economic motive. We love what we do.

Mariana Larroquette (forward/midfielder): Sacrifice, the thrill of trying to achieve objectives in the few years we have to play since we aren’t professionals.

Florencia Salazar (defender): Well, for me, playing soccer in Argentina is beautiful and even more so at the club where I am, but it comes with its difficulties! Even though here they don’t see it like they do in other countries, one can tell that it’s growing! And that is thanks to the sacrifice and effort of the players and the coaching staff because they take it seriously! And they leave behind many things to be able to train and grow! I believe the true soccer can be seen in women, where there are no business interests! There is no money to get in the way because the women play with heart, leaving everything on the field, defending the club’s crest, and enjoying it, which is the best part!

Mercedes Pereyra (midfielder): And for me, I don’t know what it means, if I do it it’s because I love soccer and because I know I make my parents proud.

Karen Spiazzi (defender/midfielder): Women’s soccer in Argentina is completely amateur, which the girls do for the love of the game, dedicating their time, leaving many things behind, even leaving their families in many cases because they travel from the interior of the country to the capital to achieve their dream. It’s a big sacrifice, but it fills your soul.

Vicky Pinat (midfielder): For me, it’s playing for the love of art, it’s a passion in every way because it is played without receiving anything in return other than satisfaction and enjoyment; it’s really about what it’s worth to play the game, not for money but for what it makes you feel. It’s playing with heart.

Anonymous: Soccer is the reason why I sacrifice daily to improve as a player and as a person even though we have to leave many things behind despite it being an amateur sport.

Carla Brown (the best position combination... goalkeeper/forward): Sacrifice, passion, and exertion.

Eliana Figueroa (defender/midfielder): Being a women’s soccer player is part of a passion and at the same time a beautiful game I love to play with a team, where one participates in great experiences. One learns to wait, to overcome oneself, to be consistent, to persevere, to have good habits among other good things. Women’s soccer in Argentina is about personal sacrifice and the resulting benefits, which sometimes come in the form of a great game or the opportunity to play at another club, but always knowing that it’s from the heart, that we can’t live off of it but even so, day by day we go to sleep and wake up thinking about soccer. We enjoy it a lot, that’s what it’s all about.

photo courtesy of Guillermo Larroquete

"Mi Buenos Aires Querido", homesick in Dallas

Sometimes the blank page is scary. It sits there staring back at you, challenging you to fill it with your words and thoughts, but nothing comes. Maybe in this age of computers and smartphones and tablets the blank page has gotten stronger, brighter, more powerful, or maybe I'm just suffering from a mild case of writers' block and am trying to find something concrete to blame. It's not that I have nothing on my mind, quite to the contrary, I can't stop thinking, reflecting, brewing, stewing, pondering, wondering, thundering (wait, that doesn't quite work...) about life, love, family, friends, jobs, soccer, health, surgery, loneliness, purpose, lack of purpose, wealth, poverty, joy, sadness, but my problem is how the heck do I write it all down? Or should I even write it down?

Writing is scary. The best writing opens the door to one's very soul, but it's not easy leaving one's self so exposed. What if people reject you? What if your best isn't good enough? What if your struggles are insignificant and pathetic and your feelings impotent and shallow? What if your deepest worries are foolish and irrational? What if this whole becoming-an-adult thing is not at all as you had imagined it and at 24 years old you find yourself once again living with your parents? What if you have a constant, suffocating pain which starts in your chest and goes up to your throat when you think about your love, your best friend, who is thousands of miles away because you know you won't see him for more than two months and despite the amazing new technologies which allow you to communicate virtually, it's not the same?

I still haven't answered my initial problem: how does one write about such things? I'm at least going to try:

I'm back in the US, in Dallas, Texas to be more precise, and suffering from culture shock, slight depression, and 100 degree heat all at once. My family and I, along with the coaching and medical staff of River Plate women's soccer, all agreed that returning to the US for ACL surgery and the initial part of the 6-month rehab process would be best for me. Honestly, it took quite a bit of convincing to get me to agree to leave Buenos Aires, I had complete confidence in the club doctors who would have operated on me as they are the same ones who have performed the same surgery numerous times on first division and youth Argentine professional players. The post-op logistics, however, were what pushed me decisively toward heading back stateside for surgery.

In the month and a half between my injury and my trip to the US, time which was spent fighting against muscle atrophy in my injured leg and working to regain complete mobility in my knee, trying to get to and from rehab without a car was complicated. The team doctor, as well as my own mother, forbade me to take public transport, as an unstable knee and crazy bus drivers make for a bad combination and would put me at risk for further injury. I was forced to depend upon friends with cars who, for obvious reasons, were not always available to take me to and from physical therapy at the club, which is on the other side of the city from where I live in Buenos Aires, and in those cases I had to spend about 25 times the bus fare for the same trip to take a taxi.

Et voilà, here I am, in Texas once again, but this time not voluntarily. Although I'm thankful to be able to spend more time with my family and to see close friends after more than a year in some cases, it's impossible not to miss Buenos Aires in all its hectic glory. It's as though I have been torn out of the ground and planted in a parallel universe, but my roots were left behind; my body is in Dallas, but my heart and thoughts remain in Argentina with my team, my school, and my Cris.

Yesterday morning I met with the orthopedic surgeon who will operate on me. A tall, heavyset man with years and years of experience and hundreds of knee surgeries under his belt, he assured me I would be fine and come out of this as good as new—with the stipulation that I faithfully follow his instructions throughout my recovery. After he explained the details of the procedure, which kind of graft he recommended for the ligament replacement (for those interested he will be using a hamstring graft), what the recovery will look like over the course of 6 months, and other information I've already forgotten just a day later, the nurse came in and in what seemed like only 5 minutes gave me a million instructions of what I would need to do immediately before the procedure and in the weeks following. I tried to pay attention, but I felt my mind wandering and wondering why I had to go through all this in the first place. Why couldn't I just have tipped the ball all the way over the crossbar? Had I known that this was going to happen, maybe I should have just let it in. But I can't go back in time—though I wish I could.

Something I've been repeating to myself and to others who express their sympathy for my injury (but mainly for myself) is "everything happens for a reason" though I'm not sure yet what the reason is right now.

The surgery has been set for Monday, and I'm anxious to start the rehab process to get closer to being able to do what I love once again.

This weekend, though, my mind will not be on my surgery but on my team as we have to face our biggest rival, Boca Jrs., in the Superclásico of women's soccer. This year the stakes are as high as ever, with 2 former River players (who didn't leave on particularly friendly terms) featured in Boca's starting line-up and the league championship on the line. I wish I could be there to watch in person, even more so I wish I could be playing (this is the second Superclásico I'll miss due to injury), but I'll have to settle for cheering from a distance and through Whatsapp.

Dale River Carajoooooooo!!!!

A brief word of thanks and encouragement to old, new, and future dads

Due to present circumstances, on which I will elaborate in an upcoming post, this post will be a rather short, but I hope sweet, reflection on fatherhood.

As this is the second straight Father's Day I am spending away from my father, my thoughts might be slightly more nostalgic or romanticized than normal, but the praise I give my dad is fully deserved. Being thousands of miles away from my family allows me to step back a little and realize how blessed I am to have such loving parents. The distance certainly doesn't ease the pain of missing them especially in the difficult moments when the easiest way to react is to let your dad wrap you in a big bear hug and reassure you that everything is going to turn out fine, but I can rest in the knowledge that despite the fact that we are separated by an 11-hour plane ride, my dad (don't worry, mom, I know you love me too!) loves me more than I can imagine and desires the very best for my life, which is why he (and my mom) was willing to let me go so far away to pursue my dreams.

I'm trying to imagine my dad not as a dad, but it's impossible. Being a dad is part of his DNA. It's almost as though when he took on the role of father, all his best qualities were able to reveal themselves to the fullest—love, patience, kindness, service, selflessness, wisdom, honesty. Obviously, I know that's not the case; the transition to fatherhood was neither automatic nor easy. My father was not born a father, the responsibility is not a simple undertaking nor was it a position which comes with a handbook and training. Fatherhood is not a job which always produces tangible rewards; years and years of investment of time, money, and effort can go by without any returns or clear recognition. However, I want to encourage the fathers reading this to strive on, to be an example of what true selfless love is, not just to their children and to their wives but also to the other men in their community; to fight against the temptation of taking the easy way out, the path of least resistance; to lead their family mercifully yet justly because while the rewards may not be visible immediately, when the harvest comes, all the toil put in to the raising of their children will be evident for generations to come.

Fatherhood is an enormous responsibility, but, done right, it is a truly beautiful manifestation of unconditional love and leadership.

One is not just born a mother... An ode to mothers everywhere—past, present, and future

[This post is dedicated to my (brave) friends who are celebrating their first Mother's Day from the other 'hood: motherhood]

Motherhood is a difficult topic to reflect upon at this moment, lately it's been a rather sensitive subject and something which has been crossing my mind more frequently than ever before. For most of my life, up until the last few years, I had been able to admire mothers all around me, my own mother, my friends' mothers, teachers, professors, church leaders, etc, relishing their loving guidance and sacrifice which just seemed to flow naturally. It never occurred to me that at one point, these women had been young single ladies just like me, trying to figure out their careers, scoping out potential boyfriend candidates, going out with friends, and just learning to survive on their own. 

Recently, however, I've become more aware of the fact that these women—my mother included— were not always mothers (I know, crazy right?), even though I had always known them in that role. This realization has been brought about by a combination of factors, hormones probably being one such factor but not a principal contributor. In the last year or two, various childhood, high school, and college friends have become, or are in the process of becoming, mothers. These are friends with whom I used to wonder and speculate about who we would marry, what our future children would be like, and other such "grown-up" plans but always as events which were far off, intangible, almost as fantastic as hoping to get into Hogwart's School of Witchcraft and Wizardry (I apologize if I have just crushed the hopes and dreams of some young reader still waiting for his/her acceptance letter...).

Now, those daydreams are becoming reality, I no longer have to imagine what my best friend from high school's baby will look like because he's already here, as of about a month ago. It's not at all that I'm scared for my friends as they take on their new roles as mothers; I think I'm scared that soon I'm going to be in a similar situation, maybe not within the next few years but, even so, motherhood is much closer than it was in high school or even college. What will the transition be like? Will my future husband and I know when we're ready to be parents?

I think the scariest thing of all is the responsibility which comes with motherhood: the task of not just taking care of a baby, then a toddler, then a child, and so forth, but the realization that, as a mother, you have the responsibility of raising a human being, teaching your child how to live, guiding him until he is ready to live independently and begin his own career and family, leaving his own footprint on this world, for good or for bad, and while a mother can neither predict nor control who her child will become, she has an essential role in the entire process.

Add to all those concerns society's message that children are not blessings but actually burdens, weights which anchor us down, holding us back from achieving our career and life goals, from living life to the fullest, enjoying everything this world has to offer. Sometimes I even start to believe that lie as I walk around Buenos Aires and see the tired faces of countless mothers pushing one child in a  stroller while yelling after her other child who is running ahead along the sidewalk, but when I least expect it, God reveals a glimpse of true beauty...

A toddler running, or, rather, teetering, towards her mother with her arms reached high over her head, a smile too big for her little face which brightens up the mood of everyone within a fifteen meter radius, as her mother sweeps her up into a loving embrace.

A fourteen-year-old girl cries as her middle-aged mother hugs her, caressing her hair, reassuring her that she is beautiful and loved, and will always be loved, no matter what life may throw in her direction.

A twenty-three-year-old young lady far from home, confused about which career path to take, worried about how to grow up, shares all her concerns, her hopes, her dreams with her mother via a video call, only to hear her mother tell her she loves her more than she could ever imagine and will always be there to support her and listen.

Okay, maybe the last example was a bit close to home, but that's when I realize the relationship between a parent and child is something so unique, so special, so complex that trying to wrap your head around it is just as futile as trying to grasp the depth, width, and height of God's love for us. There is certainly a reason God chose to use the image of a Father and child to illustrate His relationship with us through Christ. 

I have been blessed with a mother who has exemplified true love, guidance, and sacrifice for her children in every possible way. She and my father have made not only a wonderful parenting team but also have been a reflection of a Godly, loving, and committed marriage relationship, and I could not be more thankful for them. I pray that as my friends and I head into this next stage of life (if it's something we are called to do), we too would be able to reflect Christ's love in our marriages and in our relationships with our children.

To all the mothers and soon-to-be mothers reading this, I want to encourage you and wish you a happy Mother's Day. Thanks for all the sacrifices you make and for showing us what it means to love without expecting anything in return, to love completely selflessly, to be a bit of Heaven on earth.