People see the matchday version of me—the boots, the roar of the crowd, the final whistle. What they don’t see is how much of my life as a footballer happens far from the pitch, in quiet routines that never make the highlights.
My week revolves around repetition. Training sessions blur together: drills, recovery, video analysis, gym work. You learn to respect the basics because form doesn’t come from magic—it comes from showing up even when your legs are heavy and your mind wants a day off. The game rewards discipline long before it rewards flair.
Matchday is different. The stadium feels alive in a way that never gets old. Walking out to the noise, pulling on the shirt, knowing thousands of people have attached their weekend emotions to what you’re about to do—it’s a strange responsibility. You’re not just playing for points. You’re playing for belief.
Pressure is part of the job, especially in England, where football is stitched into everyday life. A missed chance doesn’t stay on the pitch. It follows you to the supermarket, onto social media, into conversations you never hear but know exist. You develop thick skin, but it still gets under there sometimes.
Injuries teach you patience. Sitting out, watching your teammates fight while you’re stuck rehabbing, makes you appreciate the privilege of being fit. It humbles you. Football careers are short, and the body keeps the score. You learn to listen to it, even when your ambition wants to ignore the warning signs.
What grounds me is the routine outside football. Simple meals. Quiet evenings. Phone calls home. Those moments remind me that I’m more than my last performance. The best players I’ve met understand that balance. They care deeply, but they don’t let the game swallow them whole.
I play because I love the rhythm of it—the movement, the teamwork, the moments when everything clicks. Ninety minutes can change a week, sometimes a season. But the real work happens in the days no one’s watching.
When I hang up my boots one day, I won’t measure my career only in goals or trophies. I’ll measure it in resilience, friendships, and the version of myself the game helped shape.