Footbawl

"Whoooomphoooock!" goes my chest as the stocky girl plows straight through me and proceeds to catch a long pass way down the field, leaving me spinning about 5 feet from the line of scrimmage. Yes. She had certainly been ready for all 130 pounds of that.

So this is what exhausted feels like. A little bit of searing pain with a hint of humiliation seasoned with a touch of shame and four heaping spoonfuls of freaking tired. This cannot get worse.

"Time for 110s!" the coach yells, and I follow the jogging herd to line up at the goal post. I'm dense when it comes to sports, but I know how long a football field plus end zones is. Gazing at the opposite goal and barely able to inhale a full breath every few seconds, I am sure that there is no way I'm going to make it across this field. I figure my car is about 50 yards away. That's the only distance that seems reasonable right now. But I came here to try out.

With every ounce of strength left in my bruised, shaking body, I heave myself across the field with the herd. I'm not dead last! I can go home! Right after I do this seven more times! What?!

We're not running one 110. We're running eight. I stare back up the field and very nearly become intimately reacquainted with the burrito I'd eaten for lunch. Thirty seconds for a break, and back we go. On the third trip, something close to delirium sets in. At number four, I figure I'll jump ship, tell the coach I have a hell of a lot of respect for the team and crawl to the car.

But I've already humiliated myself enough for the day, so I finish the fifth, sixth and seventh sprint. At number eight, I am sure that I will never again know what it feels like to have legs. I am a torso floating across the field, barely beating the girl with the sprained ankle. I know I'll never make the team, so after the coach's final pep talk, I slink away to my car unnoticed.

On the drive back to Dallas, I chug Gatorade and praise the good Lord for allowing us humble humans to develop cruise control; otherwise, I'd never have made it back across the county line with no legs.