Well, No More Sports

So yesterday I went down to the Tokyo Gaijin rugby club.  They had a friendly match, and afterwards was a trial for the representative team comprised of the best from our league.  The idea is that this team would go on to face a team from another league.  I was expecting a reasonable level of ability from this team (being as they were, the cream of the crop) but the level was rather confounding.  People really don't enjoy tackling, so every break came from poor defence rather than solid attack.  It was faster paced however, and that is more enjoyable to both watch and play in.  I would have liked the opportunity...

Anyway, I went down to the club with a niggling hamstring injury, hoping to prove that I wasn't arrogant, expecting to waltz into the select team - and hoping to prove that Tokyo Gaijin were
my primary team.

What ended up happening though, was me ruling myself out of contention for at least another month.

In short, I pulled my other hamstring.  It was foretold by the club old boy, who said, "if you try to nurse a hamstring, you'll do the other one."

He was completely correct.

The problem is simple: if I don't turn up and rest the original hamstring, it would have been fine for the select game, but I wouldn't have been able to play in it.

If I go down, I risk hurting myself further but at least show willing.

I don't know if that's a bonefide catch 22 situation, but it's certainly how it felt.

Also aiding in my downfall: not visiting the gym in a month in order to rest my hand.  When I went running after the bike crash (the root of all my physical problems over the last month or so) everything swelled up; especially but not limited to my hand.  It hurt a lot too, so I decided that I'd refrain from physical activity until it was fully healed.  It's X number of weeks on since that, and while movement has returned, the pain remains (I have a lump in my hand, presumably a mangled mass of blood and muscle).  This hiatus means my body is not ready for physical exertion when called for, and much like couch potatoes the world over, I am roughly similar to granite, flexibility wise at least.  I'm also like a leaf, in that I tear easily.  Like leafy granite, then.

I am teetering on a line between devastated and incredibly frustrated - I was damned either way so it was out of my hands, figuratively speaking, but the outcome is still unsatisfactory.

On the flip side, I can tot up the non-human damage.  Kiss forty quid goodbye (train fare, food, drink) along with eight hours of my life (three and a half hours to get there, four and a half on the way back (I got lost, the line I wanted to get branches out like a Christmas tree, because that's, you know, the logical way to build a train track) double parentheses, wahoo!) for the grand total of five minutes rugby and two busted hamstrings.

Not the best return on an investment, although with those losses I could work the markets like a seasoned trader.

The upshot is simple; I will end this half of the season (they split it between the Winter breaks) on my ass getting fatter, like everyone else at Christmas time.  But without the Christmas dinner.  On the plus side, that means no horrible vegetables like broccoli or brussel sprouts.