I write this final post looking out the window at the Perthshire countryside with a full belly of home-cooked food and a full day at home which I’ve spent doing nothing very much at all.
Actually, that’s as far as I got, so I have returned to it now back in Edinburgh, a very cold and empty Edinburgh. Trying to write a conclusive post is a big ask, but I want to finish it all off with something that brings it all together.
Does it feel all of 10 months? Truthfully, yes.
It hasn’t been 10 months of smelling the roses, around half of those months were not enjoyable at all. I spent the months up to Christmas very unhappy. I fell out of love with rugby. Whatever the appeal was before: being the captain, representing the school, playing with your mates, being one of the best...all crumbled away. I got down on myself – how sad, a classic case of withdrawal symptoms from Scottish private school rugby, what a loser... The desire to improve at rugby, to go to training happy, to finish a session better than I started, disappeared. The most depressing thing was realising what rugby had become to me, effectively nothing. When people casually passed a ball around I didn’t want it, told them not to pass it to me. I came to hate the shape of the ball, everything about it, the running around, the tackling and the endless drills. A sport which had meant so much to me, had defined me (in certain people’s eyes), had left me. The idea of Fraser Gillies, rugby player, made me recoil.
It got to the stage where I didn’t even care that I’d lost my ‘mojo’, it didn’t matter to me. But though I came close to quitting, I never wanted to be a quitter. I never wanted to have ‘couldn’t hack it’ it tag hanging over me for the rest of my life.
And now, I couldn’t be happier I stuck out the hard times and waited for the good times to roll in, and they did. I became integrated in a wonderful group of guys and the most patient coach I could have asked for. I eventually rationalised being a ‘professional’ trainer. I accepted that I didn’t have to improve every session, I didn’t have to be on top-form every day and therefore found a sort of peace. Yes, the injuries always plagued me and I never really dealt with them very well.
Until young Scottish players have had to play rugby with people you feel no affinity for, cannot understand, in places you can’t pronounce, feeling very lost, they will always shine in cosy environments. The road to international rugby is full of step-ups which will be, at first, out of most people’s comfort zone. Those who can deal with that, not let it faze them, and continue will be the ones who make it. That might not necessarily be the best players. I now have the experience of being completely and utterly lost on a rugby pitch, something I had never experienced before and probably never will again. But I’m a far stronger player for that experience.
Training five days a week has been a new experience which has given me an insight into the ups, downs, knocks of the professional game where not every day can be perfect and rugby, paradoxically, has to be put to the back of the mind when possible. Training has always been of a high standard, especially arsing around with some of the most gifted 3/4s I have ever seen, coaching has been top-notch, I think, when I understood it.
I’m now in better physical shape, stronger, faster and, crucially, I know my body better than before. I am a far better goal-kicker having had a dedicated coach all year who was a psychologist as well as swing mechanic. I can control a game of rugby in two languages, playing 2 different styles.
I have put rugby in its proper place in life, one which opens up many opportunities to see the world. Men’s rugby in Gala or Heriots or Boroughmuir might have been a higher standard, bigger hits – without a doubt. But it wouldn’t have been that far out of my comfort zone. But give me a team of boys my own age, many of them French junior internationalists, good guys and take me to Clermont or Bourgoin or the hated Stade Francais any day.
Whether I want rugby to become my life is unclear to me. Maybe that says a lot in itself and gives an indication. I’m glad I’m going to university where I’ll get the chance to continue my rugby to a high level if I wish. I have learnt a lot from my Fijian friends this year, one is Isaiah 40:31 but the other is “you just got to do what’s best for you, bro”.
Writing the blog has been hugely enjoyable, very cathartic and has maybe led me down a road that I might want to pursue. It’s nice that people read it and let me know that they enjoy it. Hopefully I can get it printed up or something along those lines. Get in touch if you want a copy.
Thanks to all those at Racing Metro 92 for giving me this opportunity in the first place, Racing Club de France, all those who I played and trained with, those who coached me and put up with me, those who put me back together, my flatmates who history will record as being complete pricks, all those who sent me a text or an email – you have no idea how much it probably lifted my mood, and my family who put up with endless skypes along with putting up with so much else.
Hemingway did write: “If you are lucky enough to have lived in Paris as a young man, then wherever you go for the rest of your life it stays with you, for Paris is a moveable feast.” I left Charles de Gaulles Airport two days ago with a stiff ankle, a sense of satisfaction and a sense of immense relief, but already I think he may be right.
No comments:
Post a Comment