Posts Tagged ‘soccer

22
Jul
09

Confessions of a Sports-Newbie

Does everyone remember that scene from Confessions of a Shopaholic when Rebecca has to do her first assignment as a finance columnist and resorts to Google-ing the word “finance”?

Well, this weekend, I saw my very first soccer match, and I think I may have been emulating my green-scarved silver-screen-twin.

I had a pretty jet-set weekend–Nutrilite, a nutritional supplement brand, flew me and a few other journalists out to Long Beach to meet with their nutritionists and tour their facility. It was super fun, and entirely whirlwind – I was there for less than two days!–but it was capped off with the most whirlwind part of all.

See, Nutrilite is the brand sponsor of AC Milan, one of the biggest things to happen to soccer since Pele – and that night, they were playing LA Galaxy. We were invited to not only attend the game – but have a meet and greet with the team, and then watch them play from a VIP Hospitality Suite.

So, here’s the problem – I may be an ass-kicking take-no-prisoners blogger when it comes to beauty and fashion, but I don’t know anything about soccer. Anything at all.

And I was about to sit and chat with one of the most famous teams in the world…who just happened to be a bunch of incredibly well-fit sexy Italian men. Le sigh.

And so I did the only thing I could do. I Googled.

honestwedgesBy doing so, I learned the basics: You don’t touch the ball. And you kick it. It’s sort of like football. But not. However, it’s actually called football (or futball?) in many places. Oh, and the players are supposed to be the fittest men in the world.

The only thing left to decide was…what to wear.

I know that sports-minded people tend to be sort of casual – but this is a team sponsored by Dolce & Gabbana – and they are European – I obviously couldn’t appear to meet them in flip flops.

I ended up going with my Betsey Johnson Honest Cork Wedges. With their layers of studded fringe over the vamp with tasseled bow, they are frisky and flirty – exactly what I wanted to convey to said sexy fit Italian men. But they are also California casual- exactly what I would imagine one may wear to a summer evening soccer match.

The game ended up tied – I hear, an accomplishment for any American team vs. a European one, and the team, while very nice, actually didn’t speak much English, so they had no idea how clueless I was. I think I did catch a few nodding at my toes though…

29
Jan
08

Rambo Made Me Run

Up until a year ago, I did not consider myself a runner. In fact, I would go so far as to categorize myself as the anti-runner.

“Want to go for a jog on the beach this weekend?” well-meaning friends would ask.

“Ha! Over my dead body,” came my scathing reply. Then I would strap on my highest stilettos and jaunt on over to the mall.

My aversion to running was rather ironic, considering I played soccer competitively for ten years (I reconcile the oxymoronic nature of this to the fact that I played defense and rarely left the goal box). Plus, since then I have grown a tad lazier, filled my life with work and stuck to yoga and the elliptical machine, telling myself that the low impact was better for my joints. My lackadaisical anti-running attitude persisted until one fateful day when along came Rambo.

Rambo was a fictional Boston Terrier my boyfriend and I created in our imaginations and referred to as if he already existed. After imagining him cuddling and playing with us for nearly two years, we took the plunge and bought ourselves an adorable three-month-old Boston Terrier, and named him (what else?) Rambo.

After one peaceful month of cuddling and sleeping, my sugary sweet, blissfully calm little puppy turned into a holy teething terror. He leaped on and off the furniture, he destroyed his toys, he stole my socks and he hid under the bed. People had warned me that Boston Terriers had boundless energy, but it took actual ownership for their warnings to sink in. Desperate to burn some of his energy, I reluctantly dragged myself to the nearby running store, stifled my anti-running sentiments and bought a brand new pair of blue and white Saucony running shoes. Feeling smug and looking good in my new kicks, I took to the streets.

Much to my chagrin, I had to slow to a walk after two blocks. Huffing and puffing I struggled to catch my breath as Rambo bounced and frolicked by my side, begging to run again. And though it was a painful process at first, over the course of two months I built up my stamina and strength to run three miles without stopping. My furry little ball of energy somehow managed to turn this anti-runner into a true run-a-holic, eager to get home from work and lace up my super comfy Sauconys to pound the pavement. For this monumental accomplishment, he can have all the dog treats in the world.




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