Anticipation

I hate this bit. I hate it and I love it. First match of the season in a few hours, and I have those butterflies. It's the sense of anticipation. Strange, really. I've been playing 'proper' rugby (as opposed to school PE rugby) since I was fourteen, and I've been playing longer than I haven't. It never goes away, though. My various travels this summer have meant that I've done very little pre-season training, and I was suffering from a twenty-four hour virus yesterday which has leapt round my family like wildfire. And yet I'm ready to play.

I don't have too many seasons left in me now. At thirty-one, I'd never consider myself as 'old', but my body's gradually falling apart, I get more injuries every season. Retirement can't be far away. When I was younger, I never really understood. I always figured that one retires from rugby because they're too busy, or because they have other things going on. I realise now that most people never officially retire. It simply gets to the point where you're more injured than you're not. I don't shy away from the physical aspects of the game. I've had hours of physio over the years, and I've been under general anasthetic twice for plastic surgery. I don't mind the knocks. What I find hard to cope with, though, is when I end up limping for a month, or with a sore shoulder for six months. It simply isn't worth it anymore. And since I almost lost an eye, I do say a silent prayer every time I step on to the pitch.

Still, I'm not done with it yet. Not by a long shot.