A Blind Leap and Tackle

Throughout middle school and high school I racked up a substantial amount of activities. These ranged from volunteering, yearbook committee, symphonic and marching band as well as interest clubs. Many to do with arts and simple tasks. My sports record can be compiled of what I have done in required gym class and soccer and tee-ball teams offered at the local YMCA for elementary students.

            When I decided I wanted to join a sport in the midst of high school it seemed easy. There was a plethora of sports options offered to high school students. However the lists of sports also had words pertaining to try outs, varsity, J.V and meeting time requirements. It was enough to intimidate and discourage. All of these teams had dreams of state competition championships, there was no room for a girl who could offer no experience and no trophies. Let alone skills. So the dream died until a card in the mail changed that. The card was a double sided post-card type and only had enough information to tell you where to get more information. It was a invitation to join the Wayzata Girls Rugby Club. I had never seen a game. I could only imagine it was very similar to football. I knew it for the roughness. But the little sentence on the card that caught my eye and ultimately made my decision was “no experience required”. How could I deny an opportunity that no other sport was offering?

            Needless to say, the parents of non-athletic girl were not too thrilled. It took enough convincing for the parents to even attend the informational meeting. Being at the meeting made it real. I was doing this. It was happening and I was going to make it happen. The risk was there and so was the thrill of being a part of something. A team, a club of girls who were doing something that was not expected, that was harsh and raw. I refused to let intimidating health forms and medical release forms get me down. This was going to happen.

            The next day at school, I was telling friends about my new found decision and watching their reaction, savoring their surprise. However, there was discouragement. It seemed to outweigh the encouraging. People here and there were telling me how I would be broken, literally. Hyperbolic scenarios of death were the new trending conversation topic. No one was taking it seriously. As the actual date for the first practice was drawing nearer, nervousness grabbed my stomach. There were so many things I had jumped into with enthusiasm that never actually ended up on a list of completed accomplishments. Was this the fate of my rugby career too? Backing out was in my mind being examined and then chewed out. This was going to happen.

            The night before the first practice came fast and the argument that night with my parents was loud but productive. I got the papers signed. With parents and myself milling over the potential problems the health release form hinted at, I waited anxiously.

            I walked into the dome for practice and that is where I spent many weeks running, throwing, catching and tackling. There were days I went home in pain and self-doubts of being able to handle this. How would I ever be able to tackle in a real game? How would I be able to get tackled in a real game? As the weeks went on my comfort level grew as well as my skills. And when that day came and the referee blew the starting whistle I took my first running step and never looked back. The repeated impacts and the breathlessness of it all was thrilling. We only won a single game that first season. Unfortunately I did experience an injury. A broken nose nonetheless, excluding me from finals. Joining the toughest possible sport that I could pick was one of the greatest risks I have taken. The fear was gone and replaced with anguish at not being able to finish out the season in the sport I had come to love.