I love the space where being a writer and being an athlete collide. Perhaps you do, too? Or maybe you don’t know you do, but you could?
For four weeks in September and October, I’m hosting a writing class that’s themed around frisbee. The rest of this newsletter contains two things:
A few pieces, from me and other writers, that came out of the last class
Logistical info about the one that’s coming up
I’d love to have you there.
Prompt: The car ride…
Author: Jonathan Neeley
I always loved the car ride. The music we’d play. The meals we’d stop and eat. The way my legs would feel like jello if I crawled out of the car at the gas station on the way home. Open road and open sky, both equally full of reflection and anticipation
Smart phones and constant connection weren’t yet with us when I mostly drove to tournaments. It was just us and the songs.
My friend Greg had a 1980-something Mercedes that I think weighed 5,000 pounds. It actually belonged to his sister Devon, and they had rigged it to run on vegetable diesel, and I remember feeling so perfect as someone I loved slept in my lap during one of those early morning drives to a nearby tournament.
Another friend, also named Greg, had a white Volvo. I remember him picking me up on a Friday– I lived closest to the highway, so once I was in, we were off. We’d pass his little one-hitter around, and I shudder, marvel, laugh, cringe at the memory of taking the wheel despite being too high to drive.
I had a blue five-speed Mazda, and once, on spring break, in the middle lane of Interstate 10 in Florida, there was the creeping smell of burning rubber and then suddenly sparks all over the rear-view mirror. I can still feel the weight of the rear right side dragging as Peter and I pulled off the exit. We sat there and screamed. I’m sure someone punched the dashboard. Then we got the little spare tire on, and we drove from Jacksonville to Savannah without ever going over 50 mph, stopping once an hour to spray it with cold water from a gas station hose.
Food wrappers and pillows and muddy cleats. Pro tip: if you’re traveling up the east coast in the morning because Sunday at a tournament got stormed out, sit on the left side of the car so the sun won’t keep you from sleeping.
Kind of like trying out a new sport, it’s a little unusual, and it takes a bit of courage at first… but in these classes, it feels great to create and share in a community of folks who understand the whole frisbee thing. And look: I’m not the only one who thinks that!
Here’s a review from a recent attendee:
Jonathan is a masterful facilitator, and I have found the group to be a nourishing and supportive space. I’ll be joining it again. If you have a love of sport, a desire to write, and want to join a community of writers, I encourage you to sign up. - Michael Namkung
Here’s another:
I'm a shy and unconfident writer, but the low stakes of the class and the openness of Jonathan and my classmates helped me feel very welcome. I really enjoyed the class, and it's also nice to be with people from the ultimate community. Even if you're not a writer, this is really a safe space to get some words down and discover new ideas. - A writer preferred to stay anonymous.
Class starts September 19th
We’re doing it again over the next month, from September 19th-October 17th. If you’ve got anything to reflect on, from your first team to your flick form, I think you’ll enjoy it.
When and where?
We’ll meet Mondays, 4-5:30pm EST, on the following dates: 9/19, 9/26, 10/10, 10/17.
Classes are over Zoom.
You can sign up at the button below, or by replying to this email.
What happens in class?
It’s very basic: I share a prompt, and we all spend 10 minutes writing (you can ignore the prompt if you’d like). Then we come back together, read our pieces, and share strength-based feedback (this isn’t a writing workshop, and we’re not here to critique one another). Then we repeat. The hour and a half goes by very quickly, and I always leave feeling more energized than when it started.
That’s the logistical end of it, anyway. The better answer to “what happens in class?” is below.
I hope you enjoy, and I hope to see you in class!
Prompt: After the game…
Author: Michael Namkung
After the game comes the game when you replay this situation or that situation, this moment of joy or elation or awe, this other moment of frustration, or anger – like the time when that sound of disappointment or disapproval arose spontaneously from your gut, followed by the condemnatory thought that stuck in your mind and your mouth for so much longer than you wanted or needed to be thinking or talking about it.
Or maybe I’m wrong. Maybe this is the only place you have to practice the condemnation you carry around with you, bottled up inside.
Maybe this is the only place you are safe to express disapproval, to vent openly, to share your disdain for the way the world unfolds around you. Perhaps you needed this. Perhaps you needed to feel that venom course through your body for a moment, or for many moments, and maybe you letting that out makes you a little lighter, a little freer, a little more here. Maybe your invective is a giant release, a way to bring yourself back to yourself, a way for you to hear out loud what you haven’t allowed yourself to hear, a way for you to see yourself more clearly.
Is this your place – your special place where you feel safe to rage?
Prompt: What do you regret?
Author: Jeff Brandle
Why wouldn’t I contest that call? Sure I made contact, but the disc had already gone in and out of my mark’s grip. The contact didn’t make him drop it, the pressure, or heat, or angle did. Why wouldn’t I fight for my perspective and raise my voice? I was right and I knew it. Later on, he would look back at it and know that I was right, so why couldn’t he just change his mind right now? These thoughts race through my head as I fight hard in the ninth place game at a sectionals with 11 teams. When we were up by 6.
As I watch the world championships, I see Spirit of the Game even worse than that on display. Foul calls with no bearing on a play causing turnovers to be reversed. Rules being exploited to gain a microscopic advantage. Anger flaring and arguments prolonged because of a sense of entitlement that I once (and occasionally, still) exhibited.
I look back on those days when I know I wasn’t a good teammate or a fun person to play against. I’m disappointed, but grateful for the growth since then.
I caught myself in that entitlement last week, and I alienated someone who I hope to be good friends with. Despite all the years of playing, winning, losing, I still get caught up in the rush of a game and turn off my empathy. Even in a scrimmage at a practice for a team I don’t even play for.
Prompt: The end of the season
Author: Jonathan Neeley
The season can be life’s scaffolding. When it ends, everything gets wobbly. The open space feels dizzying.
2016 was the best year of my on-field career. I trained non-stop, hittIng the gym at midnight sometimes. I started a shuttle program after Labor Day for an extra boost. I’ve never been so resolute to cover pulls. There was this one turn I forced against Revolver– the stingiest offense around– that made me so proud.
I poured everything I had into frisbee that year, and there was a reason for that. Early on, in January, I found out what my dad had done: taken out two credit cards in my name and racked up more debt than I knew what to do with. It was a primary relationship in my life, and the bottom fell out.
Frisbee stitched together the rage, the letdown, the confusion. A teammate, after I told him, when we were resting between sets in that at-home basement gym that became my hiding place, said to me: we will get through this.
“We.” I’m still so struck by that.
That was probably the most talented team I’ve ever been on. Nationals didn’t go our way, though. We weren’t so great in the wind, and Ring had something we did not.
On a Saturday afternoon, a week after that last tournament, I put on my headphones and hoodie and started to wander.
What I felt at first was the vacuum, the relief, the newness– I am not playing ultimate fright now, and I will not for months.
Next came the weight of what the floodwall had been holding back.
Think about it!
We’ve spent hours, days, months, years of our lives playing frisbee. Meeting that with a creative outlet is a beautiful thing. I hope you’ll be there.
And if this isn’t for you, but you know someone for whom this seems right up their alley, please tell them about it!
Back when I in college, someone made the curious decision to make me the president of Charlottesville ultimate. I suppose they didn’t have any other choice once all the adults in the room turned the position down. I should probably write about how that all unfolded, but for now I’ll just use the same sign-off that brought me so much silly joy back in those days:
Peace, love, and ultimate,
Jonathan