Dirt Perfume and Glowing Girls

Yesterday I went to cheer my husband on at his Ultimate Frisbee Tournament.

Yes, sports fans you heard me right, Frisbee.

Somewhere between the long hair, the unshaven legs, the sweat bands and the tube socks I discovered a sub-culture of people that I would have otherwise never witnessed. And one in which I found surprising.

The cool thing about Frisbee people is that they are generally happy people, and I am using the term "generally" too general. I don't think I saw one person that wasn't happy, except for myself on the sidelines. (I tend to furrow my brow when watching something even if I am not confused or upset in anyway. I even pout in my sleep, and you can be assured that those are some of the happiest moments of my life.)

I am pretty sure Botox is in my future for the line between my eyebrows.

Anyway, the "disc-ers", are like hippies but without the patchouli, although I swear I caught a whiff of it across the field, but it was not permeation by any means.

Nevertheless, I have to confess I judged these poor people prematurely. I kind of thought they were a bunch of bores, to be honest.

Granted, this is an outsiders view of something I don't understand, and still don't quite get.

Did you know that Ultimate Frisbee isn't like Frisbee you see in the park? It is a bonafide sport with leagues and team shirts and even cheers.

Who knew?

I have to say, these Ultimate players are the most uplifting, nice, and encouraging clan I have ever come across. As a semi-smart ass with a pension for spiritual and emotional realism, I found them to be very refreshing. So cynics beware- Frisbee is not the sport for you.

Every time someone would attempt to complete a play, the team members on the sidelines would yell out encouraging tidbits like, "Great pull!" "Way to hustle", "Nice try!" "Good effort!"

And that was just when the play didn't go well. Those were the types of things they would yell when things were botched and points were lost.

For some reason I can only equate sportsmanlike conduct to that of my high school basketball team. The Eagles, the team in which I played a total of 2 minutes and 45 seconds...the entire season.

And scored 2 points.

The entire season.

While I obviously was not a threat to the other team, all I can remember about my b-balling days was the snide comments, the elbows thrown, and the snarly snooty girls. Especially the ones who wore their hair in too tight of braids and always looked like they were in pain.

The girls on the Frisbee field were glowing I swear.

And they were nice to boot.

Granted, I don't think I would ever play Frisbee. I have tried once and realized I don't even know what it means to guard someone. I would just stand there staring at them. One time I was guarding from behind, which isn't guarding at all, it's just plain creepy.

My husband never asked me to play again.

How was I to know what to do? I only had 2 minutes and 45 seconds of guarding experience in my entire sporting career.

The same people on the Frisbee field are the same type of people that get a charge out of hiking, camping, running marathons, and eating granola drizzled with flaxseed oil.

I consider myself to be a healthy person. I love nature, and travel.

However, I am NOT even close to the type that loves the smell of dirt so much I don't shower so that it can become some kind of earth sodden perfume.

The truth is that I do envy their ability to enjoy the game. Every single person is absolutely in love with playing. They are passionate, motivated and borderline obsessed.

If you ever get the change to witness a Frisbee tournament I say you should go, the emotions are contagious.

They are dorky as all get out, but if you are anything like me, you swiftly embrace it. We are all just dorks, but some of us dress it down in designer jeans.

The tournament reminded me that no matter what people may think or perceive you to be on the outside, you are the only one who can control your own happiness.

Now I understand why my husband is a Frisbee dork.

Now all I have to do is figure out what sort of tube socks go with my eyes.