on being fragile – yars

I rescued a woman the other day. She wandered pushing her bicycle on the path where others jogged and pedaled robustly by. She was sure she would be all-right when I asked, just a bit of nausea and the wind was blowing so hard. There was a breeze I agreed, and walked my bike along the path with her- just until she felt better.

I could stop someone – call 911, but she insisted was just a bit dizzy, nothing serious. I understand about ER’s – how about I call your doctor. She had a doctor, she just couldn’t recall his name. She was sure her house was nearby – somehow the street name was just beyond reach. We got her home, and she let me call 911 and watch the fire-truck roll up lights flashing with the ambulance right behind. As I rode my bike home in those last rays of sun that are harbingers of darkness I though of how fragile we are.

I thought of rugby as I pedaled through the dusk. Only teammates can hide your weakness. When you’ve hit your opposite time and time again until it hurts you just to drive your shoulder into him and in spite of it he runs through you – you depend upon teammates to bring him down. Or when you’re vulnerable, defenseless waiting for the high kick to settle into your arms as two or three tacklers charge down upon you, the first hit you take, or the fifth or sixth. Eventually, without a teammate to cover or support the eyes will wander, the arms flinch just before the blow strikes, leaving the ball bouncing freely, possession lost. Pushed to our limits, we break.

Sometimes I think it would be good to be a machine.

YARS – yet another rugby story