Jersey #9: Kentucky's Journey

As I write, I’m sitting aboard a flight which has finally begun making it’s way back toward my so-called home of Philadelphia (sigh). I can’t lie anymore; I’m exhausted. Not tired. Not worn down. Not broken. Just plain exhausted.

Today has been a small microcosm of that exhaustion. As a sort of consolation gift for not being invited to attend the USA "A" camp in San Diego this past weekend, I traveled to Maine for three days of “extreme skiing” with a friend from last summer’s New Zealand tour. Normally, skiing wouldn’t be my activity of choice at the beginning of a rugby season. It’s an inherently dangerous activity, and especially so for me given that I suck at it – but I guess I felt like being a bit dangerous...

And so, I spent money I didn’t have, boarded a flight that had to be gifted to me by my parents, and endeavored to participate in an activity that isn’t quite my strong suit. Despite my fears (or hopes?) skiing went over fairly smoothly. I have the expected aches and pains from more than a few crashes, most from my day of snowboarding, but I’ve come away without any permanent damage, and even managed to get fairly comfortable chasing my much more adept friends down the intermediate slopes. My returning travel, however, has been another story...

I began the day expecting to hop on a flight out of Portland on a direct route to Philly. However, zero visibility fog changed those plans pretty quickly. My flight was cancelled, and pretty soon I found myself on a cramped bus bound for Boston, with a flight that was supposed to head out at 6:30 and arrive in Philly at a reasonable hour. Not so much. My flight out of Boston also ended up being delayed, and a couple of hours later, I finally boarded my flight sometime around 8:30. Countless painful minutes later, we were finally in the air. And here I am.

So basically, it goes like this....I went skiing this weekend to avoid reality. The snow drowned out the sun and sand of San Diego. The skiing drowned out the rugby. And the company drowned out my thoughts. Basically, I had a lot of fun and thought very little about a home which feels anything but mine, a maddeningly unfulfilling job, far away friends, and an uncertain future in the sport I love. But then instead of returning smoothly to regular life, I was given a day in which I had nothing else to do but sit in an airport and explore the darker caverns of my mind.

Which brings me back to my exhaustion.

With so much turmoil and uncertainty over recent months there have been more than a few moments where I have questioned my ultimate goal. I’ve questioned my abilities; I’ve questioned my worthiness; I’ve even questioned my desire. I came immeasurably close to packing it all in and heading out into the great unknown to begin a new life for myself, sans rugby. I tried soooo hard to take that step. I really, really, tried. And you know what the best (and worst) part is? I’ve come to realize I love it. More than anything and everything. I love the places it’s taken me and the friends it’s given me and the experiences I’ve had along the way. I’ve loved the hard practices out in the rain and cold as much as the sunny match day victories. I’ve loved the training and the socializing. I’ve loved the drama and the camaraderie. The grass. The mud. The ball. The pain. The travel. The home games. The friends. The rivals. The players. The coaches. I have loved everything. The gifts. The sacrifices. I have loved. And I love...

And so, I know that I shouldn’t retire from my dreams for lack of love. But as I’ve learned from my horrifically failed attempts at romantic relationships, love isn’t the only ingredient necessary for success. I can love rugby all that I want, but if I’m not good enough, I’m just not. Unfortunately, it’s too early to tell whether or not that’s the case, so I have to keep going. I have to keep trudging through this winter...

I’ve called it the longest winter in my title because that’s what it’s been for me. One long deep-freeze, despite the comparably fair temperatures outside. I made a lot of mistakes last fall. A lot. I played poorly at times, I said things I shouldn’t have said, I did things I shouldn’t have done, and as a result, my world was put into a bit of a blender. I haven’t really spoken about it on here up to this point because it wasn’t really appropriate but, I will no longer be playing for the Philly Women in the fall. They are an amazing team full of talent and wonderful people, but for whatever reason, I was not able to fit the mold. So for an entire off-season, I have been in limbo – struggling to decide where, or even if, I would continue to play. Once again, I will be a rookie – it seems that the Keystone club here in Philly will be my next stop, so at least I won’t be packing up anytime soon. But I have to start all over...learning names and playing styles and proving myself (or not). I have to find out, once again, where and if I fit.

Again, exhaustion.


Yet as I explained before – I’m in love. Hopelessly, recklessly, unconditionally in love with the sport of rugby and all the people and things that surround it. So regardless of the weary legs and broken hearts which are sure to lie in front of me, I’m going to keep pushing forward. Love, ya know...it’s a funny thing. It gives us wings and blinds us at the same time – a rather dangerous combination if you ask me. When soaring into the fog, the chances of crashing increase dramatically. But then, the only alternative is to remain on the ground...



Editors Note: This post was written Monday night, on the plane....I didn't post it till Tuesday, and you'll be happy to know (or maybe not I guess) that I made it home safe and sound around 11:30pm - about nine hours after my initial expected arrival time. Oh well...