Ultimate. Ultimate. Ultimate.
I'm only going to make three observations about playing Ultimate yesterday, even though I could probably make more. Then I'm going to try to apply those three observations to bigger questions. Watch me now! (work, work!)

Observation the first: On a backhand fake, I stepped on the marker's foot and then he hit my hand as I slipped to the ground and called "foul." He reacted negatively and I announced, "You hit my hand." He replied, "You stepped on my foot." I lost my cool a little bit and said, "FINE. Then I fouled you." We sort of brushed our negative exchange aside and restarted the game.

Life Lesson/question: Does Ultimate really help teach conflict resolution skills? I suppose ignoring the conflict is a way to resolve conflict, but I'd like it better if I reacted with less emotion in the moment and we actually resolved something.

Observation the second: I had a pretty satisfying day yesterday and I attribute a large part of that to the personalities on my team and on at least one of the opposing teams. It really felt like we were pulling for one another, working together, and enjoying the day, the sport, and our opportunities.

Life lesson/question: Do the people that we share the field (pick a field, any field) make so much difference? Is there anyway to seek those people out or is it mostly time and luck?

Observation the third: Recently I have found a new (to me, I think? ) space to throw to on the field. It seems that everyone starts to shift to one side of the field and if just one receiver goes against the grain, I've had a lane to put the disc out to space that they can track down. When I think about this throw, it doesn't quite make sense. I don't think it should be that open or easy.

Life lesson/question: If the lane opens and you've got the throw, you might as well put it, right?

This is not the post I want to write

-There's a hole in my blue shorts. It is not along the seam, it's a very clean cut, and I can only assume that it is some form of sabotage. I don't know what my left thigh did to offend, but I don't want to be there when it retaliates.

-The cool(?) thing about running in a group is that it is glaringly obvious when I don't have much spring in my step. There was some glaring obviousness today.

-Barbara Kingsolver kind of rocks. I'm reading Prodigal Summer. I just finished a chapter that made me jittery about goat farming.

-I'm after something. I don't know what it is. I hope I have the right shoes to give chase.

One big happy family- Complete with the yelling and cursing
My role in the Ultimate of CUA has changed in the last two years as their confidence, their knowledge, and their needs have outstripped my ability to play-coach. Mostly, I've become a well-respected cheerleader with editor duties. I'm generally at peace with this transition as I think it meets the needs of the involved parties.

Yesterday, my connections to the team led to a special opportunity as I got a glimpse of how I fit into a bigger picture. I shared a field with an inaugural member, a few of the past stand-outs, characters, and captains of CUA Ultimate history, including the captain that originally welcomed me into the fold on a cold day more than five years ago. We faced off against the current team in their final tune-up before Division III Nationals. The phrase Division III Nationals tells the reader almost all they need to know about how far this team has come.

The Alums-plus team started well. I don't know if the current team expected us to roll over and play dead or if good fortune found us early, but for a group that had never all played together, we seemed surprisingly in synch. Perhaps, there are a few tricks to be learned after graduation. I think a few people were surprised at how serious the game was taken, as they remembered a lower-key version of this same sport played on the law school lawn, but for the most part the players that arrived to play had continued to play competitively at some level and they knew what we were up against.

We were up against a team that runs a structured offense and can become charmingly patient with the disc if the mood strikes them. It certainly made my heart pound a few times as I chased handlers around through dumps and swings, but it also made my heart sing to see such Ultimate being played. My favorite point, if I can brush off my bruised vanity for a moment, was a point when the traditional handlers were out of the game and the current team still found a way to score. They worked the disc in stops and starts, up the lines and through the dumps, taking only what old tired legs would give them and only what they knew they could manage, until their rising star could find a step (or three to five) and leave this poor guy diving at his heels as they took the half at 9-6.

The Alums-plus made a run after the half to pull to 10-9, but never seemed to sustain momentum again as our deep game was mostly stagnant, our defense started losing too many battles, and the intensity started to favor youth. These words convey a weight unrelated to the game, but one I can't separate from it. In the moment, the sun shone brightly and I thoroughly enjoyed my personal battles and the fight of my teammates, some more out of shape than others. It was a pleasure to be able to cheer both teams, and to have moments that saw 'Tini take flight and even with the sting of loss looming to try to will Frodo to do the same. To be a part of that growth, even in some small way, for a team to know how far they've come and still know that they have UP to go, to have watched so many of these players grow and to watch their games evolve and improve is a very special thing. The weight doesn't come from this game or this loss then, and it doesn't come from that evolution directly. Instead it comes from my own feeling of trying to cling to a torch that I don't want to give up, even if it was a torch that was never mine to pass. It comes from being a step slower, and from fighting my body in a battle that I won't win. The weight comes from having to acknowledge that battle at all.

Freed from the cell
The decisions we make do not always play out in such obvious ways. I had packed the phone number of some friends and planned to call them to make arrangements to meet. I'm still cell phone free, an aberration now, living a lifestyle that doesn't quite mesh with many I know. The world has changed since my embargo began, people no longer make advanced plans, they do it on the fly. I try to play along, but don't always succeed. I had the phone number and I was with a friend. When I asked him to borrow his phone, he thought for a moment before telling me that he had forgotten it. He seemed truly sorry, but as he was trying to take responsibility for this, a sentence escaped from my lips. I could not allow him to worry because he did not have his phone for my use. That would not be right and without hesitation I said:

This is the life I've chosen.

We found a pay phone. They still exist. And I'm still happy with my choices.

Constructive criticism from the universe
The pope came to town and I let him pass. I didn't understand all of the hullabaloo. He's just a man, I thought to myself. Why are people snapping a zillion pictures and lining the streets. Ridiculous. What kind of person does that?

I do.

My popes are less famous and less influential, but they compelled me to pull my camera out, line the streets, and hang on their every word. I like it when the universe acts quickly to teach me a lesson. The pope had hardly left town when I found myself in Boston, seven hours from home, hanging out on the streets to cheer on Deena Kastor and a host of other women trying to qualify for the Olympics. My camera was clicking as I scurried around trying to catch another glimpse as the marathoners paraded by.

Later in the day, I was in a room with three elite runners and I hung on their every word as they talked of their craft and their sacrifices and triumphs in that realm. It was moving and inspiring, made all the more so by a very appreciative audience. To be in the company of runners in a kind of conversation with these dedicated and accomplished females struck me as particularly special. It's one thing to listen to someone near the top of her field reflect on experiences, but it's a something entirely different when some part deep inside aspired or aspires to some level of greatness in that field too. It feels a bit like staring at a treasure map and seemed to be a rare treat.

Somehow, by mid-week, I found myself staring at another treasure map, listening to another someone near the top of her field surrounded by an appreciative audience. This audience was not filled with runners, instead they were the bookish Washington DC fans of the popular author Jhumpa Lahiri. As she delivered lyrical answers to banal questions, I again felt the thrill of being near greatness with that added boost of being in a crowd of admirers.

Bits and pieces

*What's the point of getting married if you're not going to dance about it afterwards?

*My return to tournament level Ultimate was hesitant. Then, I dislocated a finger. A man in a beer garden pulled on it (twice) really hard. After a few minutes of wanting to faint and/or vomit, I returned with a lot more vigor, a lot less hesitancy, and a swollen finger.

*During one series of about three points, I played dominant Ultimate. I got a help D, I was wide open on a couple of in cuts. I came in on an underthrown disc and ripped it away from a defender and then threw a score. I slid in to catch a low disc, my skirt rose up around my hips exposing less than I could but more than I should which elicited a curious sideline noise, that wasn't really a cheer; I adjusted myself instead of throwing to an open cutter, dumped it off and went on to score. I left the game with our team leading by two points believing the tide had turned.

*We lost the game. I was shaken. I didn't really recover that well, although thankfully the team did. I played with very little confidence in the next game including one horrible offensive series in which I didn't make a dump cut at all. I just stood there dancing. I hadn't gotten married, just skyed repeatedly. Ouch.

*My psoas has bothered me all week.

*I saw a movie called I'm a cyborg, but that's ok. It was a love story, Korean, and odd. My favorite bit was a metaphor for life. It was an elastic band tied around the waist. At the end of life, the band became so taut and then finally snapped back, pulling the person away and out of the picture.

*I had a hunch John would be back. I just didn't think it would be so soon.

*I'm going to dance right now in honor of some happy couple.

How low can you go?
The façade was more gutted department store than anything else. Through the dirtied glass doors of another forgotten strip mall, we could see a few burning bulbs hung outside a wooden ticket booth. Our angle of approach had been too severe to notice the out-of-place, ridiculously huge chandelier and the accompanying unimpressive sign for the "D'light Skate N Palace." As we waited for the rink to get rolling, I wondered if our experience would share the tired, almost creepy feel of the entrance.

I should not have been concerned, the entrance may have been rickety, but the palace inside was cared for, not new by any stretch of the imagination, but skate-ready. We got our skates from a shrinking old man with a twinkle in his eye. The skates had seen better days. My size 10s were the beat-up brown and gray of rink skates the world over. The laces had begun to unravel and tightening them around my ankles was an exercise in futility.

We were on the floor early, as less than 20 people had arrived. A thumping R and B beat made rhythmic skating sense to me, as I made left turns and searched for some comfort on wheels. The beat of the music was natural, though the songs were unfamiliar. This was advantageous, as it meant that very little skating nostalgia could creep into my mind. My wheels were turning to a current balance, not trying to withdraw some forgotten memory of how to skate.

The floor was filling up as the music thumped on. There were a few skaters who by now were really moving. Shaking and gliding to the beat sometimes in twos and threes, they zipped by on the outside with a dancer's grace. I had moments where I felt that glide, but these skaters seemed to live at ease. One couple was linked tightly. He twisted wheeling along backwards, forwards, and backwards again, almost without a thought. She shimmied to the beat, the natural wrinkles of her rust orange shirt chasing her stone-washed denim-clad hips as they rolled on together. Those two were attractive people, but that same grace was found in two aging men who had a groove of their own. Intimidated, but slightly enamored, I decided to try skating backwards.

Awkwardly, I had the movement down. Slowly, mostly gracelessly, I pushed with my left foot and rolled out of sight. I turned a corner at a slug's pace, but I must have looked fast because a full-bodied woman ran into my chest. I started to stumble backwards, and then crashed to the floor landing hard on my left buttocks. I was more surprised than hurt and with a helping hand, I was back up and facing forward. That would be my last attempt at skating backwards as the crowd grew larger and swifter.

We'd skated for over an hour and now the skaters began to swirl around us. We, the caucasian few, mostly an untalented skating bunch, had become obstacles to dodge and weave through. Even at my fastest, I felt like I was just able to keep up with the edges of the crowd. It was reckless to be swept up in their movement. At moments I tried, but the moments weren't comfortable. I felt the wheels shake and my ankles burn. I felt the earlier fall and considered that same bruise on my wrist or my face. And I slowed. I took a turn linked to another, but while the boy who remembered sitting out during the "couple's skate" was pleased, the skater that I had become was concerned about being in a crash for two. The masses now rolled by at a surprising rate. This was a whole other world of gliding and grace that I could barely visit. As the speedier skaters whipped around the outside, I began to recognize that the whole world I could barely visit was also a world I could barely leave. I searched for gaps in the crowd, like Frogger on wheels wondering how I would slip through the crowd and off the rink. Finally, after two extra laps around, I was able to shoot a gap and make my way back to comfortable shoes.