“Just one more set,” I muttered under my breath, diving to the side to stop a bullet-like ball aimed for the bottom left corner of the net.  The big game was only a day away and there was so much improvement that had to be made.  I had to be at the top of my game.  I couldn’t let down my team.  So I trained.  Hard.  My brother had shot the soccer ball enough to last a lifetime, he claimed.  I couldn’t be satisfied with what I had done.  There was always another mile to run, another set of drills to perform.  The game was approaching fast and I couldn’t be caught unprepared. 
Another shot, this time to the top right corner of the net.  I couldn’t get there fast enough.  I shook my head in an effort to clear it.  ‘Focus, Clara.’ I thought as I prepared myself for the next ball.  This one, aimed a little above my head, caught me unaware, but I managed to tip it over the crossbar.  This would be considered no goal, but earned a corner kick for the other team.  “You could have caught that, Clara,” my brother teased in a mocking tone. 
“You say that like I don’t know it already,” I retorted.  I’ve played soccer since I was little and it was my passion and dream to be a professional.  While I considered myself good, I knew I had to earn my place on this team.  It was the best team in the state of Maine for high-school aged girls.  I was the smallest girl on the team and also the goalie.  Oh, the irony.  That meant I had to earn my place doubly.  I couldn’t slack.  I had to be my best.  My thoughts were interrupted by my brother telling me he was going to take a break and suggested I do the same. 
“You work too hard sometimes,” he added “You just have to have fun playing. It can’t be all work.” He then disappeared into the house.
The sun was setting over the woods in my backyard.  I decided to go inside and get a good night’s sleep.  As an athlete, I knew rest was also a big factor in how well you play.   Under the overhang, I dragged the net and put the bag of soccer balls for the night.  After supper, I got ready for bed while my mind wandered to the game tomorrow morning.  The rival team was one we haven’t seen before but had heard through the grapevine that they were good. They had to be to have made it this far.  When I climbed into bed and settled, I wondered what would happen if we didn’t win.  That would be the end of the season. Would they even take me onto the team next year?  ‘You have to stay positive!’ I scolded myself.  Thinking like that would not help the situation.  Shortly thereafter, I drifted off into a deep sleep. 
I woke up the next morning feeling rejuvenated and nervous, two very different and strange emotions rattling inside of me.  I ate breakfast (toast with raspberry jam) and gathered my soccer equipment.  It was time to leave sooner than I was mentally prepared for.  All I had to do was clear my mind and act on training and more importantly, instinct.  I could do this.  I chanted it in my mind, like a mantra.  ‘I can do this, I can do this, I can do this.’  We arrived at the field and I felt like I was in a dream.  Through putting my cleats on, warming up, and strategizing with my team, all the usual pre-game activities, I was in a daze, like it wasn’t me performing those actions.  We finally took the field.  The whistle blew, the clock started, and I woke up.