Permanently Benched: A Fashion Girl’s Farewell to Club Sports
No disrespect to anyone who is playing sports in college, but thank god that s*** is over. A childhood of club sports, from soccer to lacrosse, shaped the person I am today - a college student with spunk and style and, sure, maybe a persisting love for male athletes.
If I really think about it, I find myself having to make the same choices I made throughout my childhood of club sports in my life today. Really, in my time spent getting dressed in the morning: Do I wear the Under Armour, do I not? Do I layer the vest over the cardigan, do I not?
Still dabbling in degrees of physicality from long-distance running to pilates princessing, I'm grateful for the years of forced competition that fueled my voluntary, and at times, unnecessary competitive spark in the arena that we call life.
Prior to college, my afternoons only knew “practice.” Now they know writing absurdity in coffee shops, sewing in the maker space, and maybe a little academia, if we’re feeling like attendance is a must that day. My weekends lack early wakeups, long drives in which my ears are subject only to father-sanctioned music, and back-to-back games played on a fake grass field in the middle of butt-fuck-nowhere-Riverside. That shit is not by a river. In fact, the only river present in this routine scenario was “Da Nile,” (Denial) a river in Egypt:
I love this sport! I repeated falteringly in my head.
Mom and Dad, it’s worth it for you to pay thousands, again. I lied through my teeth.
I will get playing time this season! Well, a glimmer of hope actually existed in this fib.
The only truths told throughout my short-lived soccer and slightly longer-lived lacrosse careers were by the referees when they sent me to the penalty box, time and time again.
I was fine, even decent, at sports - not a stand-out based on raw talent - but I tried really, really hard. With looming anxiety that required expensive therapy and the cheapest cleats “Big Five” offered, I sat shotgun through countless car rides, riddled with guilt for praying my team would cease to advance to playoff’s promises of additional games. If I arrived home before four, I would have time to squeeze in my online sewing lessons - or finish painting my latest DIY project - or update my hush-hush fashion blog. My teammates shared idols like Billie Jean King; yet, the only figure I sought to emulate with three names was Andre Leon Talley. Even in my dream journal, I still remained conscious of word count - this girl was bound to be a writer, not the holder of any kind of racquet.
So why stick with it? To endure comments like “You run around like a chicken with your head cut off” (- Coach Jesse circa 2018)? Certainly not. I stuck with the highs and lows of my version of high school football — club soccer and lacrosse, because if I didn't, how would I know it wasn't for me? Would I be wondering if I belong in a stadium with a host of NIL deals and restrictions, rather than a styling club where restriction exists as a taboo word.
Club sports imparted discipline, a little backbone (barnyard animal comparisons aided), and a grit that overflowed to every other aspect of my life. Only costing a mere few thousand dollars in the process, club sports taught me, a collaborative and creatively stimulated person, that sometimes the best way to find what you love is to try what you don't, and try them for a while. The lessons learned from a level of necessary discomfort lead us on a path to realizing our authentic aspirations and capabilities.
