Run, Magus! Ruuuuuuuun!

2004-10-12 - 8:26 p.m.

Okay, rugby is the greatest sport ever. Or something. Improved my mood something fierce. Plus, I found out that we have another game Saturday, so if/when I go to New York I'll have played in 3 games! I'll practically be an expert!

For practice we just played a game of 5 on 5. My side was a little over-matched, but we had some good moments. Apparently a lot of the good moments were mine. One guy told me I was amazing, and our team captain started talking about how I had drive and speed and that I'll make an excellent player. Seriously, I don't have the emotional equipment to handle that sort of praise. Like, is it appropriate to say "Thanks! I don't believe you because I have a history of abysmally low self-esteem, but I appreciate you wanting to make me feel better. When I start getting therapy, I'll devote an entire session to you. If you want the transcription, let me know. Can you stop looking at me, now?"

The biggest problem for me is that I have a troubled history with running. Once, when I was about 7 or 8, some neighourhood kids started making fun of the way I ran. Then, in high school, some friends of mine pretty much said the same thing (in slightly kinder way). So running, for me, is slightly akin to showing up for a class naked.

The thing is, I am, apparently, really fast. I know this, because every time I've played rugby, whether a real game or a fun one, no one can pull away from me. I don't have the endurance for a lot of running (we'll put a "yet" in here under the assumption that I am capable of improving. An untested theory right now), but when I'm chasing someone with a ball, I'm pretty good at closing the gap. Also, tonight, I got the ball at one point, shook off a couple opponents, and floored it. I could have sworn somebody was right behind me, but I took a chance to look around and the closest pursuer was, like, a lot further back than I'd thought. There was no hope of my getting caught. I hadn't even been running my very fastest (though I was close).

I'm suspicious of all this. I'm not used to physically excelling, or of getting positive comments on my sports ability. It feels like a set-up for a practical joke ("Hey guys, you know that new fella? How about anytime he shows up at practice, we all swallow a bunch of muscle relaxants and make him think he's competent! Then we can all make fun of the way he runs. And his glasses." I stole that muscle relaxant bit from a commercial. I feel dirty now.) I need to learn how to live with compliments.

As an example, I am currently fighting the urge to put a disclaimer somewhere in here about how it's not like I'm the fastest guy. I have a lot to learn, and I'm nowhere near at an athlete's level of fitness (or am I? How would I know?). Obviously, I failed at fighting that urge...but I'm getting better.

Oh, also, because this will be my version of the rugby journey, the ankle injury that I got at our last game a million weeks ago was finally feeling okay...until someone hit it in exactly the same spot really hard, and so now I'm limping around again. Argh.

I hope I don't still run funny, because while being fast is more important, if I ever score a "try" (rugby for touchdown, I guess. Aren't you happy you get to go on this educational journey with me?), I don't want the picture of me to look silly.

Also, I really want to believe that I'm making a new friend. His name is not Burt, but it's close and, like me, he wasn't a jock growing up. He started playing gay hockey two years ago, and rugby this year (gay hockey was mean to him, he says). He's also doing a sociological study of the rugby team for his undergrad degree. He's also eerily like a non-gloomy version of me, in that he's cheery, smart, shy-ish, and really friendly (assuming those are qualities of mine, too). Probably the biggest difference is our age, because he's 10-15 years older than me.

I like making friends. It's just tough to do it sometime.

I wonder if the folks at work are thinking about me.

This was supposed to be an entry exclusively about running. Boy did I mess that up. Ah well.

Cheers,

The Magus

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