I’m sure, dear Rugby Blog reader, that you are desperate to tune in for my diary, rather than for any of the insightful, thought-provoking Heineken Cup analysis found elsewhere on this site, but I barely have the energy to breathe at the moment, let alone type, so only a brief update on this week’s sporting heroics from yours truly…
In case you hadn’t noticed, it rained this week. A lot. A friend of mine graduated from Sandhurst a couple of years back and still takes great pleasure in describing the ‘beastings’ the senior officers inflicted on them in bad weather. Well, I’m starting to understand what he was talking about.
Within 30 seconds of finishing the warm up at this week’s training (in the rain), we were alternating between popping the ball about and – every time an error was made – dropping down into the freezing, oozy mud for press-ups, sit-ups, burpees and any other god-awful punishment our coach could think of. I had mud in my hair, in my tracksuit bottoms… everywhere. I was pitiful. I nearly cried. I felt a lot like Goldie Hawn in Private Benjamin.
I kept trying to weigh up the cons (early stage hypothermia, entire loss of feminine charms, total mud bath, possible major head trauma from skidding over) versus the pros, which mainly amounted to the fact that I will be nails (at least by my meagre standards) by the end of the season.
Not that I’m planning on bragging about this. Instead, I am joining a very girly gym tomorrow (fitness + kicking skills = survival!) and am now off to bed with a mug of hot milk to nurse my aching limbs. And in a somewhat ironic twist, I am writing this whilst enjoying a soothing mud pack on my face… it smells a little nicer than the last one I had.
(P.S. Two lovely West Country wins this weekend – well done Gloucester and Bristol!)