Nutmegged

We played a pickup game this week at one of America's most well known public parks. The game was organized via the internet, but a colleague joined me. He nutmegged me twice, but afterwards offered some advice: "defend with one foot forward instead of even with your legs apart." I'm sure that this is common sense to seasoned players, but I found it a rather useful tip.

It has proven slightly hard to adjust to so far, but a bit of practice should help. My knee has swollen enough that I think I'll have to miss my weekly American Dream field game.

Barca and United

If it wasn't for their incessant transfer market tampering through the papers, Barca would be a very lovable team.

One can't say the same about United.

Congrats to Barcelona, and thanks for preventing the most horrid of repeats.

Pilates v1

So I need to be stronger and more flexible. Enter Yoga and Pilates. Sure, the classes are dominated by girls, but Roy Keane and Tiger Woods do them. I researched the difference, and decided that Pilates was more appealing due to its lack of chanting and the (relative) focus on muscle strengthening.

I attend my first pilates class at a gym near work. The reasons for this are two fold: the schedule is slightly better and I hoped that the proximity to the city will help with the crowd. I'm the only guy.

I setup my mat at the back of the room, and found myself under glaring overhead lights. I wasn't alone in the back, but I envied all of the better positioned girls who weren't blinded every time they looked up. The next 60 minutes were torture, and I found myself straining to see the clock. My abs hurt for the next two days; clearly this requires a repeat visit.

During our post game social I tell my teammate "I though Pilates was Yoga for guys."

He answers, "Pilates is Yoga for chicks."

Memorial Day Weekend

After two days of PT directed lifting and sore muscles, Friday was supposed to be a day of rest. Sadly, my better half was forced to unexpectedly overnight at the hospital (as a caregiver not a patient). If I lived in, say, Manhattan, I could hop on the subway and have a social pint. But I don't live in New York.

Instead, I live in the evil suburbs. What's left? Boredom.
Well boredom begets youtube, and youtube leads to depression and restlessness.


This finds me outside kicking the ball around like a moron. What a spectacle for the neighbors. My juggling must have been loud (maybe I hit someone's car), because out comes an unknown neighbor and we have a kick. It was a nice change, but there was too much awkward social pressure to pass straight.

Up at dawn to play on American Dream field. Knees, ankles, and shins hurt 25 minutes in. We play for two hours. I have a couple of shots and the odd tackle, but mostly I'm tormented by the larger field and better players. One in particular is very frustrating. I know which moves he's about to use, and I'm still unable to stop them. Three days off. Beach football anyone?

The Grand Scheme

What is the point of this blog, you ask? Well you didn't but, let's say you did.

It is to chronicle my rise from an inactive commuter to Kolo Toure's future defensive partner. Step 1 was playing football. Step two is get good. Step three: get some consistently not sucky grammar. Step four--profit/play for Arsenal/not suck at football quite so much.

The general intention is to try and post advice for other beginners and make grand, insightful, and edifying observations on the way we live now. Or not.

Another First

So...plyometrics will make my jumps bigger, faster, and stronger. The common wisdom is that plyometrics should only be done by those with a good muscular base. This is not me.

My very first personal training session started with plyometrics. Specifically jumping onto a platform and jumping straight up from squats. The sad thing is, after two sets of the squat jumps, my legs refused to execute with proper form. Sad.

The rest of the session was squats, lunges, and resistance training with various machines scattered through the weight floor. However, none were on the "compete with curves" station lineup.

Keeping the PT from putting on too much weight made me feel like a sissy fat weakling, but I'm already very tight in the hamstrings. Hopefully I'll be nice and sore tomorrow.

What can we learn from this? Plyometrics are for everybody, and its best to have a physically intimidating PT to keep the meat heads from laughing at you.

weigh-ins

A random post on weight loss. Many diet and weight loss sites recommend that you weigh yourself just once a week.This is terrible advice. The justifications given seem to be either that people can't handle the trauma of daily fluctuations or that once a week is more accurate. I suspect that these weight loss programs and coaches are succumbing to moral hazard. Daily weight measurment allows for micro adjustments of diet. Up two unexpected pounds? Deal with it the next day? Ahead of your projected weight, indulge a little to fend off saggy skin. (You could also eat some almonds and bananas. Then again, maybe you shouldn't eat the almonds.)

As for the more accurate argument: weekly weigh ins are subject to the same water and waiste fluctuations as daily ones. I contend that a 7 day moving average gives a far better picture.

A lost weekend?

The previous Wednesday, I did a few too many single leg, medicine ball dead lifts. The sad result was unreasonable tightness in my hammies. On Thursday and Friday, I did everything I could to stretch them out. I even started a new dynamic stretching routine. (By new, I mean the first one I have ever tried.)

Saturday morning rolls around, and I decide American dream or not, I can't play with these hamstrings. I was, however, happy to engage in activities at a little below game speed. I spent a half hour practicing my juggling at the gym and did some other gym-like-things.

Sunday I spent an hour in the park messing around. I meant to practice against a wall, but I think the most useful time was spent running with the ball. My dribbling also improved: to maximum of six.

Tomorrow its back to the rat race, and this week I really need to cut down on gym time in order to accomplish a few things.

The American Dream

My first ever outdoor soccer game. Well, that's not technically true, but close enough. We play at an ungodly hour on the local defense contractor's community outreach field. Make no mistake, this is the American dream.

"How did it go," you ask?

"Not good," I say. However, I did enjoy the distinction of missing two shots in the last 30 seconds of a 1-0 loss.

A few initial observations on 11 a side outdoor vs 6 a side indoors: more time on the field, but less running. There is a lot more time on the ball, and chasing balls that go out of touch sucks.