Strictly stereotypically speaking, rugby is for girls tougher than my five-foot-three-inch self. But in reality, players are all different sizes. At least I like to think so. I’ve only ever once seen it played, and it may or may not have only been for about 30 seconds. Minor details.

I have wanted to do rugby, though, since I saw girls from Ithaca College’s team in Wegmans last year.

They walked in with high socks and mud on their faces. They were so cool.

“Lilly, you’ll die,” my friends told me when I relived it for them.

Just because I fall easily and don’t have the best coordination, doesn’t mean I’ll be bad at all sports, I explained.

“No, it’s not because of that, it’s because you are tiny,” they said.

To prove them wrong, I looked into joining the team, only it conflicted with other activities and I had to put it off until this year.

With the joy of a kid waking up to a snow day, I walked up to the booth at the events fair and signed up this year.

Once again, I’ll probably not be able to join the team because of prior commitments, but I really want to join.

“What position do you want to be?” someone asked me.

“The one that gets thrown up. I don’t know what you do, but I like the idea of flying,” I said.

Maybe I want to be on the team for superficial reasons, like the outfits and the bruises, but still, I am hoping that my schedule clears up a bit and I can fit it in. Either way, my friends are cynics and I know I’d have fun. Even if I have no idea how to play. I can Google it.