Frantic Frisbee

Sometimes I forget why I’m a runner. I wonder what motivates me to jump out of bed in the still-dark hours and hit the ground running. Or why I willingly choose an exercise that other sports reserve for punishment. Then I do something like attempt to play a game of ultimate Frisbee, and it all comes rushing back.

Usually, going on a run is a great chance to clear my head or relieve stress. Ultimate Frisbee does the opposite. There is no such thing as a friendly game of ultimate Frisbee, at least not that I have found.

The moment I join the field, the tension starts. I immediately regret subjecting my teammates to my inferior Frisbee skills. Hand-eye coordination- not a requirement for running. Across the field, a Frisbee is catapulted into the air. Bodies on all sides launch into motion like heat-seeking missiles.

So what do I do? I revert back to what I know. I run. I run to one side of the field and then to the other. I chase that Frisbee like I’m a golden retriever and this is my livelihood. Sometimes I even wave my hands menacingly in front of Frisbee-holders. When I’m feeling really daring, I’ll even call out, “I’m open!” just for fun. I’m always open. No one bothers to cover me. They just know. They must sense it.

But sometimes, things go wrong. I proclaim my openness, and someone actually responds. They make eye contact as if to say, “Here goes nothing.” Time freezes. The thrower poises the Frisbee delicately in his hands, preparing to release. My heart slows as I realize the gravity of this one throw. Everything rides on my performance now. Fumble the Frisbee, and it’s over. No more chances, not for this game anyways. Immediately I’m overwhelmed by the urge to wave my arms in an X in front of me, to convince him to choose someone else, anyone else or to simply melt into the grass and disappear.

Too late. The Frisbee is careening toward me.

Needless to say, I’ll stick to running.