A letter I wrote to myself:

There comes a point when you’ll do something for the last time.

Your last kick of a ball. Your last step onto a pitch. Your last sprint. Your last run. Your last walk. Your last breath.

It’s easy to let these moments slip by, assuming there will always be another chance. Time passes, routines change, and sometimes, without even making a conscious choice, we stop doing the things that make us feel alive.

I want to take you back to a particularly pungent memory. I was sat in the changing rooms, if you can imagine a combination of Deep Heat, sweat and shower gels gifted at Christmas, you’re half way there.

I had my head in my hands, the all too familiar ache of a yet another injury rising. Was this it? Was this the last time I’d pull these boots on? It was something I was truly contemplating. The thought felt heavy, not just with pain, but with the potential loss of something vital. One of the older players, someone who’d seen his share of injuries and comebacks, sat down beside me.

He didn’t dismiss the pain or the frustration. Instead, he said, “There’ll be times when it feels easier to stop, like now. But while you still can play football, while you can still feel that ball at your feet, the grass under your boots… play. Don’t let this time slip away unnoticed. You’ll miss this feeling.”

He was right. It wasn’t just about winning or losing, I’d been in teams that did both, admittedly the latter more than the former. It was about this: the shared anticipation, the banter, the collective effort, the simple, physical act of playing. It’s a feeling, a connection, that’s hard to find elsewhere. “The lads that stop before they have to,” he added, “they don’t just miss the game, they miss being able to play. They miss their community and that’s something very hard to find elsewhere in the world.”

Again, he was right. After actually hanging my boots up when I moved to Poland, I’ve missed it so much. I’ve been lucky to play a few times and that feeling does come back. Remember that.

That feeling, the burn in your lungs during a sprint, the solid connection of boot on ball, the rhythm of a simple walk, the shared energy of a team, a community, it’s the feeling of being capable, of being present in your own life.

So, go sprint. Kick that ball. Run. Walk. Whatever it is that connects you to that feeling.

Don’t just go through the motions. Feel it. Cherish it.

Most of all though:

Don’t stop. Don’t ever stop until the very last.

Because the ability to do is a gift, please don’t let it go until you absolutely have to.