I'm not really sure what I want out of rugby or why I play it. Not out of anger or bitterness for the sport, but these are things and questions born out of objective thought. I've managed to abscond so many terrible physical ailments and incidents. Claiming for myself more good fortune than I feel I deserve- knocking at the misty black door more times than once and apparently more than most kids I know that are my age. And for what? It's funny, but I turn from all of that just to toss myself into the jaws of a brutal sport that has already, over the last 4 years of it's chewing, left a few tooth marks. But I keep coming back. I know how terrible it is for me, and yet I keep coming back...
Sometimes I keep playing with dreams of playing alongside my brother again. And I don't know at what level of play that will be, but it is at times a well that I draw from. The warmth of the days in high school, when such a scenario was a reality never feel too far behind. Like a warm home when you walk out into the cold. But over time the heat dissipates and you're left to your own devices until you reach (or I guess for this purpose "feel") "home" again. And it is in that cold night walk that I feel I am walking. And it's not a bad thing. There is beauty in the night, lights on bushes and in the skies shining humbly all around in neighborhoods and cities whose dark corners and sidewalk cracks I've come to know. But regardless the warmth is not there, and "snow" does not have to fall for one to feel cold.
On other occasions I feel I play because it's something I'm good at. Never in my life have I ever been rewarded for being a "jack of all trades, master of nothing" type. Life in regard to trade and the like is about filling niches and capitalizing on strengths, neither of which of I've been able to fully do but in rugby I find my place just fine. On the contrary, my skill set makes me invaluable amongst my peers and a true presence on the field even on my "off games". And I love that feeling.
For the less optimistic days, I play rugby because I feel like with what I said above, it is only thing I have ever excelled at. And believe it or not, even when looked at objectively, unless you include in the comparison my strengths in agreeableness and my ability to make people feel very small, I'm completely right. And initially I'm happy to have found that one thing and gotten a chance to have a go at it... But doubts and worries find their ways in regardless and at this point in my "career" of sorts there are already some pretty valid things I have to worry about...
Concussions are a real fear. I've experienced memory loss before, and even blockages in my thoughts that didn't exist prior to instances of head trauma and now hinder me (though slightly)... But I don't want to ever push it beyond "slightly" hindering me. I can't abuse my body like that. I want to be able to kick a ball around with my kids, even with my rickety knees being as damaged as they already are. And to be able to be their protector with my damaged shoulders and crackley hands. And, if none of that other great stuff, I want to at least be able to remember their names when I'm 80 years old and wheeling around in my rusty wheelchair.
My mother has tried numerous times, just like anyone else who knows my medical history, to convince me to turn my back on the sport. To "get going while the going is good," but they full well that's not how love works. We don't always get to choose who or what we love. Only how much we are willing to give in to it and how much we will let it drive us. And I love rugby. I have come to the conclusion that I really, truly do. It has become the response to people's inquiries and worries. "Because I love it". And I know I do because I don't know what I would do without it. I see my future with it, and have thrown away bits of my past that were spent without it. I eat, sleep, drink and dream it. It's in my bones now. Literally. It's written across my skin in scars and scrapes.
And it is out of this love that I find an endless drive to keep not just working hard, but breaking myself down. I refuse to let anyone on the team work harder than me, and if I find I am slipping up I take offense to it. I feel it in my gut and chest and will claw my way back to the top in my mind. I work my tail off as it is, but along with it must go my hands, feet, shoulders and spine if that's what it takes to get me to the places I want to go. I work out three times a week with weights, do countless push-ups, sit-ups, planks, dips, and what have you every day between classes or even bites of meals, run miles at night and watch film when my mind should be resting. Then I go to every practice session I can, and punish myself for the minutes I miss, or the passes I screw up in any scrimmage or game, and double if we lose... And yet it's still not enough. At least not yet. But I swear it will be someday. It just has to be.
And if not?
I don't really have time to worry about that.
And I guess after all, through that text above it is clear that this message was more meant for me than any one of you reading this, but I guess it just had to be said.
If you'll excuse me, I'm now off to break my body down and take another step toward my dream. And I don't really believe in luck...
But if you could wish me the best of it, that would be nice.
Sometimes I keep playing with dreams of playing alongside my brother again. And I don't know at what level of play that will be, but it is at times a well that I draw from. The warmth of the days in high school, when such a scenario was a reality never feel too far behind. Like a warm home when you walk out into the cold. But over time the heat dissipates and you're left to your own devices until you reach (or I guess for this purpose "feel") "home" again. And it is in that cold night walk that I feel I am walking. And it's not a bad thing. There is beauty in the night, lights on bushes and in the skies shining humbly all around in neighborhoods and cities whose dark corners and sidewalk cracks I've come to know. But regardless the warmth is not there, and "snow" does not have to fall for one to feel cold.
On other occasions I feel I play because it's something I'm good at. Never in my life have I ever been rewarded for being a "jack of all trades, master of nothing" type. Life in regard to trade and the like is about filling niches and capitalizing on strengths, neither of which of I've been able to fully do but in rugby I find my place just fine. On the contrary, my skill set makes me invaluable amongst my peers and a true presence on the field even on my "off games". And I love that feeling.
For the less optimistic days, I play rugby because I feel like with what I said above, it is only thing I have ever excelled at. And believe it or not, even when looked at objectively, unless you include in the comparison my strengths in agreeableness and my ability to make people feel very small, I'm completely right. And initially I'm happy to have found that one thing and gotten a chance to have a go at it... But doubts and worries find their ways in regardless and at this point in my "career" of sorts there are already some pretty valid things I have to worry about...
Concussions are a real fear. I've experienced memory loss before, and even blockages in my thoughts that didn't exist prior to instances of head trauma and now hinder me (though slightly)... But I don't want to ever push it beyond "slightly" hindering me. I can't abuse my body like that. I want to be able to kick a ball around with my kids, even with my rickety knees being as damaged as they already are. And to be able to be their protector with my damaged shoulders and crackley hands. And, if none of that other great stuff, I want to at least be able to remember their names when I'm 80 years old and wheeling around in my rusty wheelchair.
My mother has tried numerous times, just like anyone else who knows my medical history, to convince me to turn my back on the sport. To "get going while the going is good," but they full well that's not how love works. We don't always get to choose who or what we love. Only how much we are willing to give in to it and how much we will let it drive us. And I love rugby. I have come to the conclusion that I really, truly do. It has become the response to people's inquiries and worries. "Because I love it". And I know I do because I don't know what I would do without it. I see my future with it, and have thrown away bits of my past that were spent without it. I eat, sleep, drink and dream it. It's in my bones now. Literally. It's written across my skin in scars and scrapes.
And it is out of this love that I find an endless drive to keep not just working hard, but breaking myself down. I refuse to let anyone on the team work harder than me, and if I find I am slipping up I take offense to it. I feel it in my gut and chest and will claw my way back to the top in my mind. I work my tail off as it is, but along with it must go my hands, feet, shoulders and spine if that's what it takes to get me to the places I want to go. I work out three times a week with weights, do countless push-ups, sit-ups, planks, dips, and what have you every day between classes or even bites of meals, run miles at night and watch film when my mind should be resting. Then I go to every practice session I can, and punish myself for the minutes I miss, or the passes I screw up in any scrimmage or game, and double if we lose... And yet it's still not enough. At least not yet. But I swear it will be someday. It just has to be.
And if not?
I don't really have time to worry about that.
And I guess after all, through that text above it is clear that this message was more meant for me than any one of you reading this, but I guess it just had to be said.
If you'll excuse me, I'm now off to break my body down and take another step toward my dream. And I don't really believe in luck...
But if you could wish me the best of it, that would be nice.
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