everything I know I learnt from rugby
So I've decided to play rugby this term instead of rowing right..and vicki and I have been turning up for rugby training faithfully - hour long sessions which have proven to be half everyone standing around chatting, and half passing the ball around. even the learning to tackle bit was quite funny - with instructions like: kneel in front of her, cheek-to-(butt)cheek, apply pressure to the knees - how could it not be?
So it's all good fun for two weeks: we love the rugby girls - they're so sweet and fun and non-bitchy. Then our first match is scheduled, and we are told we're going to have to play because there aren't enough people. So we trundle along to the pitch early saturday morning, feeling quite trepidatious, but then thinking that it's going to be mostly fun like the way training has been. Then just as we're pulling on our cool maroon rugby socks, naomi reassures (!) as by saying "don't worry. the worst thing that ever happened was my dislocated shoulder".
fuck me. vicki and I look at each other with newfound doom, both thinking that our shared attachment to avoiding physical pain would soon be ripped from us kicking and screaming. then we see the other team - there are many manly looking girls with teeth and tufts of hair missing. sense of impending doom deepens.
And then the game actually starts. there's screaming. there's tackling. there's me flying backwards cradling the ball as a ginger-haired man tackles me mercilessly. it's 40 minutes of insanity. we're completely trashed of course - they score like 4 tries to our 1, and the ginger man gets me a couple more times. And towards the end of the second half, I literally feel like running off the pitch: I'm so tired, and so scared of the ginger man, and of tackling the opposition...because each time i go to do it, the thought of various forms of pain (and trust, many went through my mind) inhibited my full charge.
thinking about the game afterwards, and talking to dush (hardcore rugby man who's had a broken arm, dislocated fingers, black eye etc etc from the game) about it, it becomes obvious to me that on the pitch all I could remember thinking about was how to stay out of the way: don't get the ball in case the ginger man attacked; don't tackle anyone else in case they stepped on my face or something. and my inihibitions stopped me from making any sort of contribution in that game.
and in a sense, my self-preservation instinct on the field is very much like my self-preservation instinct in life...i never dare to do anything because i overthink the consequences. and as much as I like to think that I've adopted the alanis philsophy (you know: "i recommend biting off more than you can chew; getting your heart trampled on; you live you learn etc etc), I've never dared to just say fuck it and dive at the ball - all I can think about is how it might hurt later. And if all I do is worry about the risks, I'm never going to take the chances that might pay off.
It might seem very classic me to be able to overanalyse and extrapolate this kind of thing from a rugby game, but the truth is attitudes in the field are very characteristic of personalities in general. And being in a proper rugby game, and wanting to be a good player but knowing that there was something holding me back, just kind of brought home the fact that i've spent so much time being afraid of getting hurt, that i haven't noticed life passing me by.
That's a very asian thing isn't it, to care so much about face and being so full of inhibitions. Being here had only brought home just how liberating life can be when you just throw all caution to the wind. And so I'm gonna keep at rugby, although I know it can be dangerous. And I'm going now to knock on a door and take a chance. Because I might break an arm, or a heart -
but hey, what the hell.
So it's all good fun for two weeks: we love the rugby girls - they're so sweet and fun and non-bitchy. Then our first match is scheduled, and we are told we're going to have to play because there aren't enough people. So we trundle along to the pitch early saturday morning, feeling quite trepidatious, but then thinking that it's going to be mostly fun like the way training has been. Then just as we're pulling on our cool maroon rugby socks, naomi reassures (!) as by saying "don't worry. the worst thing that ever happened was my dislocated shoulder".
fuck me. vicki and I look at each other with newfound doom, both thinking that our shared attachment to avoiding physical pain would soon be ripped from us kicking and screaming. then we see the other team - there are many manly looking girls with teeth and tufts of hair missing. sense of impending doom deepens.
And then the game actually starts. there's screaming. there's tackling. there's me flying backwards cradling the ball as a ginger-haired man tackles me mercilessly. it's 40 minutes of insanity. we're completely trashed of course - they score like 4 tries to our 1, and the ginger man gets me a couple more times. And towards the end of the second half, I literally feel like running off the pitch: I'm so tired, and so scared of the ginger man, and of tackling the opposition...because each time i go to do it, the thought of various forms of pain (and trust, many went through my mind) inhibited my full charge.
thinking about the game afterwards, and talking to dush (hardcore rugby man who's had a broken arm, dislocated fingers, black eye etc etc from the game) about it, it becomes obvious to me that on the pitch all I could remember thinking about was how to stay out of the way: don't get the ball in case the ginger man attacked; don't tackle anyone else in case they stepped on my face or something. and my inihibitions stopped me from making any sort of contribution in that game.
and in a sense, my self-preservation instinct on the field is very much like my self-preservation instinct in life...i never dare to do anything because i overthink the consequences. and as much as I like to think that I've adopted the alanis philsophy (you know: "i recommend biting off more than you can chew; getting your heart trampled on; you live you learn etc etc), I've never dared to just say fuck it and dive at the ball - all I can think about is how it might hurt later. And if all I do is worry about the risks, I'm never going to take the chances that might pay off.
It might seem very classic me to be able to overanalyse and extrapolate this kind of thing from a rugby game, but the truth is attitudes in the field are very characteristic of personalities in general. And being in a proper rugby game, and wanting to be a good player but knowing that there was something holding me back, just kind of brought home the fact that i've spent so much time being afraid of getting hurt, that i haven't noticed life passing me by.
That's a very asian thing isn't it, to care so much about face and being so full of inhibitions. Being here had only brought home just how liberating life can be when you just throw all caution to the wind. And so I'm gonna keep at rugby, although I know it can be dangerous. And I'm going now to knock on a door and take a chance. Because I might break an arm, or a heart -
but hey, what the hell.
overanalysis and extrapolation - we are not so different afterall. (: thank you for your very sweet birthday card - i treasure it very much. although "manly looking girls with teeth and tufts of hair missing" may be too much of a hyperbole - i am glad that you follow your heart and not your head. (: God will make a way.
Posted by
zhuang |
5:50 AM
it is not hyperbolic! you didn't seem them - how would you know! for the record: these are girls who have been playing full contact rugby for very long k. haha
Posted by
chang! |
9:38 AM
i think being prudent is a worth-having virtue. find the balance.
Posted by
R |
8:17 AM