What's Pain? It's French Bread. Suck It Up.

I don't know if I'm being stubborn or stupid. Last Thursday during a big tackle pile-up somebody banged their knee into my left side at full force. I was winded but got up and kept playing. By next day I was in serious pain. Yesterday doctor confirmed I probably had some cracked ribs and said I should stay away from rugby for several weeks at least until it healed.

Yeah right. That's like telling a Provo Mormon Mom to keep her hands off the scrapbooking kit. It wasn't feeling too bad today, and when told of the situation, coach said Come and just do what you can. So I did. I had to stay out of the tackling drills tonight, but managed the rest of it, even though my whole left side hurt like You Know What, and the payoff was being able to play in a sevens match at the end (normal rugby matches have 15 players per side). I wish I had the words to describe the sheer delight of running up and down that field in crisp cold evening air, shifting with the line, constantly alert for passes and tackles, keeping the line evenly spaced, rushing, defending, passing again, and finally seeing your team score. The action never stops for more than a couple of seconds. I'm a forward, not a back, so I usually won't be the one to run the ball in for a try, but I don't care. It's exhilarating enough just to be able to play. Like I said before, this is the game they play in heaven. I know what the doctor said, but I can't stay away. I must be nuts. But it sure feels good.