two posts later and something like two months post-season (but still going strong with fat season!) and i’m still in disbelief. i still can’t believe that i was — truly, for lack of a better word — #blessed with the opportunity to play for one of the best teams in the country, with some of the best players and teammates in the game. i couldn’t have asked for a better first (but hopefully not last) foray into the world of elite ultimate.
one of my favorite things about playing with spicy was that each and every season was a learning experience. every single season was different, and every team was special. i always ended the season having learned something about the game, about people, or about myself. no matter how my seasons ended — sometimes that was as the 4th place finisher out of 5, most of the time with a loss to dish, and sometimes with a concussion or three — i always looked back on them warmly. you hear a lot of things (mostly rumors and hearsay about elite teams in general, not about heist specifically) about playing for elite teams. you know, shit like, “oh, they don’t play their rookies” or “so-and-so is a total bitch/alpha”. so, y’know, i was a little nervous. but let me put that negative speculation to rest: none of that was the case with heist. heist is goofy as fuck and everyone is badass at ultimate and funny and smart and so involved and talented in things other than ultimate. being competitive, critical, or intense and having fun and hella lols were never mutually exclusive. like i said, i couldn’t have asked for a better rookie experience.
this club season ended so differently from all my other club seasons. i mean, who the fuck gets to close their season at nationals?! who ever fucking thought that i’d get to be one of those people?! this season was different in that regard, but i will still value it the most for what i’ve learned. this is not an exhaustive list, to be sure, but without freddy adu (how many times have i made this admittedly dumb joke? too many? is this even still relevant?) (welp, that last question was a little “bigger” than i meant for it to be…):
the game
this dumb game will always have my heart. it will always find new ways to humble me, to help me grow, to draw me back in. there’s this really cheesy ed sheeran song (I KNOW, OKAY? YOU DON’T HAVE TO GIVE ME ANY MORE SHIT ABOUT IT) (but actually, which one isn’t cheesy, amirite?) with the line: and out of all these things i’ve done, i will love you better now.
i love ultimate better and more fully now, because i better appreciate the work and investment that everyone puts in to play at this level. it’s kind of like running a marathon — it’s hard to explain the experience fully to people who haven’t done it; it’s a whole ‘nother level of running and of persistence. same thing with ultimate. i used to sit home every october and say, “i’m better than her” or “i used to play against her and i didn’t think she was all that good”. but it’s just not as simple as that. and my god how wrong i used to be about that, you know? i haven’t found a way to articulate this better, i’m sorry.
i didn’t understand the amount of work or the level of mental and physical preparation that it would take to compete at this level. i love that it’s a perpetual climb — you’ll never be on top, you’ll never have complete mastery, and you’ll never feel like there’s nothing more to learn or improve.
i know more than ever now that it truly takes a village — i learned that i was playing for so much more than myself. for those who supported me and taught me along the way, yes. for the name on the front of my jersey, and all the people who wore it before and will wear it after, yes. but also for my opponents. in one of our post-game spirit circles, robyn said that as you move along in a tournament, you will also play for the teams that you’ve beaten. i don’t know how other people interpret it, but the way i interpret it is like this: even though one of you lost and one of you won, at the end of the game, there is no one who more intimately understands what you’re feeling and what you’ve gone through than the people across the field from you. so as you move on, all of their struggles and all of their hard work they’ve put in become your struggles too. they didn’t give you their all so that you could give up once something got hard, or once you got tired or discouraged.
and that brings me to…
people
i’ve learned that not everyone will be happy for you (everybody look at you strange, say you changed, like you work that hard to stay the same). i wish i was kidding when i say that people still said things to me like, “oh, that’s cool that you’re playing with heist, but you’re still not as good as xxx or yyy and zzz.” some people will find any reason to tear you down. some people will find ways to demean your experience, to belittle what you’ve achieved or the work you put in. people who wasn’t with you shooting in the gym are always happy to tell you how little you’re worth, how much you lack, and how you don’t matter/how what you do doesn’t matter.
i don’t want to admit it, but sometimes i play for those people. i play for all those people who told me i’d be lucky to get any playing time at all. i play for all those people who told me i wasn’t a “real ringer” before heist — as if everything we accomplished in 2009 didn’t mean anything. i play for all those people who talked shit, all those people who pretended to be my friends, and all those people who basically told me that i wasn’t shit.
but i’ve also learned that those people don’t matter. the most important people of all are your village. more than anything, i’ve learned to play for them because i never, ever would have come this far without them.
myself
i said this once, about thinking how i was hot shit and then playing nemesis (playing, getting destroyed by, potato potato…), but it really never gets old: there’s nothing like the harsh reminder that you’re not working hard enough. i am hungry and willing to work so that i can give my teammates and my opponents the very, very best of me.
i mean, i feel a lot of things. i’m feeling everything. i’m happy and grateful for an amazing first season with heist. i’m still in disbelief that i got to play against world champion riot — a team i’ve only ever read about. i’m humbled that i got the opportunity to mark gwen ambler (in what she claims will be her last season) — someone i have looked up to since i started playing and since i started writing, someone who has changed the game of ultimate and done so much to make sure the game is better than when she found it. i’m still in awe of all the incredible athletes i had the pleasure of watching and playing against. talk about learning how much work you have left to do, you know? and honestly, i’m heartbroken, still, that the season is over. i’m heartbroken that we lost those games we lost, and i’m heartbroken that i wasn’t better.
i went into this season just hoping to make heist. and once i made heist, i only hoped to make it to my first club nationals. i just wanted one tiny taste of it. i told myself that if i got that one taste, that i’d be satisfied to go back to the places and the teams where i belonged. but god, i got that taste and now i want more. i know that i’m getting older, and as i do, all of my physical limitations/general other deficiencies become more and more apparent. i don’t know how many more years of elite ultimate i have left in these old bones, but g dang it, i am going to work like hell to make the most of them. i’m gonna work like hell to make sure that i’m better if i get the opportunity again.
—
i recently made a list of the best things that happened to me this year — and man it’s been a really, really great year — and making heist was at the very top of that list, above graduating and having a great job lined up post-graduation (which, given my recent history, is no small feat).
so thank you, heist, for giving me the opportunity to play, and the opportunity of a lifetime to chase a dream. thank you to all my teammates, for pushing me and challenging me and being patient and teaching me and beating me down and picking me back up and most of all for making me laugh. thank you for your sacrifices and for giving me so much of your blood, sweat, tears, and heart. thank you to my family and friends, who listened to (put up with?) all my doubts and fears, and for reminding me that no matter how many throws i turf/discs i drop, you’ve still got my back. thank you to every single person who sent me unbelievably sweet and supportive e-mails, texts, and messages throughout the season. thanks, village.
i look back on this season and i just, i can’t think of any words. other than grateful. i’m incredibly grateful. that’s it. (and i’m saying it with a big, derpy smile on my face.)
here’s to hnh, up and up.