It was pretty cold that Saturday morning in early October 1979 as we warmed up for our soccer game.
The grass was crusty under our feet as we made our way onto the field to start our pregame exercise.
Some parents and onlookers were still in their cars waiting for the warm-up drills to end and the whistle for our match to begin.
There were a few spectators already bundled up and huddled on the sidelines drinking cocoa and coffee, chatting and catching up on Town gossip or expectations of play.
I caught some discussions about which players were banged up or out for the season with an injury.
I was thinking about how numb my fingers were and how I would try to keep all my traps and passes clean.
As the first whistle blew the sun started to wick the dew and frost from the surface of the field.
As the game progressed I felt my limbs recharge with the rising temperature.
By the time the half-time whistle blasted I could no longer see my breath.
As we sat and listened to the critique of our first-half play from our coach, Mr. Farmer, even he had shed his heavy jacket and was down to a chamois and turtleneck.
The sun hung in a perfectly blue sky. The echo of flying geese could be heard in the distance.
I adjusted my shin guards and changed into a dry pair of socks.
With the change in temperature, I felt as if the second half of the game was about to be played on a whole different day.
Both teams were sluggish in the first half, though our efforts were better than our opponents.
We were up two nil and I thought we were set for an easy second half.
But our opposition had awakened and pushed us hard for the next twenty minutes.
There was no back and forth action and it seemed as if we were fighting to keep them from taking a shot every thirty seconds.
During the second half of that game I felt the most alive I had ever felt.
We took everything they could give us, and when the game whistle finally blew we had successfully kept them from scoring.
I was tired and almost spent but my adrenalin was still so high I could not calm myself down.
It was a feeling I wanted to hold onto for the rest of my life.
I was able to maintain that rush through high school, college and into a portion of my adult life.
If I were asked if I would go back and do it all over again, I would begin with that frosty, crisp, clear Adirondack morning on the soccer field in Old Forge…and smile a mile-wide while lacing up.
Mitch Lee, Adirondack native & storyteller,
lives at Inlet. ltmitch3rdny@aol.com