The next time I found myself camping was during spring football in Arizona. We rode the bus to another high school and slept on the gym floor. No tents this time, but it was still man camp. Bobby, the only girl on the team that year, came with us and trained the same as everyone else.
Mornings started with cardio — running up the hill and jogging back down until the coaches said stop. It was my first time training at higher elevation, but that familiar feeling came back quick: grass under my feet, pines around us, away from the city. My mom was worried. My dad was all for it. He had played the same position. I was a late bloomer, so I played both ways on JV and second-string varsity. I had to earn everything, but I loved learning the strategy and being part of something bigger than myself.
After morning runs came breakfast, then we split into position groups — hitting sleds, running plays, scrimmaging. Nights were for weights and classroom time: playbooks, film from the year before, film on the teams we would face next season. Through all of it we still found ways to slip past the coaches for a cigarette, and every now and then something stronger.
One night after dinner a few of us made a plan. We were going to sneak past the ball field and tip cows at the farm next door. Some guys were too tired or too nervous. The rest of us were determined. About an hour after lights out, once the lookout confirmed the coaches were asleep, we stuffed our sleeping bags with clothes and pillows and slipped out into the dark.
It was pitch black except for a faint blue light. I was near the front, heart going, loving the adrenaline. We crept past the tree line and started downhill toward the pasture. The cows were scattered across the field, standing still as statues. We stopped and started whispering about who was going first. Truth is, we were all scared. I wasn’t sure if the animal would wake up, kick, or just stand there. I also wasn’t sure I had anything left after Coach Robb’s workout a few hours earlier.
We inched closer. Then, for reasons none of us could later agree on, we stopped, turned around, and started back up the hill. On the walk back we finally looked up.
The sky was full of stars. Away from the city lights it almost looked purple. Cool air on our skin, grass brushing our legs, complete quiet. We just stood there — a bunch of Phoenix boys in the dark, cows behind us, stars above us. I don’t know how long we stayed like that. The light of those stars stayed with me the whole way back to the gym.
We slipped into our sleeping bags just in time. A coach came in, flipped on the lights, and walked slowly from one end of the gym to the other. Training picked up the next day and we got smoked. I never found out if somebody talked or if the coaches simply decided we needed more work.
When we packed up and rode home I left with more than sore muscles and a first sunburn on the tip of my nose. That night under the stars had settled somewhere deeper.
0 comments