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Competitive sports have always been like good friends of mine — constant companions on my journey through life. They fire my passion and bring me great joy and occasional sadness. They help me stay fit, healthy and sane. Like friends of the corporeal variety, however, they’ve begun to disappear one by one as I’ve gotten older.

Last season, at the age of 56, I had to say goodbye to ultimate, the team disc sport I’ve played since the mid-1980s. I stopped because it hurt more to play than to not play. Now I wonder if my best buddy, competitive hockey, will be the next to go.

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For each of the last 49 years, I’ve played hockey in a league — with referees and standings, teammates and opponents, winners and losers. As a kid, I sometimes wore a toque under my helmet because the rink had no roof yet. In minor hockey, I played mostly on competitive teams, but I was never quite good enough to crack the lineup of a junior or university team. As an adult recreational player, I’ve been the strongest player on weak teams and the weakest player on strong teams. And in every game, the goal has been the same: to play well, to compete and to lose myself in the exhilaration of the moment.