I thought it was going to be a typical beach day. We would lay under the sun, chat amongst friends, and dip into the cool waves. I was excited for such leisure activities, and I prepared for a relaxing day. But when we arrived to our destination, and I saw the round black and white ball sitting in the sand, my excitement grew to a whole new level. It was time for beach soccer. It was time to relive my proud highschool moments.
I was my prized position from many years ago. I was forward. Butterflies viciously fluttered through my stomach as I realized it had been years since I had played this wonderful sport. I was so excited. I was so happy. I was so free.
I allowed my body to carry me through the game as I softly passed the ball, swiveled my hips, and dodged my opponents. I faked to the left, and I sprinted to the right. I ran ahead, and I stopped the path of the ball. Soft touches, quick feet, observing eyes. I was hot, I was sweaty, I felt great. My rosy cheeks screamed victory, and my panting breath yelped win. The game was ours, our pride was magnetic.
I missed playing soccer so much, and simply kicking the ball on the sandy Barcelona beach was so amazing. I will never forget that thirst to win and that smell of accomplishment.