A change is gonna come

Isn’t it funny how we, as human beings, change?

Sometimes transformation happens quickly, and other times it is both painstakingly slow, and, well, just plain painstaking.

Sometimes changes happens and we aren’t even aware that it is happening.

Sometimes it happens because a judge has ordered it so (although hopefully not that often!) or because outside factors (non-court sanctioned of course) have come to dictate that the current path we happen to be travelling is no longer viable.

(Picture a giant Gandalf impersonater shouting, “YOU SHALL NOT PASS!” – or whichever knock-off literary reference you think most fitting.)

In the end, the result is the same: we as human beings change.

We grow.

We adapt.

We react.

I was thinking the other day about just how different my life is from this same time last year.

Sure, at the root of it all, many of the larger pieces that make me “me” are still the same: I am still with the love of my life, living in the same house, with the same mad cat.

But I have a different job, different friends (although I am lucky that many of the same old friends are still bopping about!); I am running more, and running faster.


I started comedy, and am having a harder time sticking to a regular blogging schedule despite the fact that I am trying to do more writing.

I play soccer.


I play soccer.

Now, for those of you who don’t know me – well, this is quite the departure from where I used to stand in terms of this sport.

I used to think it was pretty much the worst.

And now I absolutely love it.

I like to watch it too!

Please let me explain.

But before I do, I will present to you the formal title of a three-part rant:

Things I used to hate, but now I love: How I came around to soccer, coffee, and camping

Part 1 – Soccer.

Or “football” in the parlance of all you readers residing outside of North America.

(Funny side-note: I also used to hate watching our version of football until a few years ago, and now very much enjoy it.)

Sporting evolution! It happens!

Anywho, back to soccer.

Like 99.9% of West Coast kids, I played this sport as a youngster. This meant weekends spent driving around in the fall and winter rain, running up and down soggy pitches, and trying my darndest to keep away from any and all actual ball-related action.

I was terrified of the ever-clashing elbows and ankles and shins and knees, and preferred to steer clear of both my fellow teammates and adversaries alike.

However, I did really love running, so most of my time was spent sprinting from one end of the field to the other as far away from the scrum as I could non-conspicuously manage.

I distinctly remember overhearing one of my coaches remark to a parent, “Vanessa is fast – but doesn’t seem to do much else besides run.”

Too true sir.

So – not as inconspicuous as I had hoped.

After a couple of years of this charade, and hours spent toodling around on different rec teams, I threw in the proverbial soccer towel and concentrated on the sports I actually cared about – running, badminton, and volleyball.

Fast forward to 2003, when I met the man that I would eventually marry – a lovely fellow who absolutely loved soccer, having played it at a very high level all throughout high school and who still owns two pairs of cleats (best be prepared I am always told) to this day.

During our formal courtship, he inquired if I would ever had any interest in playing soccer with him.

I promptly responded no.

But my reasoning behind my decline was no longer my fear of getting of getting hurt, or receiving a rogue elbow to a lip.

It was everything to do with the fact that, at that point in my life, I couldn’t partake in non-regulated exercise. My eating disorder dictated everything in my life (including any and all physical activity) to such a degree, that anything outside of my normal “controlled” environment was enough to bring on a panic attack.

The few times that I did try and play, everything felt awkward and wrong.

It was almost as though I could feel my body rebelling the moment I walked onto the pitch.

My skin crawled, and my stomach cramped.

In the end I told Marc that I didn’t like playing, that I thought the sport was boring.

It didn’t help, I elaborated, that I wasn’t any good at it. If I couldn’t win at the game, I said, what was the point in playing?

I passed on years of Friday night soccer matches. I watched Marc would go off and play with friends, while I stayed at home.

After my health improved I still stayed away from the pitch, afraid that the ghosts of times past would come to haunt me, the second my foot made contact with the field, the ball.

That was until, at the end of this summer, when a friend (a new friend, but a fab friend) invited me to his birthday party, the first half of which was a pick-up game of soccer.

Amazingly enough, I knew that this situation was a no-brainer. I didn’t just want to go out and play that Friday night, I needed to.

And you know what?

Despite the fact that I was the only on there without soccer cleats AND was clocked in the eye with another good friend’s shoulder, I had an absolutely fabulous time.

Instead of feeling clammy and self-conscious, I felt exhilarated and at-ease.

I actually ran towards the ball.

And I have played at least one a week since.

Marc and I like to head to the many parks in our neighbourhood and practice passing, dribbling, and penalty kicks.

Blurry, but getting ready to kick some balls!

I have a sweet pair of cleats that make me feel like a superstar.

And heck, when I feel like it, for old time sake – I’ll go out and wind myself, sprinting the length of the field.

Again and again.

Because goodness knows, that never gets old.

Published by

Vanessa Woznow

Writer, runner, ranter, reader. I write about all things.

9 thoughts on “A change is gonna come”

  1. Like you say at the start, ‘I am running more,and I am running faster’. Even if that was painstakingly slow over the course of a year, it’s such an accomplishment! Sounds like you are gravitating towards soccer and other things that you are passionate about. Awesome!

    1. Thanks so much! Sometimes it can be hard to see the forest for the trees, but I really, really am enjoying the soccer. And I’ve always loved running, so if I can do it better, what’s to complain about?

      Thanks so much for stopping by and for the great comment. :)

  2. cmment #1: does ANYBODY ELSE type in/on your comments and can’t see what they’re typing? i see the cursor moving, that’s all. this didn’t used to be the case a r32 233kw qto 2h3n vizzidding your house …

  3. We are so different and yet the same: I am running slower and slower! And (semi-seriously) the alzheimrzzz is taking hold. (I’ll try to find a way to enjoy it.)
    When you have time (like during the in-progress and upcoming lo o oon g winter knights) wander over to my whateverITizz (da blorg) and scroll to “the hockey diaries”. Like you and re-found new love, futbol, I STARTED to play (? maybe I don’t “play” but try to) ice-hockey at age 57. It was either that or shuffle-bored, and if you’re gonna suck at something, it’s far more glorious (isn’t it?) sucking as a senior-citizen ice hockey GOALIE than at shuffleboard. Yeah: there’re a lot more interesting stories about goalie-suckiness than shufflebored-suckiness (except, of course, if i was T Pynchon and I could write a story about lying on the couch and make it verrry profound).

    1. I am going to go read your Hockey Diaries right now. I always love your stories from the ice! Also, even though I always say it, you need to give yourself more of a break Mr. B! You’re running more (and faster) than most people I know MY age. :)

      Also, you, like always, make me laugh. A LOT.

      1. just read the ONe actually entitled Hockey Diaries. yeah, i know, i’ve made a category in which there are several (a dozen?). also, i think IN THE BELLY OF THE BEAST is above average for that category. hey! i was 2nd in a/the “sideshow” race at the N. Rim BLack Canyon races two weekends back — due to the Federal whatever-it-was the races were held elsewhere … so next year i think i’ll finally get to see the N. Rim (not Grand Canyon but lesser-know Black Canyon).

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