Nike Commercial

You got excited when you read that didn’t you? I know I did. When the email arrived telling me I had an audition for a Nike Commercial… HOLY SWEETNESS! Is this it?! Wait… Football? It’s a football commercial? I don’t know anything about football…

In fact, my friends often make fun of me when it comes to football, basketball, baseball… pretty much the American big name sports. They relate me to J.D. from that Sitcom Scrubs… and I quote “I like it when they do well at the game that they play.” That’s J.D. and that’s what my friends think of my sports knowledge.

And it’s not far off. I can throw a football, shoot hoops (though apparently that’s not what kids call it these days), and hit a baseball. But I don’t really know the rules. It wasn’t important to me when I was little. So how did I end up here? In a freezing indoor turf field with these super fancy cleats on my feet?

I have an agent. You know… for trying to be famous and stuff… she gets me auditions and I show up. Typically I don’t know anything about them when I arrive. I just go with minimal instructions as to how to prepare.

Also, just a heads up in case you don’t know… I’m 5’11” and weigh about 167 lbs. This easily made me not only the shortest person at the audition, but also the lightest by about 40 or 50 lbs. yep… kind of a trip.

3 minutes to warm up. Are you fucking kidding me?! I see the guy before me try to tear down the field in tennis shoes. He cuts right, left, spins, turns 180 degrees, sprints back and dives. It’s slow and it’s sloppy. He does it one more time. All in all, with everything he did, probably 3 minutes on the turf.

I’m up. Barely warm enough to register on a thermometer. This is going to be rough… but I don’t like slow. It leaves a bad taste in my pride. I say my name for the camera. Who represents me. What’s my Football experience. Oh that? None. I did run track in college. Neat. He hands me a football… shit, am I holding this right? No idea, doesn’t matter.

They want some model shots of the nifty cleats on my feet. I pose. My little tiny calves not quite the monsters they once were… 20 lbs ago. What they appeared to be after 9 straight months of hell, grooming them to be nothing but raw torque and finness.

My legs were the sacrifice I made for climbing. My freakishly fast, super bouncy tree trunks were nothing but dead weight on my finger tips and if I had to lose weight… why not give it up in the muscles I wasn’t using? When I finished track, I promised myself I wouldn’t run anymore if I didn’t find a way to enjoy it. I still have not found a way to fall in love with running again. So I don’t. The legs are gone.

I’m on the line, poised. No feelings of anxiety, or pressure to perform. Just do it. Don’t hold back. Vroom. The man with the camera says “go” and I take off. The cleats are light. Bouncy. I pop from step to step. I don’t feel balanced like I should. Like my spikes would let me feel.

First cut to the right. Dime edge turn. What the hell just happened? I just… I uh… I’m still going. Hardly any speed is lost. Second turn. Step, pop, my feet are moving and my body is at a loss for these shoes. What am I doing? Spin, boom, done. No clue how it looked on camera, but I think I just invented a ballet move. Forward to the cone, turn 180 and sprint back to the start… and ready to drop hips? NO! I’m already through. My weight didn’t shift, I just ripped my whole body away. My legs are leaving the rest of me behind. How is this happening? In flats, I’d sink in, brace for it, my quads/glutes/hams would all fire and explode to propel me in the new direction… but I didn’t. I just went…

I’m on the home stretch. Hold together. Dive across the pads. Easy. I fly through the air, careen over the pad and slam into the wall. Sweet.

Simon (that dude with the camera?) yells at me “Run down, grab the ball, lets do it again.” I hop up, quickly jog down… wait. Lungs are ok. Heart rate is fine… why am I choking? Man… I forgot breakfast didn’t I? And that Mountain Dew isn’t helping things either. Congratulations, you just bought yourself an afternoon of butt lock and lactic acid overload.

The second one, I managed to hold it together. I was more prepared for the shoes to do their magic. I reacted better. Got tighter on the cones and felt I improved… until the final stretch. The mad dash home. That sickening feeling in my throat gurgles up. The cold air in my lungs is burning. A very strong dwarf grabs both of my butt cheeks and crushes them in his hands. That dwarf is lactic acid. That dwarf is butt lock. I don’t dive across the finish onto the pad so much as I just eat shit and slide face first across the line.

They say thank you. I give them their pretty shoes back and I thank them for their time. I grab my stuff. I head to the car… and then curl up in a ball next to it… waiting to vomit. It’s pooling inside me. my head is light. Stand up, you shit. Are you this weak? Is this who you are? I didn’t peg you for someone who lays down and waits for the shaking to stop. I stand up. Don’t let your knees lock. The lights dim… oh here we go… don’t you black out. I squat to the ground. Focus on your breathing. At least do that for yourself.

I remember you. The demon inside me. I hate you. I hate who I become when you get involved. I’ve found peace since you went to sleep. I don’t need you now. I don’t want you.

I miss my legs. I miss being the monster. But I don’t miss everything that went with it. The price I paid in lost time with my family. How I spoke to myself. How I treated myself. How I treated those that cared about me. 3 minutes on a field and that little bastards back. He’s here to remind me I’ll never be good enough. I’ll never be enough.

He taught me many things. How to ignore pain. How to find my limits. But through him, I never did anything for love. I never did it because I LOVED what I was doing. I did it because I had to. I had to know… know what? I still don’t know.

Are you confused yet? This took a weird and unexpected turn didn’t it… welcome to my world. The confusion. The lack of answers. The demon taught me many things but left me spinning my wheels.

I don’t miss him. I enjoy the calm I find without him. I’ve learned just how far I can go without him, and much stronger I am for it.

Besides… football is a stupid sport anyways. :p