.png)
This story is not easy to tell for the Ilse of a year ago. But for today's Ilse, it is different.
A year ago I ate, breathed, worked, slept and did everything for a dream: to win the billet world championship. And to achieve this, he had to be part of the Mexican national team.
Yes, that sport that is like a branch of the American sport. No, there's supposed to be no contact. Yes, there is but it is accidental. They are not ribbons that hang on my hips, they are flags. Yes, it is something complicated to explain.
But not to feel.
I learned about this sport when I was 15 years old and immediately fell in love. The sweat, the union, the effort and the teamwork caught me, they pushed me to move forward from the first day I experienced it. Each workout was demanding on the body and mind. It was something I hadn't encountered in any other sport before, and it sounds a bit masochistic, but I loved it. I always ended up extremely tired and more than once I was on the verge of vomiting.
There are many exciting, happy, sad and even funny stories that I lived in this 6-year journey, and the older I grew the more ambitious I became. I wanted to take on the world.
So in September 2017, 3 teammates and I went to Mexico City to prove ourselves to the national team coaches and demonstrate that those girls from the hidden city called Colima where it is rumored that there is barely a Walmart, were capable of represent the entire country in an international competition.
And we failed.
The truth is we weren't good enough to stay, although it wasn't that bad. There were many people far above our level from whom we learned a lot, and the potential in us existed. But my dream of becoming a high-end athlete was clouded
Seeing so many girls so fast, athletic, with experience and a thousand championships on top, was something a bit VERY OPACANT. We were the girls who paid for their trip to the big metropolis by selling candy on the street, we went there in a small van in an uncomfortable 12-hour trip while other players arrived by plane, they had 3 different pairs of cleats and sports clothing that cost more than my studies.
She was like an India María next to a Megan Fox in a beauty pageant.
As time went by, my dream became a small marble that I kept under the bed because I wanted to ignore it. But it was still there, bothering and bothering me from the depths of my subconscious.
I remember watching the World Cup matches in Panama 2018 on the Internet. I remember getting excited with every shot, play, game, and point. The Mexican women's team came in fourth place. I continued training here in Colima every day. But my mind was still there, in the promised land.
I was willing to swim against the current like Michael Phelps in order to get my gold medal. And nothing and no one, not even those who had everything paid for, not even the coaches' favorite players were going to stop me. If they can, why can't I?
And so I began my 2019, full of determination (and an extra kilo or two thanks to the holidays) to be the best version of myself. I stopped drinking, I started exercising about 3 hours a day, I ate as healthy as possible, I stayed up late to finish my tasks and I didn't miss training for the world.
My partner Diana, equally or more attached to this dream, and I, traveled to Mexico City on February 22 and 23 to do physical tests. Then in June and then in September. I felt at a good level, far above several others. During all that time I demanded more and more of myself and the wait to see the final list of those selected was killing me.
But the final test was needed: The Federation's National Tournament in November in Mexico City, where the level is the most demanding. The national team coaches would be there, carrying out the final scouting to choose the girls who would be part of the representative team.
We did very well in the first phase, we won our 3 games. But we lost resoundingly and overwhelmingly in the round of 16.
I thought I had developed a good role. I had hope. Many told me that I played well. It's always frustrating to lose but I was satisfied with my participation.
I was?
There was something that did not fit.
But what was done was done, so I recapitulated: I attended all the training sessions in Mexico City (even though they told me 6 days in advance), I prepared myself physically, I improved my throwing technique, my strength and my condition. I came to training injured under the effect of injections that relieved the pain.
I did everything I should and could do to achieve my goal.
And February came again and they published the list of the girls who were still participating for a place in the national team. I was in class when Diana sent me a message with the link to the results page, the results that I had been waiting for for almost a year, the results that I worked so hard for, that I stayed sober for 384 days, that I dreamed since I was 17 years old. My fingers were shaking and my heart was beating like I was running at top speed as I read the list for the first time. Then a second. And then a third.
My eyes ran over the same names without finding mine anywhere.
I didn't make it. Neither did Diana.
But do you know the strangest thing?
Something still didn't fit.
The Ilse of a year ago imagined this scenario and although she saw it as a possibility, it hurt and she cried from desperation, from the fear of not getting what she longed for.
But not today's Ilse. She was calm.
The billet has undoubtedly been a very important pillar in my life. But what kept me there giving body and soul was not the games. They were the training sessions. It wasn't the points he scored in each game, but rather practicing plays for hours and hours until they turned out well. It wasn't the championships or the victories, it was my teammates and I supporting each other in difficult or happy moments. It was tearing out my heart and throat to support the family I chose. It was lifting up those who fell and defending them with my life. It was entering the playing field with the certainty that the person next to me loved me and would do everything in his power for the team to succeed. It was hearing my dad congratulate me from the stands for throwing a good pass and hearing the entire team support you even though they didn't even know you. It was giving everything even if we were visiting and with everything against us. It was crying, laughing, jumping, screaming, feeling angry and playing as if there was no tomorrow.
I fell in love with the whole process, not just the trophies.
I got to sleep in luxurious hotels in Cancun and I got to bathe with bucketfuls of cold water in Mexico City at 11 at night with a temperature of 9°C.
That was my life and I was very happy with it.
It was what made me feel alive the most.
I didn't mind selling sweets under the sun on the street to pay for my trips. Because I turned around and next to me there were sisters doing the same thing so we could achieve our goals together.
I never minded having only one pair of cleats because I had teammates who used the same sneakers for years even though they no longer worked because they didn't have the money to buy new ones and they still went to train every day.
It didn't hurt me to lose my opportunity to go to a World Cup because it hurt me more to look back and realize that the family I grew up with no longer existed.
All year I trained for myself, to improve, to grow, to achieve something. But I would change all the "Best Player" awards to have given the team one more championship.
Just to see them happy and fulfilled once again.
But little by little each one grew, changed and saw another side. Maybe something else filled them with life. Maybe they found another family.
I will never stop feeling love for the most beautiful and challenging sport I have ever known. But things have changed and I can't force something I don't feel.
I'll be honest. I gave my all and I have no regrets. But it wasn't enough and I accept it. Everyone tells you about how Cristiano Ronaldo didn't have soccer shoes and yet he got to where he is. But for every Ronaldo there are 10,000 children that no one ever meets and never become footballers.
But they become doctors. Artists. Parents of family. Dreams don't die, they just adapt.
I don't know if I'm giving up or just growing and being realistic. But all this goes beyond national recognition for being a good athlete.
It's about the mark that sport leaves on you and the people you meet thanks to it.
What happens when dreams don't come true? I'm not really sure how to answer that. But what I can say with certainty is that sometimes you're already living the dream. You just haven't realized it.
