Ihave the bad habit of forgetting the pain of physical endeavors shortly after they’re over. How bad is my memory for painful experiences? Every now and again, I get nostalgic about the marathon I ran, even though it was a big, fat disaster in which every muscle in my legs cramped up, and I got passed at the end by a hulk of a man draped in a car-dealership-size American flag.

When it comes to getting outdoors during the winter months, Larry Rohr, Terry Rea and their disc golf compatriots follow the mail carriers’ code. “Neither rain nor snow . . . nor gloom of night” shall keep them from their appointed rounds.