"Going from walking with a limp for ten months to being back here is great, I'm really enjoying it. I'm running really fast, just out of excitement."
The Nenagh man is positively bursting with energy on a sunny morning at the Irish training camp. However, after stepping in front of the camera for HP snapper Kathrin Baumbach, he stops long enough to fold his 6’7”, 18 stone frame onto a feebly undersized chair, for a natter. The first topic on the agenda is simple: what sort of injury sidelines a giant like him?
“The surgeon had only seen it eight times before,” he smiles ruefully, “and six were ballerinas. Funnily enough, I’ve been to see The Nutcracker since, and you’d have to hand it to them. You can see why they’d have sesamoiditis (Hint! It's got nothing to do with sesame seeds – Sub Ed) after prancing around on their toes for an hour and a half!”
The gregarious Munster star is now able to crack a joke about it, but for a long time his injury was no laughing matter. A fibular sesamoid fracture – a cracked bone in the ball of one’s foot, he kindly explains – is a rare problem in rugby players, to the point that the man who already double-jobs as a lock and a blindside flanker had to add another string to his bow: that of amateur physician.
“I had to do a lot of the research, because not a lot of people have it. I found myself reading papers from back in the 1970s. For months, I’d tried to run the pain out of it, or acclimatise to the pain. It didn’t work. It got to the point where I had chronic pain; I’d forgotten what it was like not to be sore.”
It reached a point where Donnacha thought his career might be over. “I’d love to say I always thought I’d get back," he says, "but that’s not true. I couldn’t even watch the guys playing, because I found it too hard. That’s why I’m so delighted; if I’m honest, I didn’t think this would happen.”
After biting the bullet and undergoing what was risky surgery, he recovered in time to play a part in the closing stages of Munster’s season. Even with his relative lack of game-time, it was a no-brainer for Joe Schmidt to bring him back into the fold. His nous at lineout time is immense, and his workrate ferocious. His first appearance in green in more than two years was a storming performance against Wales last month; two more run-outs in the weeks afterwards saw him seal a place in the World Cup travelling party.
You’d be forgiven for assuming he’d be jumping for joy – but the experiences of the past few years have given him a new perspective: “I’m probably in a bit of a zen mode, if I’m honest with you,” he says. In any case, there’s little I can throw at him to match the inquiries he’s been fielding. “Your questions are tough,” he laughs, “but not compared to 70-year-olds in bank queues, wondering how I’m enjoying my retirement!”
For a man who took up geology during his time on the sidelines – looking ahead to his post-rugby life – it’s fitting that he has a bedrock of resilience. One of the warriors of Irish rugby has made it to the showpiece event the hard way; now, he’s willing to do everything he can to help the side.
“It might come with age, or something,” he reasons, “trying to make sure that what you’re doing in analysis and play is for the better of the team. You obviously have your own selfish ambition as well, but that wider scope helps you become a better player across the board; it might be a trait of leadership, innately.”
He spent long enough limping along; don’t be surprised if he’s now the one to spearhead the charge.