especially nice (aside from the goalie, but that might just be his personality), and the other therapists have been welcoming and helpful. If there’s been any weirdness or resentment that there’s a woman on the team in a very hands-on position, I haven’t noticed. Plus, Mateo has been such a doll with me, going above and beyond to make me feel more at home, even though I can tell he’s ruffled the primary physician’s feathers a little.
Dr. Julio Costa is a bit of a dick. When I first met him, he seemed fine, if not dismissive, but since I’ve shown up for work every morning this week at 9:15 (actually, I’ve been here at eight-thirty, just to put in the extra effort), he’s been watching me like a hawk. Granted, I haven’t been attending that many players yet, just assessing them and strapping up some ankles before practice, but the doctor is always there watching everything I do. It’s not only annoying, but it’s gotten under my skin a little, like he doesn’t trust me.
Mateo quickly took note of it and a few times I caught the two of them arguing out of earshot (not that I could understand them anyway). I can’t help but think Dr. Costa doesn’t think I belong here, and from the way the other therapists act around him, it seems he gets in everyone’s business.
But it wasn’t just hostility or doubt from Dr. Costa that made it difficult. It’s the fact that the team has their first real game of the season in a week’s time and as the head physical therapist, a lot of that pressure falls on me. I don’t have a feel for the players yet, what their strengths are, how their training is, what their past injuries have been. I’ve been staying in my office late every single night pouring over the medical records and training files of each player, and I feel like it’s going to take me forever to catch up.
So, yeah. There’s a lot to take in and I feel like I’m running out of time. I’m quite sure the team can go on to their first La Liga match and win without me even being here at all, but still. I have a lot to prove. Maybe too much.
Now, it’s Saturday night and I’m this close to getting in bed, even though it’s only seven o’ clock. We have a rest day tomorrow, which I think everyone sorely needs. I wanted to stay in the office late again, but Mateo practically forced me to go home.
Instead, I take a long, hot shower from the creaking pipes and then attempt to do some yoga in the middle of the apartment. I actually have my own private room at Valdebebas, the same kind as the players, though my balcony overlooks the players’ cars instead of the field. It’s like a five-star quality hotel with its own jacuzzi, sitting area, and a bed made from heaven (with all the million-thread count bedding done up with the Real Madrid logo), all accessed by fingerprint door controls. It’s all very high-tech and tempting, but since I foresee many nights in my future where I’ll be sleeping there, I figure I might as well use my apartment while I can.
Besides, it’s good to just put some distance between me and work. I’ve been so busy this week that I haven’t really had a moment to myself, just to take in the new situation, hell, even to appreciate being in Madrid.
And as my phone beeps mid downward dog, I realize I’ve been neglecting my friends too. Helen, Kazzy, and Liz have all been texting and messaging me, but I’ve barely had the time to respond and only with quick one sentence answers. Even my mother called me, but I wasn’t able to take it. Tomorrow I really ought to take the time to fill everyone in on my new life.
But when I glance at my phone, I see the Whatsapp message is from Mateo.
I groan inwardly. What could he want now? He’s the one who sent me home.
I sit down on my mat and access the message.
Buenas noches, Thalia. I was wondering if you wanted to grab a drink with me and my wife tonight? You can say no, you won’t be fired.
I let out a laugh and really hope firing was never on the agenda. The truth is, I don’t even think I could have got through all my yoga moves. I’m that