The crowd looked frighteningly large. I had butterflies in my stomach and my palms were sticky as I searched for my mother in the stands. My previous experience with a skillet had been stationary and involved eggs, not throwing, but I had impulsively announced in an editorial meeting at the Gazette (where I am working as an intern this summer) that I would enter the 14th Annual Women’s Skillet Throw at the Agricultural Fair. What had I been thinking? But there was no time to back out.

The rules are simple. You are given two throws with two skillets provided by the fair. You must throw each skillet as far as you can and as close to the line as possible; each inch wide of the line is deducted from the throw’s distance. Finally, you may not step over the orange line placed perpendicularly to the throwing line, or your throw will be disqualified.

It was a relief to find that my lot, or age group, would be last. First up were the eight women competing in the 65 and older category. The crowd cheered and applauded as these women hurled their skillets 24 or 26 feet. There were a few bad throws. I stood, as nonchalantly as I could, and thought despondently, “I’ll be the one to hit myself in the face with the skillet.” And as has so often happened in my life, I had worn the wrong shoes. As the women in the 65 and older category filed into the throwing ring, I noted an assortment of sneakers, hiking shoes and rubber sandals with many secure straps. I looked around and found similar footwear all around me. My flip-flops weren’t going to cut it.

With eight competitors, the 65 and older category finished quickly, and featured a blue ribbon throw of 31 feet, nine inches by Harriet Kantrowitz. My nerves had eased by now as I watched the competitors laugh with each other, some with their daughters lining the fence. They shared strategy freely with each other and told tales of past winners. One woman, competing for the first time, listened as a friend recounted a story of a woman who took a running start to her throw and went on to win a ribbon. I had visions of myself face-planting, skillet in hand, and quickly walked to another part of the fence.

My back to the barn, arms resting on the top rung of the rough-hewn fence, I encountered some outfits familiar only in Masterpiece Theatre dramas and history books. A group of women were dressed in corsets and white cotton dresses that wouldn’t have looked out of place in Pride and Prejudice. They wore the dresses as a tribute to the fair’s 150th anniversary, though when it came to skillet throwing performance, something more modern may have suited them better. Few things can be successfully accomplished in a corset.

As the next lots, ages 46-64 and 30-45, threw a seemingly endless array of skillets — 122 in all — all nervousness subsided. I moved around the outside of the ring, watching from every angle. I hadn’t practiced, so this was as much preparation as I would get, but there are only so many tosses one can watch. The crowd seemed to agree and by the time my lot was called, the crowd had thinned.

The throws grew longer as the contestants grew younger. And Kara Shem-eth’s championship throw of 50 feet, 11 inches was certainly enough to crown her the winner of the day.

After two hours, my throw was over in a matter of seconds. In the end, I kicked off the shoes, took my place behind the line and let loose, trying to remember the advice I’d heard throughout the afternoon, and watched as the judges measured. The verdict: 31 feet, one inch. Not bad for my first throw ever. With my second throw I gave no warning, no preparatory swings, much to the dismay of the Gazette photographer and it fell too wide. I missed sixth place by two and a half feet.

Watch out for me next year. I’ve got 12 months to practice.