When someone tells you that a sport involves a lot of running, take them at their word. Bring water. And maybe a good cut man if you can find one.

It’s a beautiful day at the park for our first game. Sunny, but not too much so, plentiful grass, and a lovely, temperate breeze keeps the air moving. I put on my trusty, blue, bandana hat and some sunscreen, grab my frisbee and kit, and stroll over to a loose group of people in matching purple shirts. The hem of my pants swishes in the weeds, sending a cloud of dandelion seeds aloft in my wake as I scout around for a restroom. Always know where your exits are. A moment of panic when I can’t find one settles into a mild sense of foreboding as I spot one lone port-a-potty canted at an angle atop a rise on the far end of the next field over.

I spend a few minutes limbering up, grab a disc, and start hucking with the team captain, surprising both of us with a respectable forehand. Finally, that trick throw I learned in junior high will be put to good use! The under-the-leg forehand is too rusty for prime time though I suspect there’s something wrong with the disc; it won’t clear my leg properly. Faulty disc aside, I get in a number of good throws and prepare to rock the field. Why is my arm starting to ache?

Huddle up time, where the official rules of ultimate frisbee are explained. I get lost somewhere around rule 79: legal usage of particle physics and wave theory to affect the trajectory of the disc. Luckily, the other team is also new, though not a one of them is over 21 and after the first play it becomes clear that these guys have been practicing. They’re organized, and they can run and breathe at the same time. Durn kids. My lungs are on fire and I’m sure that I’m dying.

We swap team mates in and out throughout the game to give each other a breather. The blood has either all gone to my head or left it because I’ve completely lost my sense of direction and started throwing for the other team. I am grateful that the breeze is picking up though as it’s about the only thing keeping me upright anymore. Bending over gives me tunnel vision, so I don’t even attempt to sit down.

Final score: 2 to 13.

After the winning team heads out for post-game milk and cookies, we decide to play some scrimmage to learn tactics. Inexplicably, the theme song to Bonanza pops into my head as we continue to run around like drunken idiots. Except that we’re not drunk because the beer is still waiting for us at the bar. At one point, I actually throw up a little in my mouth. Why did I sign up for this torture? Surely it wasn’t the free beer. Ah, right, it was the exercise and doing something new. I am an idiot. Somewhere, on the other side of town, a salt bath is calling my name. And a big, fluffy pillow.