My beard is not velcro
What I want to describe is not a highlight in the typical sense. I had my share of highlights in the zero win and four loss day at mixed sectionals. It was nice to get a layout D, a point block (although the ricochet was caught), to knock away a hammer, and to stymie some cuts and win at least one battle in the air. On offense it was nice to get off hucks, both flick and backhand that flew almost as I’d intended. I was particularly pleased with 2 of my 4 hammers that were pinpoint accurate, one on a quick strike at the endzone (although it was dropped) and one that flew 40 yards and opened up the zone a bit. At this tournament with a group of CUA alums, students, and a couple of friends, I had as many touches as ever before. I can’t recall a time where I’ve handled so much in a tournament. I only remember one disc on offense that hit my hand that I didn’t catch. That was on a layout bid for an up-the-line cut. I pulled a fair amount and those weren’t too bad either, but with all the touches, I also had my share of lowlights. I threw ill-advised hucks, two that really sting in the final point of a close loss in the final game. I wasted a hammer when another throw would have been more responsible in that game too. I got whipped on a couple deep cuts and I bit too hard on some fakes. I got jumped over and on and I came up short, really almost embarrassingly short, on a few bids.

The highs far outweighed the lows, and as promised I wasn’t measuring success in wins. I was proud of the team’s improvement and I’m optimistic for the college team’s future.

All that said and I still haven’t described the feeling, the events that were neither highlight nor lowlight. It may not even have been noticeable to the sidelines. It tended to come later in the day, when my hydration was waning and my muscles were tiring. I was cramping slightly, but not enough to call for an injury sub or stop the game. It happened when I made sudden bursts or changes of direction. I’d go for a disc, often on defense, but sometimes on offense. It wouldn’t always be a layout bid, but it did usually involve falling to the ground. Earlier in the day, I might have recovered and stayed on my feet, but now I found myself hitting the grass with my calf muscles in spasm. They’d stop their spasms as I hit the ground and I’d feel the pull of the game. It was still moving even if I shouldn’t have been. I had to get up, preferably quickly, but I was slowed by the remnants of cramp and the full day of play behind me. I couldn’t spring up like I wanted to, but I needed to keep playing. I’d rise up in a way that felt slow, at least slow in comparison to what I wanted it. I wanted to be a jack-in-the-box and instead I was a rusty hinge. As I used my arms to push myself up, I had to pry my face off the ground, my beard scraping against the grass. It happened more than once. I can recall at least four occurrences. My beard and the grass acted like Velcro in every way but the satisfying sound. I’d stagger up and move on as quickly as I could. I always felt a little dazed and a little grateful. It was pleasing that I hadn’t had to stay on the ground writhing in pain.

Neither high nor low, and yet my slow rise back up felt like a tribute to the game of Ultimate. The game continued on without me for those few long seconds that I struggled. As soon as I could return to the action after spending valuable seconds on the ground, I did. It was a triumph, regardless of the result. It hurt, but I was happy that I could still be part of it.