My face is bruised. There's a massive welt underneath my right eye. Blood is crusted and dried underneath my nostril and on my lip. My legs ache. My arms ache. My whole body aches. And I couldn't be happier.
A few weeks, I asked my rugby team captain what we planned on doing about an annual tournament we go to every winter. He told me we weren't going this year. If I wanted to go, I could organize it myself, foot the bill myself, and have fun, but neither he nor the club would have any part of it.
So, I did. I bullied a small group of my teammates into going, footed the bill, and when, at 7:15 this morning when we were still missing two teammates, I dragged them both out of bed and put them in the car.
We drove about an hour to the tournament, and we started strong despite being absurdly outnumbered without subs. After absolutely crushing our first opponent, we did what all champions do: made a taco run.
We returned an hour later to find that we were about to play our second game. And that our third and fourth games were scheduled for immediately after our second game. The result was a hilarious shit show of heaving tacos and running non-stop without subs for three games straight. We had our asses handed to us. It was glorious.
On the way back to our university, the boys in my car packed a bowl and we passed it around while debating politics. Good times.
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