Frisbee Emotion

Pure, unadulterated emotions are very rare. Love as wedding vows are exchanged is perhaps the purest I've experienced. Everything else is a mix: anger with frustration, happiness with relief, anticipation with dread. 

Managing emotions well is key to performing, both in sports and at work. In 16 years playing Ultimate, this past weekend at Nationals was perhaps the best I have ever managed my mixed emotions in sports -- until the end. It's helpful to check in with yourself periodically to see how you are doing, to recognize that you are feeling X, Y, or Z -- but in order to move past them and get back to a level-headedness that will enable you to perform at your peak. 

The cushier schedule for pool winners helped, as there was less fatigue, and thus less grumpiness in the mornings on my part. Our housing had large open common areas, but also secluded privacy -- so I exuded less grumpiness in the evenings as well. I arrived early to the area and to the fields, easing pre-competition jitters with preparation. I knew the conditions (windy with some rain) did not favor my skillset, but I focused on what I could still do well: run and cut hard.

I was playing through a good deal of pain and discomfort, but I had done so at practice and at Regionals, so I knew I'd be OK. It became more a matter of observing with detached emotion that I was experiencing pain, that it was sub-optimal, but that it will not impact my ability to play -- and so I moved on. 

Once the death knell of the final point struck, and our fate as runners up was sealed -- my 4th silver out of 4 Finals appearances, nonetheless, there was no more impetus to withhold emotion. And besides, the string of defeat was mixed with happiness for my friends on the opposing team -- friends going back a decade, whom I'd taken the field with in our first Finals appearance. I could see the joy on their face, and in some strange way I happy to have been a part of it.

I briefly lost it when I was finally sitting down after the Finals. Sitting down caused pain, and it hit me: the simplest of movements caused me excruciating pain. And I didn't have to ignore it any more. I could feel pain. I could finally start to heal.

I got it back together again until people started talking about me and the impact I've had on them -- in just meeting me and in over the years. I'm still piecing together why this affected me so much. I just go out there and play; I never set out to inspire anyone but my teammates. Maybe someday someone good will say, "She was good, too." That's all I hoped for. Not to inspire. Not lead. Not to set an example. Just to perform and have someone notice.

People noticed. I'm not sure how to feel about that. I guess the same as I usually do: mixed.