#46 Break a Rib

Trust yourself, even if it hurts

It’s a pretty typical moment on a soccer field: ball over the top, striker rushing onto it, goalie charging out to close the gap and make the save. It’s chicken on turf with a bouncing ball between — mano a mano. Whoever wants it more gets the prize, a goal or a save. There is almost always a collision, simply because the ball, that sweet object of desire, is right in the middle of the mix.

I made the save. It was late in the second half, with the game on the line: That ball took flight from the opposing goalie, spinning up into black and toward me. The play was on, the forward was tracking, and he sprinted from the half, head down. As the ball began to make its descent, I sprang to it — no thought, just action. It touched down at the edge of the penalty box, straight into the path of the player. It was perfect. For them.

But then I was there, and the play disintegrated in the velocity of the impact, a tangle of arms and legs ending in a heap. I lay on the pitch face down, tried to rise and discovered that I could not breathe. I crouched down, gulping for air, head spinning in pain.

There. Okay. I can breathe. Now straighten up and get back to the goal. Breathe deep. Focus. It’s a goal kick. Focus. Kick. Ouch.

I broke my #9 rib in the collision crashing into player and ball. That’s okay. The injury was an unlucky consequence of aggressive, confident play.

So did my instinct to act betray me? I saved a goal but broke a rib. I’d do it again.

You know this moment. It’s that thing you wanted to say in that one meeting but second-guessed yourself, kept your hand down, and did a slow burn. It’s what you wanted to say at dinner but didn’t have the nerve, and the words got smaller with each passing bite.

There’s no collision during those moments. No audible crack. No whistle or card. Just a door that stays shut, with you standing on the other side of it.