Worst photo of me ever, Calgary Sun, 1984


Before I took up hiking and cycling, I spent hours at a time playing frisbee at the park. I wasn't content simply tossing a frisbee back and forth, but strove for accurate throws and unusual catches. I learned a variety of ways to catch a frisbee behind my back whether it was below my knees or well above my head.

On a calm day, I knew exactly where the frisbee would be after I took my eyes off it and turned my back. I could jump up and spin 360° in the air, snagging the disk in mid-air behind my back. Or I could crouch down and let the frisbee slide up my back and into my hand. If I became good at playing frisbee, it wasn't from any talent but from my love for the sport, playing and practicing hours and hours, day after day for many years.

Of course I had my share of mishaps. With all the running, leaping, turning, twisting and stretching I did to catch a frisbee, accidents were inevitable. From frequent falls, I sprained my ankles and wrists innumerable times. Flubbing a catch from a hard, fast throw sometimes resulted in bruised fingers or ripped fingernails. And since I preferred playing in bare feet, sometimes I cut my feet, such as the time I landed on a sprinkler head.

Eventually my time spent playing frisbee in the park gave way to time spent hiking in the mountains. I haven't played frisbee since 2000.

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