It just takes a little

There is a tightness in my stomach. It's not nerves or a premonition or a hernia. What it lacks in narrative qualities it makes up in ongoing pain and annoyance. The abdomen is a vastly underrated piece of the machinery of being mobile. I know it should, but my pain has not stopped me from playing Ultimate, a less-than-stellar brand of the stuff, but Ultimate still. Today the off brand was particularly frustrating, as the pain in my abs was supplemented by the very poor decision to eat pre-game pie.

Take it from me, pre-game pie equals error. Pregame pie will, how do you say, gum the works. It's a recipe for the gastrointestinal fireworks. Not, as Napoleon would claim, flippin' sweet. So between the muscles that surround my stomach and the stuff going on inside I was not exactly fit to rock. I was probably more fit to be a rock.

Dropped passes, poor throws, a handblock by my defender... my play was a reflection of my mid-section. Except for three points where it wasn't. The highlight of those three was when my defender asked, "do you stop running?" At least for a moment, my torso went back to being carried around and around by my legs.

That's better than post-game pie.