I met my husband for the first time twelve years ago.
In a gym.
While I was coaching.
That he had poofier hair and was wearing a loopy earring of some sort are, I suppose, irrelevant.
What mattered–at that time–was volleyball. He played. I played.
Which became, of sorts, how we dated.
And is–despite a few hitches in the road–how we ‘date’ now.
Only it hasn’t been just volleyball. It started there. But then it led to tennis, which we’re equally lousy at. One paintball trip. Then to hiking with our kids. And then to soccer, where…where it’d sure be nice to run like we could when we were twenty.
Anyway…all that to say we enjoyed another ‘date’ this weekend. Soccer this time.
And, well…I’m just so thankful.