Jersey #9: Kentucky's Journey

So it's been a few days since my last post, but that's because I'm here at home...and since other people actually live here I have other things to do rather than sit in front of a glowing screen all day....

However, a few fun things have happened since my last post, and because of the different environment here (i.e. not being alone) I've had a little time to reflect on how that affects my training, lifestyle, etc.

Although living alone in Iowa, going to school, and training for rugby can be pretty boring at times, there are some benefits. For example, at school, I'm rarely likely to miss a workout, eat badly for several days in a row, or lose focus on my goals. However, I'm very likely to be really stressed, be extremely anti-social, watch tv WAAAY too much, check facebook like 4 million times a day, and to just generally drive myself nuts with self-criticism. On the other hand, being back at home surrounded by family, old friends, and the occassional rugby friend who flies all the way in from New Mexico (yay Jill!!) has kept me very busy. I have been social, fairly happy, only watched tv moderately, and best of all had some time to practice rugby and train a little with Jill (we totally made up some amazing back-row plays and are WAY excited). However, there are drawbacks to this lifestyle as well. I eat too much crap, have a tendency to go out and drink with friends which impedes me from working out the next day (hangover + sprinting = ugh), and just generally lose some of the focus I have when I'm alone....

What I really wish is that, at least while I'm here, I could find a way to mesh the good parts of both lifestyles. For instance, continue the discipline with my workouts and nutrition, while still spending time with friends and family. While going out occassionally for drinks is fine, so much so that it interferes with my rugby goals is definitely not cool - so maybe some of those nights I could be happy with just spending a few hours with friends and then heading home to bed. And when I get back to school in Iowa, perhaps I could curb my psychoticness by spending more time with friends (in a non-alcoholic way), curbing my tv time, and generally trying to enjoy myself a little more. The balance is hard to find in life....Obsessive seems to be good for my game, bad for my head...any thoughts?

Other than this hermit vs. social butterfly conflict, I was excited to find out today that in a couple weeks I am finally going to meet up with a very prominent USA Weightlifting coach and competitor to work on technique in Olympic Lifts. He and I have been corresponding by email for the past couple of years after I contacted him initially to find someone willing to give me some training on the more complicated lifts (Clean, snatch, etc). He managed to hook me up with one of the Univ. of Ky strength and conditioning coaches who trained me once or twice a week for free on his own time for a couple months, which helped me tremendously with my technique. Since my move to Iowa, I have kept in contact with both men, keeping them updated on the rugby world (one was an old UVA Rugby player so he knows the game), and letting them know about my successes and struggles along the way. I am very excited to meet up with them both after all this time, and will report back on what I learn in my session (I am promised that I will be taught some "secrets" to speed and will get my 40 time to where I want it to be)!!

In the meantime, it's late and the folks are returning from a Christmas party, so I should head downstairs and greet them.

I wish a Merry Christmas, Happy Hanukkah, and a Fantastic Festivus (ever seen Seinfeld?) to all!!!!

Rugby Love

P.S.

C-A-T-S, CATS!! CATS!!! CATS!!!!.....UK over UMASS 82-68 tonight...How 'bout them Wildcats?!?

Yay!!!! Today after my last final at 10am, I'm packin up my white pickup truck and heading home to the Bluegrass State!!! There is NOTHING more exciting for me than getting over the state line and seeing the hills, horses, and mountains after having driven hour upon hour through the desert-like cornfields...SOOOO boring. I'll admit that the midwest has a lot to offer, I mean, it feeds the rest of the country, they drink lots of beer...they take care of their lawns...they have some kickass rugby =)....but a couple of things they certainly do not have is beautiful scenery and good weather. I mean, seriously, I don't mind the cold if it's worthwhile. When it snows at home or in a place like Colorado you can go sledding, skiiing, hiking, etc, etc. Here in Iowa what do you do? Well, if you're really ambitious you might build a snowman. And oh, btw, if a native midwesterner ever invites you sledding, excited that they have found a VERY big hill - do not believe them. It will merely be a patch of sloping grass and you will be very disappointed.

However, snow is not what I'm concerned with right now, because at 10pm tonight I'll be hanging with all my friends back home in Big Blue Nation, spending a couple nights at UK, and then heading home to Pikeville, KY where it is 65 degrees!!! Excited, YES!!!

What does this mean for rugby??? Well, for one it means I'll have a training partner and someone to catch my passes for a few days because my friend Jill is coming to visit from New Mexico...It also means I'll get a much-needed break from training indoors.








Country home, I love you.





P.S. The pictures are of my hometown (top, left), and Kentucky Basketball (bottom, right)

Having completed my first all-nighter in many, many months, I'm feeling a little cocky. Though no one ever wants to spend the wee hours of the morning writing pointless papers and studying useless facts (Did you know that the city of Astrakan is located on the Volga river??? Yeah..I didn't think so) somehow, the fact that I'm CAPABLE of doing so makes me want to pat myself on the back at least a little bit. After the 20 hour studying marathon, my yesterday was spent either sleeping or in a couldy daze, and all who came in contact with me were shocked to hear that my hillbilly accent was in rare, uninhibited form. It's not that I ever really TRY to change how I speak - and really, only in professional situations am I even concious of it. Yet somehow my brain seems to adapt to my surroundings without my permission so that when I'm away from my home in the hollers my accent tends to drift out a little. However, when confronted with lack of sleep, alcohol, excitement, or a phone call from a hometown friend my true voice comes back in full swing. Really, I wish it would just stay there. If you know me and have never experienced this, just call me on the phone and instead of beginning the conversation with "Hey, what's up", try something like this: "Wha'ya doin' bub?" or perhaps, "Ay, How 'bout them wil-cats?" or even , "wha'ya been up to keeler?" These key "hillbilly trigger phrases" are sure to bring out the little redneck in my voice.



Aside from the return of hillbillyishness, I'm pretty impressed with this being by far my healthiest finals week ever. Normally all rules of health go out the window right about now and I can be found downing mountain dews by the boatload, scarfing down endless amounts of chinese food, and when it's all over? Well, lets just say more that a little alcohol is consumed for celebratory purposes. And what of my strict workouts?? Well...that time is normally consumed by stress and studying. This time around, however, NONE of those things have happened. Yes, I did pull an all-nighter sunday night - but earlier that evening I ran sprints and lifted for a good two hours. I continued eating only the good-for-me things hanging around my kitchen, spoiling myself with fat-free frozen yogurt and natural peanut butter to spice things up. To stay awake a kept a four-pack of sugar-free redbull on hand, and that did the job nicely. A day of rest, relief, and a sh*t-ton of Vitamin C later I'm back on my feet and ready to hit the world head on once again. All the tough stuff is over, and now I just have to clean the abode and study for a couple measly essay tests. Considering that finals-time type stress usually throws me so far off track from my goals that I have to recommit all over again a week later, I'm pretty impressed with myself...

Perhaps this is a signal of change in my life? Maybe I'm learning how to deal without the stuff in the glass bottle, 5 pints of haagen-daaz, and just general emotional meltdown. It feels good.

Anyhow, the temperature is hanging out somewhere above freezing today, so I'm gonna head out for a nice session of box-kicks and scrumhalf passing - maybe I'll even practice some drop goals just for fun.....like I said, I'm feeling a little cocky =)

So, there are a number of things that are making my life very frustrating right now, not the least of them being finals week. Since tomorrow I have to turn in two papers and take a test, I have spent most of today on my computer, rotting my brain away. Luckily, as I was venting my frustrations to one of my friends, she suggested that I try my hand at a little game called "God's Playing Field". Friggin awesome. You get to smash little people with a giant hand and lightning bolts and *sigh*, sadly I beat the whole game and then continued to play for 15 minutes after that. Anyways, I wanted to share it with the world. Enjoy!

Well, I'm a little bit bummed today. I finally solicited someone to come out and time some 40's with me and well.....the numbers are all over the place.

My best time: 5.81
My worst time: 6.13 (also my first run)

The rest? Well, all over the place.....5.94, 6.04, 5.84...etc, no consistancy.

The 5.81 isn't so bad considering some of my times in the past.....my best time at a tryout was a 5.85, so this would be better than that. What concerns me is that I'm not consistent. Even if I have a 5.75 in me, if I step up to the line at a tryout and pull a 6.1 out of my ass, then it doesn't really do me much good....I mean, seriously, we only get two runs at it...=(

So yeah, a little discouraging. I work out everyday...I do the speed stuff...I eat well....ya know, live the life - I'd just like to see some results. And aside from tryouts, what really matters is what happens on the field. If I am improving my speed, can I show it out there where it really counts? Hopefully footwork camp in January will help me out a little bit where that is concerned, but I suppose I'll have to wait and see.

If anyone has any tips, feel free to send them my way.

Rugby love to all...

-KY

Some days (not today because I'm feeling pretty optimistic) when that alarm goes off at 5:30am and I drag myself off of my shatty couch, I'm not the happiest of campers. I wipe the sleep from my eyes and the ice from my windshield, and then navigate the deserted streets toward the UNI wellness & rec center, all the while shivering and constantly reminding myself of how much warmer I would be had I not left Kentucky to better my rugby career. When I finally get into the building and give the workers at the desk my card to swipe, there is about an 85% chance that one of them will find something wrong with my Student ID and question whether or not I'm allowed to go in. It must be so obvious in their minds that everyday I wake up before dawn and deviously dress entirely in UNI Rugby attire, grab my *fake* student ID, and with a bag full of plyo cones and a rugby ball prepare to cause trouble at the rec - I mean, seriously. If I'm lucky, I convince them of my pure intentions (either that or fill out no less than 2 "official documents") and am permitted to pass. Once on the basketball courts I proceed to do the running/plyo part of my workout, all the while battling the occassional soccer girls doing some ridiculous workout involving kicking a medicine ball around the perimeter of the court. Eventually, I finish up and head upstairs to the free weight room that will be closing to "non-athletes" sometime in the next hour, so I have to hurry. Despite this being the only time of day that I am able to use both the basketball courts and the free weight room within the same time frame (thus waking at 5:30), you can imagine how demoralizing it is to open the door and find an entire team of wrestlers, softball players, or basketball players taking up every possible rack and platform in the place. As I struggle to work around them and get in all the hang cleans, front squats, and chin-ups required for the day, I'm always amused to overhear some of the conversations going on around me. Some complain of being too tired, others talk about how wasted they got the night before, still others are begging their strength coach to, "take it easy today". Not that I've never been guilty of asking a coach for a let-up, or that I'm not tired in the morning, it just always serves to remind me that unlike these athletes, I don't have to be there. No one will cut my playing time if I skip today's workout or take away my non-existant scholarship money. No one checks to see if I'm getting stronger or if I've been eating right or if I'm getting any faster. No one forces me to contstantly watch films and analyze my mistakes in order to improve my performance...

No one, that is, but me.

For all the flaws of being a highly competitive rugby player - the incoveniences, the lack of support, the lack of money - there is something deeply satisfying about knowing you did it yourself. Call me crazy, but there is some type of high I get everytime I complete a week's worth of workouts that no one "made" me do; everytime I sneak into the "athlete" basketball gyms to practice my scrumhalf passing against the wall for an hour; everytime I politely decline an invite to a night of boozing...And everytime I forget why it's worth it, I look at those jerseys hanging on my wall and remember all the experiences and priviledges my sacrifices have afforded me...and I don't regret a second.

I may be tired, stressed, poor, and sometimes even a litter bitter, but in the end I believe that what does not kill us does indeed make us stronger. I started as a 115 lb shrimp of a scrumhalf who somehow Kamikaze tackled her way to U19 National Team tryouts, and from there I've never looked back. I'm still not the most naturally gifted athlete in the world, but I've built myself into a person I can be proud of, and I have rugby to thank for that.

Not too long ago, I was searching through Latin quotes that Roman soldiers and gladiators used thousands of years ago for inspiration, and I came upon one that I felt really described who I strive to be as a player and a person, and thought others might find it inspirational as well. The quote:

CONCUSSUS SURGO

or in English, "When struck, I rise". Hmmm....maybe it's time for a new tattoo ;)

1. Sky Dive (unoriginal I know...but really, what could beat jumping out of a plane)

2. Go to Alaska

3. Learn to play guitar

4. Write a book

5. Hike at Yosemite (thanks to Streets awesome pictures from her trip)

6. Swim with dolphins

7. Play rugby in New Zealand

8. Own a Cane Corso (type of dog...I'm kind of a dork)

9. Learn to ride a motorcycle

10. Go rock climbing

11. Meet an All Black

12. Revisit Iceland

13. Go to a UK vs. Louisville or Uk vs. Duke basketball game while covered in blue paint

14. Hike part of the Appalachian Trail

15. Read the Bible (well, at least the good parts)

16. Punch someone in the face ( I guess this shouldn't have immediately followed the bible thing)

17. Date a guy with an accent...preferrably australian, kiwi, or irish

18. Captain a high level select-side team

19. Run a 5.5-5.6 40 yd dash

18. Bench press more than my body weight

19. Score a drop goal

20. Chop down my own chistmas tree

21. Go hunting and actually shoot something

22. Get married and have my daddy walk me down the aisle

23. Own a horse

24. Live in a foreign country

25. Learn how to make my grandma's strawberry jelly



...more to come when I think of it. For now, these will keep me busy I think...

So I heard this song on the new American Medical Association commercial...I found it on this site and just thought I'd share the link because, I dunno, I like mushy songs and stuff like that, and just in case anyone else does, here goes:

http://www.bigshouldersdubs.com/clients/ama/webpost/WhatsInFrontOfMe-Audio.html

lyrics:

What's in Front of Me

If I could give you
Would you receive?
Could we find the faith together to believe?
If in my choosing I still had a choice
If I speak for those who are without a voice

Oh may I be
One who sees
What's in front of me
What's in front of me

I am but one voice
I'll sing clear and strong
Until a half a million voices join our song
Our hearts are open
Our arms are wide
And if the water rises
We'll be here to turn the tide

Oh may I be
One who sees
What's in front of me
What's in front of me

As I explained in my profile, I am an english major, and on rare but gratifying occassions I am able to mix my love of rugby with my studies in english. One such occassion occured last year when I took a Personal Essay class. On the first day I was told we would need to come up with a day, event, or moment in time which had been important to us enough to write a short essay about. I knew immediately what I would write...

This is an essay about the last game I played on the U19 GNT United Kingdom Tour 2004. I may not remember all the details, but I remember this:


Wings


“I’ve always wanted to fly…” I whispered to myself as I traced the outline of the Eagle with my finger, watching as my battered hand slowly made its way over each stitch of white thread, then across the bold blue letters spelling out “USA RUGBY”. The words and logo were stitched onto the left side of my jersey, right above my heart, so I could feel the pounding inside my chest as I sat against the wall thinking back to a time when I knew so desperately what I wanted out of life, and not a clue how to get there.

I closed my eyes and cradled my forehead in my hands. I could see myself there, just a kid staring out the window of my grade school classroom, watching as a jet soared past. I wished I could just beam myself up into the sky – to be a pilot, an astronaut, even a bird – anything that would get me into the air. As that fantasy took hold of my early life, I had already made plans to join the Air Force. For me, defending my country from the cockpit of a jet, traveling at the limits of man’s imagination, was a dream I salivated for. But that was a long time ago. Today I was 19, and there was no Air Force, no jet, no dream.

I lifted my head from my hands and studied the red, white and blue bandage that was wrapped around my thigh, relieving pressure from a knee that would buckle in pain without it. Bruises of every color were splotched about my legs, while my hands were a collaboration of scrapes, cleat marks, and the telltale signs of more than a few previously broken fingers. The contrast of my sparkly red, white and blue nail polish and inspirational words written in Sharpie reading, “LEAD” and “COWBOY UP” made my otherwise hideous hands appear comical.

Three weeks of devastatingly hard work had molded those hands, and led directly to this moment. On the inaugural overseas tour of the U19 Girl’s National Team, we had battled Wales and lost; clashed with Canada and tied. Now poised to take on our biggest challenge yet, the English, we were told there was no chance – we would be destroyed, embarrassed, and sent home to America with nothing of Britain but the soil between our cleats. Yet for us, embarrassment was not a possibility. We were the USA – The Eagles – and though we were scared, we were ready.

Thinking back, I’m certain that if an outsider had entered those doors he could have smelled the anxiety. Yet we were so saturated in our angst that it was no longer detectable to us. Only the pungent odor of a burning ointment we liked to call “Devil’s Spit” and the occasional waft of a stench escaping our cleat bags was evident. Nervous clinks of metal against pavement echoed from the cinderblock walls as players tapped out apprehension with their cleats. The sound of my own boots was likely to be leading this symphony of clicks, as no one’s stomach could have been filled with more butterflies than my own. Just nine short months ago I had scarcely even heard of rugby, and suddenly I found myself among the fifteen best young players in the country. Not only that, but I was to lead them at the position of scrumhalf – a quarterback of sorts on a rugby team. Despite my lack of experience, it would be my duty to direct my teammates, make crucial decisions, and distribute the ball across the field. If I didn’t know what I was doing, I would sure as hell have to figure it out soon.

These were my thoughts as we donned our country’s colors the on the 3rd of July 2004, 228 years after our nation first celebrated its independence from the British. I was reminded that we Americans would once again be challenging our English brethren for respect – albeit in a very different arena – and I would be the one to lead them into battle. I looked again at the Eagle resting over my heart, its wings outstretched and talons ready as if coming in for the kill…I took a deep breath.


The thick silence of pre-game thoughts was broken when we were abruptly called together by our coaches. Our head coach, Karl Barth, looked irritated, “Looks like they aren’t gonna do the National Anthems…apparently they don’t have the speakers set up or something…” he explained, his voice trailing off as he muttered some indecipherable obscenities to himself, clearly displeased with the unpreparedness of our hosts. Groans and whispers quickly filled the locker room as we looked over to the flag on our left, disappointed that we wouldn’t be able to stand with our hands to our hearts one final time before going home.

Our disappointment, however, would quickly turn to surprise and a slight uneasiness as it was agreed upon by our coaches that we would sing the anthem ourselves, right there in the locker room. Panicked glances sliced through the air from player to player, none daring to dispute the decision, but each unsure if she even knew the words, let alone would be able to sing them. Nevertheless, we stood there together, shoulder to shoulder, some with their right hand clutched proudly over their heart, others with their arms tucked politely behind their backs. All eyes faced straight ahead, firmly locked on the stars and stripes we had pinned across the wall. As we waited for the cue to sing, I prepared myself for a butchering of notes, took one final breath, and fell into chorus with the others. We sang timidly at first, “Oooh say can you seeee…” clearly unsure if our own voices would do justice to such an important song, on such an important day. Slowly, the noise rose. As each note became louder and clearer than the last, there was a feeling in the air that something special was taking place. There were no longer many voices but one, and the fear of mangling words and notes of such a difficult song had somehow transformed itself into the pride of belting out our National Anthem. In that moment, it seemed as though we were singing to a thousand people – as well we could have, the voices were so strong. As we came to the end, “for the land of the free and the home of the brave” became more than just words, but rather an unspoken pact to play not only for ourselves, but for our country. A few tears escaped the eyes of our coaches as we put our hands together in a hot circle of skin, sweat, and pride. Our captain counted off:


“USA on three…one, two, three…U-S-A!!!!!” At that, I found my place in line as we burst through the door, across some pavement, then glided in formation over the grass to meet the English, the wings of Eagles shining brightly from our chests…

Yes, I’d always wanted to fly.