It’s been almost three years to the day since I last played ultimate. Since I was in Colorado visiting my old haunts, I figured I’d look for a pickup game and jump in. To be completely honest, I wondered if I’d be an embarrassment. I haven’t thrown a disc in all that time. No forehand, no hammers, no hucks. And I haven’t run in the style that’s somewhat unique to ultimate– sprinting, then cycling back through the stack, then switching to defense, and all the while working almost instinctively to optimize speed and coverage.
As it turns out, after nearly thirty years playing a sport, it’s burned into my soul. I had no trouble throwing, catching, or running a solid offense and defense. I vowed to throw an endzone hammer at some point during the game, and I did. I caught a few points, made a sweet interception, and generally had a grand time with friends I’ve known on the field for (in some cases) almost twenty years.
The next day I happened to be over near Sandstone Ranch in Longmont, which is where I’d played countless league games. I couldn’t resist walking out onto the grass and just reveling in the feel of it.
Strangely, playing that one game reminded me how much I miss the sport. To be more accurate, I miss my friends in the sport. I had a lot of great times, made a lot of great memories, and often wish I could pick up a disc and head over to the field once more. But that chapter of my life has ended, and I guess I’ll just drop in now and again when I’m passing through Colorado. Good times.