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Back In The Game I went back to hockey today. I played again for the first time in almost a year. First term my feet were in such bad shape that I couldn't bear the thought of wedging them into those rough black prisons and the prospect of having my tattered white laces pulled tight made me shudder.By December I was ready to go back to hockey. I was tired of just opening doors, tired of not being able to help out my weary teammates, tired of not quite being a part of the team. Slowly, slowly my feet are healing. Now I just have to be careful not to land the wrong way or stamp too hard or walk for too long. I can walk home from work two nights a week and not be suffering still in the morning. I signed up and was all geared up to go back to hockey�then I got mono. "No contact sports," said the doctor, "or you could rupture your spleen and even possibly die." Well, technically I play in a non-contact league, but I'm not the world's best skater and sometimes the other players get a little rough. Two years ago in a playoff game, a girl hit me from behind when I was trying to dig the puck out of a corner. My stick stuck (no pun intended) on the boards and the butt end speared me up under my ribs. The girl was ejected from the game and if I remember correctly that game won us the rec league, but the thought that such a thing had happened to me once, and how much that hurt without any preexisting condition, kept me safely off the ice. On Tuesday I went to my own doctor who examined my side and determined that my spleen was no longer inflamed and the discomfort in my side was actually from my dislocated ribs. She sent me for more tests, just to make sure she wasn't missing anything. By Thursday I was starting to feel better, having more energy, taking shorter naps. I know I'm still not fully recovered and I need to be careful to get lots of rest, but I'm ready to go back to most of my usual routine. It felt great to get back on the ice, almost like I had never left. I knew where I was supposed to be and when, I picked my passes, I managed to carry the puck a few metres without losing it (this is new for me) and I actually took a shot at the net (for the second time ever, and the first was an accident). I still made some mistakes and I had a good fall at one point that luckily managed to deflect the puck and correct the crink in my neck that I've had all day. I made it through the game without an asthma attack and without tearing my skates off my battered feet. What I really missed though was the team itself: our incredible spirit and heart. We sing in our locker room. We laugh at our faults, falls and failures, but we laugh as a team. We support each other in so many ways. We offer suggestions to improve but never criticism; on this team we are spared the harshness of women's tongues. We cheer each minor victory on the ice with a full voice and full heart: a puck stopped, a pass received, a fall without injury, finally getting out of our zone. First ever goals are celebrated, often with a number of years attached to it. Our little bench sometimes makes more noise than a full arena. Just because we play hockey doesn't mean that we become males inside our castoff men's equipment. You would never see an NHL team cheer themselves hoarse at the end of a game that they lost 7-2. That happened tonight. You don't often see men celebrating equipment that fits either. I'm always thrilled when I get a pair of shoulder pads that are big enough, or elbow pads that are small enough that they don't knock my gloves off. When male hockey players hug, it's generally on the ice, in celebration of a goal. When we hug, it's as we leave for home after the game, in celebration of our friendship. I think though, that what men and women take home from the game is the same: thrilling at the grace of movement on ice, feeling strong in our bodies, hearts and minds, and being a part of something larger than ourselves, our team. And I wouldn't trade my team for anything the world. 2004-01-25 || 10:50 p.m. |
