As disconcerting as it is, I think I learn best by the "trial by fire" method. I was only three months old, in goalie age, and learning more every time I played, thanks to the patience of the guys I was playing with. They didn't care that I was just starting out (read: awful), and most of them were very encouraging, and happy to explain things I wasn't sure about. Still, it wasn't all happiness and success. There were nights that I was just really off. There were days when I let goals get to me more than I should have. I went through a "muttering and swearing" phase, which thankfully was short-lived. My favorite pastime, other than hockey, is beating myself up. For a while I was giving myself all kinds of shit, out loud, every time a goal went in. I only did this when Goalie Husband or #14 was playing in front of me, I guess because I felt most comfortable with them. A combination of them telling me to shut the fuck up, and realizing it was no fun for other players to have their goalie bitching behind them snapped me out of it eventually. I tried to follow the lead of Cam "I'm So Calm I Look Like I Just Smoked A Doobie" Ward. Two things stick out when someone praises a goalie. If they say "he never gives up on a play" (Lundqvist) or "nothing rattles him" (Ward, Kiprusoff), that sticks with me. I try to bring those qualities to my game now, and for a long time I've been much better about staying calm.
I was fortunate enough to have someone (Mark, another of the "coaching staff" along with John and Mike) point out that when I go down into the butterfly I lift my stick. Until then I had no idea I was even doing that. He worked with me a few times, taking shots straight at the 5-hole, and more times than not they went in. But the times that I got my stick down and made the stop, it was like a revelation. "So that's how it works!" The problem is, a year later, though I'm better about it, that is still a big weakness of mine. And Mark had no problem pointing it out in one game. I guess he was frustrated... he yelled to me from the point after a goal "you go down, stick comes up, puck goes in". Ouch. That stung, because the truth hurts.
Because of that comment, and because he has worked with me on that weakness in the past, I get really frustrated if I make that mistake, especially with him around. It's a humiliating way to let a goal in. What's so difficult about keeping your stick down? You would think that would be rather obvious, but maybe it's the motion of dropping down that causes me to move my stick out of the way. Whatever the cause, I have to really make an effort - to this day - to focus and actually think to myself "keep your stick down". Most of the time it works. Sometimes I'm focusing on something else and don't give it the attention it deserves. The goal of course is to get to the point where it doesn't require focus and comes naturally. I'll get there. I hope.
Friday, June 29, 2007
Thursday, June 28, 2007
Seduced by Ice - Part I
One Friday evening in early June, Goalie Husband and I were trying to come up with something to do to occupy the time suddenly left open by the end of the NHL season. Since our minds were on hockey, we came up with the idea of going ice skating. We called our teammate and buddy #14, and decided to meet at a local rink for public skating. It had been a long time since any of us had been on ice skates, so we figured it would be entertaining at the very least.
Goalie Husband and I arrived at the rink about 10 minutes early, and discovered that there was a game going on the first ice surface. I immediately planted myself at the viewing window at the end of the ice surface, to watch the goalie. But as soon as I saw tell-tale ponytails hanging out of the backs of helmets, my interest piqued considerably. It turned out it was a women's hockey tournament, with teams from all over the country. Since we were standing around waiting anyway, we decided to go in and watch from the inside, in a spot where #14 would see us when he arrived. Conveniently, that spot turned out to be just to the right of the home team's goalie.
I remember him arriving, and us moving to seats in the bleachers, but I don't remember actually being part of the decision to stay and watch the game instead of skating on the other surface. I just remember being totally transfixed. You'd have thought it was the first hockey game I ever watched in person. While that wasn't the case, it was the first game I'd been to that was so... accessible. There it was, right in front of me, women my age, playing hockey! I don't remember if there was any conversation going on between the three of us. I just remember watching so intently that I actually stood up to watch them as they left the ice to return to the locker rooms. "No, you can't go with them," #14 quipped.
I had the same assumptions about playing on ice that I had about playing at all; I'd love to do it, but there were too many reasons why I couldn't. But watching that game ignited a fire in me that started a slow burn. I wanted to play on ice. I had to figure out how to do it, and I knew it would take a while to transition, but that was where my heart was. Any time we'd ever gone into a rink for a public skate, or any reason at all, I felt the yearning to play like a pain in my chest. I always assumed it was too late for me to start, too expensive, etc. It was for everyone else except me. But after a few months of getting a taste of the sport on wheels, I wanted to go that one step further and have the slick surface of ice beneath my feet.
For the rest of the week it was all I thought about. Eventually practicality took over and I realized that I would have to be patient- I would play on ice someday, but there were too many things to consider to jump into it instantly. The biggest hurdle was my equipment. My leg pads were so torn and shoddy from playing on pavement that they'd soak up water instantly and be unbearably heavy (and home to hosts of molds and mildews). My glove and blocker weren't solid enough to stand up to ice pucks. And I didn't have goalie skates. So the first step would be to gradually re-outfit myself with some ice quality gear. Then I'd have to find a way to learn the trade all over again. But once I decided I could/would do it, and just accepted that it would take time, I was fine. By now I was playing two or three roller games a week, scrambling up the learning curve and enjoying every minute of it. The ice would still be there when I was ready, it wasn't going anywhere.
Goalie Husband and I arrived at the rink about 10 minutes early, and discovered that there was a game going on the first ice surface. I immediately planted myself at the viewing window at the end of the ice surface, to watch the goalie. But as soon as I saw tell-tale ponytails hanging out of the backs of helmets, my interest piqued considerably. It turned out it was a women's hockey tournament, with teams from all over the country. Since we were standing around waiting anyway, we decided to go in and watch from the inside, in a spot where #14 would see us when he arrived. Conveniently, that spot turned out to be just to the right of the home team's goalie.
I remember him arriving, and us moving to seats in the bleachers, but I don't remember actually being part of the decision to stay and watch the game instead of skating on the other surface. I just remember being totally transfixed. You'd have thought it was the first hockey game I ever watched in person. While that wasn't the case, it was the first game I'd been to that was so... accessible. There it was, right in front of me, women my age, playing hockey! I don't remember if there was any conversation going on between the three of us. I just remember watching so intently that I actually stood up to watch them as they left the ice to return to the locker rooms. "No, you can't go with them," #14 quipped.
I had the same assumptions about playing on ice that I had about playing at all; I'd love to do it, but there were too many reasons why I couldn't. But watching that game ignited a fire in me that started a slow burn. I wanted to play on ice. I had to figure out how to do it, and I knew it would take a while to transition, but that was where my heart was. Any time we'd ever gone into a rink for a public skate, or any reason at all, I felt the yearning to play like a pain in my chest. I always assumed it was too late for me to start, too expensive, etc. It was for everyone else except me. But after a few months of getting a taste of the sport on wheels, I wanted to go that one step further and have the slick surface of ice beneath my feet.
For the rest of the week it was all I thought about. Eventually practicality took over and I realized that I would have to be patient- I would play on ice someday, but there were too many things to consider to jump into it instantly. The biggest hurdle was my equipment. My leg pads were so torn and shoddy from playing on pavement that they'd soak up water instantly and be unbearably heavy (and home to hosts of molds and mildews). My glove and blocker weren't solid enough to stand up to ice pucks. And I didn't have goalie skates. So the first step would be to gradually re-outfit myself with some ice quality gear. Then I'd have to find a way to learn the trade all over again. But once I decided I could/would do it, and just accepted that it would take time, I was fine. By now I was playing two or three roller games a week, scrambling up the learning curve and enjoying every minute of it. The ice would still be there when I was ready, it wasn't going anywhere.
Saturday, June 23, 2007
Rite of passage
Well if you read the article I linked to in my 2nd post, you know that injury is part of the game. I just didn't expect it to happen to me so quickly, though in retrospect it makes sense that I got hurt right out of the gate, not being used to all that activity.
In my overzealousness to make a desperation save, I dove to my left to cover a shot coming off a pass, and landed on my hand, with my arm stretched out. I felt something in my shoulder give, and felt a twinge of pain, but I just got back up and kept playing, figuring it would be like all the other twinges and in 20 minutes it would be gone. Unfortunately, as time wore on it became more and more difficult to lift my left (i.e., glove) hand at all. Eventually it was just hanging down by my side and I realized I was being an idiot by trying to ignore it. About the time that realization hit me, I also started to panic. So instead of waiting for a break in play, or calling a water break, I skated up to the first guy I saw (John) and started babbling that I was hurt, I tried to play through it, but I couldn't play anymore. John's another one of the guys who, like Mike, make us all better for playing against/with him. I don't think he quite knew what to do with me, because at that point I wasn't really familiar with the guys in the group and there I was babbling at him with tears in my eyes. But since there's no crying in hockey, I managed to keep the waterworks shut off as John brought me over to the bench.
I discovered if I sat and did nothing, it didn't hurt too badly, but the minute I tried to move my hand, something in my shoulder screamed in pain. I was very worried that it was something dreadful like a "rotator cuff"... you never want to hear those words in conjunction with a diagnosis. It didn't feel like a regular old muscle pull, because the pain felt like it was somewhere inside my shoulder. I decided to give it a day or so and see if it started feeling better.
By 11:00 a.m. the next day I realized I needed to get it looked at, I was just in a lot of pain. It turned out to be an inflamed tendon, and I was told to ice it several times a day. If it didn't improve in two weeks, I was to have an MRI. Wonderful. Here I was, all bubbling over with passion to play the game, and I was sidelined already. Being the internet nerd that I am, I sent an email to the goalie yahoo-group I belonged to, asking if anyone had had this type of injury and how long it took to heal. I got a few answers, which were helpful and encouraging, but about a week later I got an instant message from one of the guys on the list, asking how I was doing. We struck up a friendship instantly, and he became a "virtual goalie coach" of sorts, answering my millions of questions and giving me tips on everything from off-ice training to how to tell if a skater was going to pass or shoot.
My shoulder healed quickly and I was back at the rink no later than two weeks after it happened, but the best part was that I'd gained a pretty good friend out of the experience. He and his wife live in North Carolina, and it was right at the end of the 2006 playoffs that we started talking, so of course there was lots gloating going on when the 'Canes won the Cup.
In my overzealousness to make a desperation save, I dove to my left to cover a shot coming off a pass, and landed on my hand, with my arm stretched out. I felt something in my shoulder give, and felt a twinge of pain, but I just got back up and kept playing, figuring it would be like all the other twinges and in 20 minutes it would be gone. Unfortunately, as time wore on it became more and more difficult to lift my left (i.e., glove) hand at all. Eventually it was just hanging down by my side and I realized I was being an idiot by trying to ignore it. About the time that realization hit me, I also started to panic. So instead of waiting for a break in play, or calling a water break, I skated up to the first guy I saw (John) and started babbling that I was hurt, I tried to play through it, but I couldn't play anymore. John's another one of the guys who, like Mike, make us all better for playing against/with him. I don't think he quite knew what to do with me, because at that point I wasn't really familiar with the guys in the group and there I was babbling at him with tears in my eyes. But since there's no crying in hockey, I managed to keep the waterworks shut off as John brought me over to the bench.
I discovered if I sat and did nothing, it didn't hurt too badly, but the minute I tried to move my hand, something in my shoulder screamed in pain. I was very worried that it was something dreadful like a "rotator cuff"... you never want to hear those words in conjunction with a diagnosis. It didn't feel like a regular old muscle pull, because the pain felt like it was somewhere inside my shoulder. I decided to give it a day or so and see if it started feeling better.
By 11:00 a.m. the next day I realized I needed to get it looked at, I was just in a lot of pain. It turned out to be an inflamed tendon, and I was told to ice it several times a day. If it didn't improve in two weeks, I was to have an MRI. Wonderful. Here I was, all bubbling over with passion to play the game, and I was sidelined already. Being the internet nerd that I am, I sent an email to the goalie yahoo-group I belonged to, asking if anyone had had this type of injury and how long it took to heal. I got a few answers, which were helpful and encouraging, but about a week later I got an instant message from one of the guys on the list, asking how I was doing. We struck up a friendship instantly, and he became a "virtual goalie coach" of sorts, answering my millions of questions and giving me tips on everything from off-ice training to how to tell if a skater was going to pass or shoot.
My shoulder healed quickly and I was back at the rink no later than two weeks after it happened, but the best part was that I'd gained a pretty good friend out of the experience. He and his wife live in North Carolina, and it was right at the end of the 2006 playoffs that we started talking, so of course there was lots gloating going on when the 'Canes won the Cup.
Friday, June 22, 2007
Pick-up hockey rule #241: Don't show up the goalie
This is one of my favorite memories of my goaltending infancy, but only because of the way it turned out in the end. It could have very easily fallen under the "some guys are just assholes" file of life-lessons.
It was a late spring evening, and the gang started showing up at the rink, getting ready in the parking lot and bleachers as we waited for the kids' leagues and lessons to finish up for the evening. On one rink, a game was going on. On the other, there was a lesson which was only using half the rink. On the other half, two guys we'd never seen before skated around, passing to each other and shooting at the empty net. When it became obvious to them that some kind of a game was going to be taking place, one of them came over to ask if they could join us.
As a group, our skills have come a very long way in one year, but at the time, we were at a bit of a lower level. Hence, whenever anyone asked if they could join us, we always asked for a self-assessment of their abilities. This usually consisted of us asking "How good are you?" and trusting the answer they gave. Perhaps sensing our reticence, the older guy replied "not that good"... with an obvious accent, which at the time I thought might be Russian. Our first mistake was believing them. Our second was not splitting them up and putting them on different teams. They were on the team I was facing, and they owned the rink. They also owned me, considering it was my third time EVER playing an actual game. But the rest of the guys weren't too thrilled with them either. They found each other effortlessly, and blew past the rest of us with even more ease. To make matters worse, they were yapping back and forth in their own language, which completely kept us from picking up on what they were planning on doing. The older one, who seemed to be the one who spoke the most/best English, was wearing a St. Louis Blues jersey, which earned him the nickname "Al MacInnis" from one of the guys.
He wasn't the only one grumbling about their selfish style of play. Time and again, they'd swoop in, play patty-cake with the puck right in front of me or even be so brash as to just stand there waiting for me to move, and just tap it past me with a smirk. I was starting to feel humiliated, but suddenly I noticed they'd backed off. MacInnis was even staying back in the other zone playing defense, and his buddy wasn't toying with me as much. It turns out my friend had told the younger one rather sternly "Don't show up the goalie", after one especially shameless move on their part. The younger one repeated it (or something) to MacInnis and they laid off.
I went home feeling kind of deflated that night. I knew it was more of a reflection on them than on me that they'd take advantage of me like that, but I was glad things had calmed down eventually. Unfortunately, I was less than thrilled when I pulled into the parking lot two days later and saw them getting their skates and sticks out of their car. "Didn't they get enough of us the other night?" I wondered. But it was like they were two entirely different people. Maybe they had the wrong idea about us the other night, or maybe they were suffering from "show-off-itis", which every guy is afflicted with the first time he plays with us. Regardless, I decided to take the high road and introduce myself. Al MacInnis was in fact not Al at all, but Mike*, and the younger one was his nephew Frank*. And they weren't Russian, but Slovakian. And that evening's game was totally different. We split them up, and Mike was on my team. He stayed back on defense, and tapped my pads with his stick in support after a goal, and was quick to praise a good save. Frank didn't run all over the place with the puck either.
From those inauspicious beginnings, Mike has become one of the most (if not the most) esteemed members of our group. He's gruff, he works hard and expects the same of everyone else, but all you need do is ask and he'll show you how to improve your skills, and perhaps most valuable is how he's raised the skill of the group just by being there and challenging us. We never got much of a chance to get to know Frank, since he moved a few weeks after that first night. For a time we had several guys by the name of Mike, and it's a testament to what he brings to the group that most people differentiate him from the other Mikes by referring to him as "Coach Mike". No one else would get away with screaming from the bench...
"SKATE! SKATE! MOVE YOUR LEGS!"
"COME ON, SUB! WE DON'T WANT TO SIT HERE FOR A HALF HOUR!"
"WHAT IS THE MATTER WITH YOU, STAY WITH HIM! STAY WITH HIM!!!"
*Not their real names. (Obviously. How many Slovaks do you know named Mike or Frank?)
It was a late spring evening, and the gang started showing up at the rink, getting ready in the parking lot and bleachers as we waited for the kids' leagues and lessons to finish up for the evening. On one rink, a game was going on. On the other, there was a lesson which was only using half the rink. On the other half, two guys we'd never seen before skated around, passing to each other and shooting at the empty net. When it became obvious to them that some kind of a game was going to be taking place, one of them came over to ask if they could join us.
As a group, our skills have come a very long way in one year, but at the time, we were at a bit of a lower level. Hence, whenever anyone asked if they could join us, we always asked for a self-assessment of their abilities. This usually consisted of us asking "How good are you?" and trusting the answer they gave. Perhaps sensing our reticence, the older guy replied "not that good"... with an obvious accent, which at the time I thought might be Russian. Our first mistake was believing them. Our second was not splitting them up and putting them on different teams. They were on the team I was facing, and they owned the rink. They also owned me, considering it was my third time EVER playing an actual game. But the rest of the guys weren't too thrilled with them either. They found each other effortlessly, and blew past the rest of us with even more ease. To make matters worse, they were yapping back and forth in their own language, which completely kept us from picking up on what they were planning on doing. The older one, who seemed to be the one who spoke the most/best English, was wearing a St. Louis Blues jersey, which earned him the nickname "Al MacInnis" from one of the guys.
He wasn't the only one grumbling about their selfish style of play. Time and again, they'd swoop in, play patty-cake with the puck right in front of me or even be so brash as to just stand there waiting for me to move, and just tap it past me with a smirk. I was starting to feel humiliated, but suddenly I noticed they'd backed off. MacInnis was even staying back in the other zone playing defense, and his buddy wasn't toying with me as much. It turns out my friend had told the younger one rather sternly "Don't show up the goalie", after one especially shameless move on their part. The younger one repeated it (or something) to MacInnis and they laid off.
I went home feeling kind of deflated that night. I knew it was more of a reflection on them than on me that they'd take advantage of me like that, but I was glad things had calmed down eventually. Unfortunately, I was less than thrilled when I pulled into the parking lot two days later and saw them getting their skates and sticks out of their car. "Didn't they get enough of us the other night?" I wondered. But it was like they were two entirely different people. Maybe they had the wrong idea about us the other night, or maybe they were suffering from "show-off-itis", which every guy is afflicted with the first time he plays with us. Regardless, I decided to take the high road and introduce myself. Al MacInnis was in fact not Al at all, but Mike*, and the younger one was his nephew Frank*. And they weren't Russian, but Slovakian. And that evening's game was totally different. We split them up, and Mike was on my team. He stayed back on defense, and tapped my pads with his stick in support after a goal, and was quick to praise a good save. Frank didn't run all over the place with the puck either.
From those inauspicious beginnings, Mike has become one of the most (if not the most) esteemed members of our group. He's gruff, he works hard and expects the same of everyone else, but all you need do is ask and he'll show you how to improve your skills, and perhaps most valuable is how he's raised the skill of the group just by being there and challenging us. We never got much of a chance to get to know Frank, since he moved a few weeks after that first night. For a time we had several guys by the name of Mike, and it's a testament to what he brings to the group that most people differentiate him from the other Mikes by referring to him as "Coach Mike". No one else would get away with screaming from the bench...
"SKATE! SKATE! MOVE YOUR LEGS!"
"COME ON, SUB! WE DON'T WANT TO SIT HERE FOR A HALF HOUR!"
"WHAT IS THE MATTER WITH YOU, STAY WITH HIM! STAY WITH HIM!!!"
*Not their real names. (Obviously. How many Slovaks do you know named Mike or Frank?)
Goalie pants are your friend
One thing that both the guy in the store and I overlooked when amassing the pile of gear I'd need was protection for my hips/butt/thighs... i.e., goalie pants. (Yes, they are techincally "shorts", just like regular hockey pants. I still haven't figured out why they're called "pants".) The store clerk might have assumed I didn't need them, since I would be playing roller hockey outside and a roller hockey ball doesn't hurt much in comparison to an ice puck. Unfortunately he failed to take into account both my lack of balance, and the strength with which some of the guys at the rink can wing that light plastic puck. I had the bruises to show for it. But what really alerted me to the fact that I needed something to protect my delicate derriere was falling on my backside twice in one week, and landing so hard on my tailbone that I let out what a friend described as a sound a lemur would make if it burnt its paw on a hot stove.
The second time, I really thought I had broken something. Getting up and skating to the bench was probably a 6 on the happy-face-to-sad-face pain scale. But I was more upset at being out of commission and unable to play than I was about some silly ol' pain. I paced the bench (because sitting on it was too painful) and bitched and moaned for a few minutes but eventually settled down. Later that morning when I got home, the first thing I did was go online and order a pair of goalie pants, and I vowed not to play until they came in.
Now, I must confess, when you look at me, you probably don't instantly assume "hockey goalie" when you see my build. It's probably much better suited for... maybe a gymnast. Basically, I'm pretty scrawny. Or I was. Not anymore, but that's for another post. Throw a giant pair of goalie pants on me and it makes my chicken legs look that much more strange, like two string beans sticking out of the bottom of a giant plastic bag. But hey, once I get the rest of the equipment on, I'm J.S.-freaking-Giguere. Ok, maybe only in my own mind. But that's where it counts, right?
(Next up: Pick-up Hockey Rule #241: Don't Show Up the Goalie)
The second time, I really thought I had broken something. Getting up and skating to the bench was probably a 6 on the happy-face-to-sad-face pain scale. But I was more upset at being out of commission and unable to play than I was about some silly ol' pain. I paced the bench (because sitting on it was too painful) and bitched and moaned for a few minutes but eventually settled down. Later that morning when I got home, the first thing I did was go online and order a pair of goalie pants, and I vowed not to play until they came in.
Now, I must confess, when you look at me, you probably don't instantly assume "hockey goalie" when you see my build. It's probably much better suited for... maybe a gymnast. Basically, I'm pretty scrawny. Or I was. Not anymore, but that's for another post. Throw a giant pair of goalie pants on me and it makes my chicken legs look that much more strange, like two string beans sticking out of the bottom of a giant plastic bag. But hey, once I get the rest of the equipment on, I'm J.S.-freaking-Giguere. Ok, maybe only in my own mind. But that's where it counts, right?
(Next up: Pick-up Hockey Rule #241: Don't Show Up the Goalie)
Thursday, June 21, 2007
Practicing.... in front of PEOPLE?!
With a decent handle on skating, and finally with a mask that fit, I was ready to actually put all this equipment and nervous energy to use. Goalie Husband brought me over to The Rink one morning when thankfully no one else was around, and I dawdled as I put my gear on, then skated around a bit, claiming the need to get familiar with my pads. In actuality, I was a little afraid to actually start attempting to make saves. What if I was horrible at it and didn't give myself a chance? What if I ended up feeling like a failure before I'd even begun? Goalie Husband called me out on my stalling though, and there was nothing left to do but get in the net. I reminded myself that I was determined to make this work, and that I knew it wasn't going to be easy, and that I had a lot of learning to do. Into the net I went.
I felt like a wobbly newborn giraffe, and fell all over the place, but I was doing it. I was on the way to doing something I had wanted to do for a long time but didn't even realize it. It felt great. It felt wonderful.... until I tried to drop into a butterfly. My pads were colliding at the top when I tried to go down, preventing me from getting all the way down to the pavement. I was frustrated, but figured that just meant I had a lot of stretches to do. It didn't even occur to me that I might have my pads on the wrong legs. I mean, after all, I'd read a fantastic article online about starting out as a goalie, and was pretty sure I wouldn't make the same mistake the author did- playing his entire first game with his pads on the wrong legs. Well, it's never too early to learn a lesson in humility. I don't even recall what clued me in that I had my pads on backwards, but thankfully it wasn't someone pointing and laughing- I figured it out on my own somehow.
Good thing too, because the next time we came out to the rink, there was a group of kids and teenagers already there, who'd been there for hours. I stood on the outside of the fence, looking in, suddenly mortified at the prospect of revealing just how much of a novice I was compared to these kids who'd probably grown up on skates. But as I watched the antics of the kids and teens on the rink and laughed at their attempts to insult each other, something happened. I suddenly realized what I'd been missing out on, not being involved in sports for most of my life. The same thing that had me longing to play when I showed up on that freezing cold February day- the camraderie. Right about the time this realization was hitting me, one of the older teens who sometimes played with Goalie Husband's group came over to chat with us, and somehow the topic had come up that I was learning goal. Someone threw a street hockey ball outside of the rink and the kid started to yell "Hey! You throw like a gi---" then looked guiltily at me and said "sorry". I laughed and told him I didn't care. Then someone behind him started in with the same kind of commentary and he indicated to this other kid that I was standing right there. "Hey watch it," he warned the other kid "She's a goalie". I don't know if he meant, "hey she's a goalie, she'll kick your ass" or "hey she's a goalie, she can't be that girly", and the fact that I'd only ever strapped the pads on and come out to play once before didn't matter- inside I swelled with pride. I'm sure I had a Cheshire-cat grin on my face too. "Hey, she's a goalie." I loved it. I could taste it. Later when their game broke up and I was dithering about playing in front of the remaining kids, the kid said "Aww, come on, we all started somewhere! Who cares?" and that was all the encouragement I needed.
I got all my gear on, skated around to get the nerves out, and then parked myself in front of the net. At first it was just Goalie Husband and our friend shooting at me, but the two kids (14 yr olds!) who were still hanging around started shooting on me too. I wasn't even embarrassed at my lack of skill or coordination. In fact, I felt grateful when they gave me little tips. I was gasping for air after 20 minutes, but I loved every minute of it.
"Hey, she's a goalie."
(Next up: Goalie pants are your friend)
I felt like a wobbly newborn giraffe, and fell all over the place, but I was doing it. I was on the way to doing something I had wanted to do for a long time but didn't even realize it. It felt great. It felt wonderful.... until I tried to drop into a butterfly. My pads were colliding at the top when I tried to go down, preventing me from getting all the way down to the pavement. I was frustrated, but figured that just meant I had a lot of stretches to do. It didn't even occur to me that I might have my pads on the wrong legs. I mean, after all, I'd read a fantastic article online about starting out as a goalie, and was pretty sure I wouldn't make the same mistake the author did- playing his entire first game with his pads on the wrong legs. Well, it's never too early to learn a lesson in humility. I don't even recall what clued me in that I had my pads on backwards, but thankfully it wasn't someone pointing and laughing- I figured it out on my own somehow.
Good thing too, because the next time we came out to the rink, there was a group of kids and teenagers already there, who'd been there for hours. I stood on the outside of the fence, looking in, suddenly mortified at the prospect of revealing just how much of a novice I was compared to these kids who'd probably grown up on skates. But as I watched the antics of the kids and teens on the rink and laughed at their attempts to insult each other, something happened. I suddenly realized what I'd been missing out on, not being involved in sports for most of my life. The same thing that had me longing to play when I showed up on that freezing cold February day- the camraderie. Right about the time this realization was hitting me, one of the older teens who sometimes played with Goalie Husband's group came over to chat with us, and somehow the topic had come up that I was learning goal. Someone threw a street hockey ball outside of the rink and the kid started to yell "Hey! You throw like a gi---" then looked guiltily at me and said "sorry". I laughed and told him I didn't care. Then someone behind him started in with the same kind of commentary and he indicated to this other kid that I was standing right there. "Hey watch it," he warned the other kid "She's a goalie". I don't know if he meant, "hey she's a goalie, she'll kick your ass" or "hey she's a goalie, she can't be that girly", and the fact that I'd only ever strapped the pads on and come out to play once before didn't matter- inside I swelled with pride. I'm sure I had a Cheshire-cat grin on my face too. "Hey, she's a goalie." I loved it. I could taste it. Later when their game broke up and I was dithering about playing in front of the remaining kids, the kid said "Aww, come on, we all started somewhere! Who cares?" and that was all the encouragement I needed.
I got all my gear on, skated around to get the nerves out, and then parked myself in front of the net. At first it was just Goalie Husband and our friend shooting at me, but the two kids (14 yr olds!) who were still hanging around started shooting on me too. I wasn't even embarrassed at my lack of skill or coordination. In fact, I felt grateful when they gave me little tips. I was gasping for air after 20 minutes, but I loved every minute of it.
"Hey, she's a goalie."
(Next up: Goalie pants are your friend)
Wednesday, June 20, 2007
And then there was skating
Having committed to this goaltending thing by spending so much money on gear, I was determined not to let myself defeat myself. That was one of the reasons I had been sure I couldn't do it in the first place; I have a habit of trying something new, and as soon as I'm not perfect on the first attempt, I get disgusted with myself and quit. I was absolutely determined not to let that happen with this. I wanted it too badly. And so, I set out honing what I figured was the first and most important skill; balancing on skates.
I should mention I'm something of a hockey fanatic. And that description doesn't even do my passion for the sport justice. I refer to summer as "the off-season" and spend most of it brooding and cursing the heat and lack of hockey on television. So it was no surprise to my close friends that I actually took a week off work to watch the Olympic games live. I timed it so that I caught the medal games for the women, and the final round and medal round for the men. But since the first games didn't start until 8 a.m., I decided to make good use of the time. I bundled up and brought my 15 year old discount "rollerblades" to a local park, and set to the task of becoming comfortable on skates. There's a mile and a half trail around this park, perfect for rollerblading, and at that early hour, no one was there to see me jerk awkwardly around as I got the feel for rolling instead of walking. On the first day I did one lap, but by the end of the week I had found the elusive center of gravity and did two laps with ease. Unfortunately, I never got the hang of skating backwards, which was disconcerting to say the least, since goalies tend to have to do that now and then.
Even when I wasn't out on the path as the sun rose, I was working towards my ultimate goal. As I watched the Olympics, I kept a sharp eye on the goalies at all times. I even strapped the pads on and tried to mimic what they were doing. Fortunately, I only did this while watching in my own house, not when I went to my best friend's house. She'd also taken a few days off that week and we watched some of the really important games together- Czech vs Sweden stands out for me, even though it wasn't a very good game since it was a complete rout.
(Next Up: Practicing... in front of PEOPLE?!? )
I should mention I'm something of a hockey fanatic. And that description doesn't even do my passion for the sport justice. I refer to summer as "the off-season" and spend most of it brooding and cursing the heat and lack of hockey on television. So it was no surprise to my close friends that I actually took a week off work to watch the Olympic games live. I timed it so that I caught the medal games for the women, and the final round and medal round for the men. But since the first games didn't start until 8 a.m., I decided to make good use of the time. I bundled up and brought my 15 year old discount "rollerblades" to a local park, and set to the task of becoming comfortable on skates. There's a mile and a half trail around this park, perfect for rollerblading, and at that early hour, no one was there to see me jerk awkwardly around as I got the feel for rolling instead of walking. On the first day I did one lap, but by the end of the week I had found the elusive center of gravity and did two laps with ease. Unfortunately, I never got the hang of skating backwards, which was disconcerting to say the least, since goalies tend to have to do that now and then.
Even when I wasn't out on the path as the sun rose, I was working towards my ultimate goal. As I watched the Olympics, I kept a sharp eye on the goalies at all times. I even strapped the pads on and tried to mimic what they were doing. Fortunately, I only did this while watching in my own house, not when I went to my best friend's house. She'd also taken a few days off that week and we watched some of the really important games together- Czech vs Sweden stands out for me, even though it wasn't a very good game since it was a complete rout.
(Next Up: Practicing... in front of PEOPLE?!? )
In the beginning, there was doubt.
It all started just before Christmas, 2005. My husband said he wanted to buy goalie gear for me, and at the time I refused. There were oh so many reasons why I “couldn’t” be a goalie, and would just have to be satisfied with watching them and reading about them instead of joining their ranks. I wasn’t flexible enough. I had the wrong temperament. I was too sensitive about letting people down. I just flat out wouldn’t be able to do it. I thanked him for offering, but said it wouldn’t be a good idea and I’d end up frustrated and upset. He respected that and instead found a way to get me a jersey all the way from the Swedish Elite League instead.
But the seed had been planted. As much as I tried to push the idea away, it kept coming back, until one day when I read something a friend had written about the drive, the passion he had for playing hockey, which pushed him past limits he thought he had and made him welcome the feel of his head soaked with sweat and his muscles sore from overuse. I just knew that same passion was within me, and all this time I had been denying myself the chance to see what it could do. I decided to come out and watch my husband and my friend one Sunday morning as they braved the February chill to do what they loved. Coffee in hand, I paced the bench to keep from turning to a block of ice and watched. Everything enthralled me, from the chatter on the benches as they donned their equipment, to the way nothing but the game existed as they worked up a sweat in the 25* air. And of course, watching the goalie. I stayed for an hour and a half before I had to leave to finish a freelance project that was due that evening. But the atmosphere stayed with me; I’d been bitten hard by the bug.
I later announced to my husband that I was ready to give it a try, and off we went to Play it Again Sports to buy some used equipment. I got by many accounts a set of one of the best pads for butterfly goalies (of course not knowing that at the time), beat up, torn in places, and stained with sweat and who knows what else, for $50. (Bauer Reactors, in case anyone’s curious. I wish they still made them, I’d buy them in a heartbeat.) The guy in the store helped me find the rest of the equipment I would need, all of it “junior”sized to fit my small frame. The only thing I was missing was a mask. As luck would have it, a sizeable snowstorm rolled in that night, and for the next week I was unable to go outside and practice my new craft. Not to be deterred, I donned my gear and stood in the living room attempting to deflect the cat toys my husband shot at me.
The delay caused by the snowstorm gave me time to find a mask. None of the inexpensive street hockey masks in the chain sporting goods stores fit, so I called around looking for a place that sold smaller masks. It was at this early stage in my journey that I experienced the natural assumptions of others that a woman asking about hockey equipment must be asking for her son. (Stay tuned, more on this later). We ended up at a hockey specialty store, and fiddled around with a junior sized Itech ice hockey goalie mask until it fit just right. It was pretty expensive, but my husband and I both figured that was the most important piece of equipment in terms of protection, and not a good thing to skimp on. Besides, I had dreams of one day playing on ice, and with a quality mask like that I could make the transition without having to buy another one.
So finally, fully outfitted, I could start the process of re-learning the response to move away from things hurled at me at high speeds. But before I did that, I felt I needed to work on something that’s widely disregarded by those who don’t play the position, but crucial to one’s success at it: skating.
(Next up: And Then There Was Skating)
But the seed had been planted. As much as I tried to push the idea away, it kept coming back, until one day when I read something a friend had written about the drive, the passion he had for playing hockey, which pushed him past limits he thought he had and made him welcome the feel of his head soaked with sweat and his muscles sore from overuse. I just knew that same passion was within me, and all this time I had been denying myself the chance to see what it could do. I decided to come out and watch my husband and my friend one Sunday morning as they braved the February chill to do what they loved. Coffee in hand, I paced the bench to keep from turning to a block of ice and watched. Everything enthralled me, from the chatter on the benches as they donned their equipment, to the way nothing but the game existed as they worked up a sweat in the 25* air. And of course, watching the goalie. I stayed for an hour and a half before I had to leave to finish a freelance project that was due that evening. But the atmosphere stayed with me; I’d been bitten hard by the bug.
I later announced to my husband that I was ready to give it a try, and off we went to Play it Again Sports to buy some used equipment. I got by many accounts a set of one of the best pads for butterfly goalies (of course not knowing that at the time), beat up, torn in places, and stained with sweat and who knows what else, for $50. (Bauer Reactors, in case anyone’s curious. I wish they still made them, I’d buy them in a heartbeat.) The guy in the store helped me find the rest of the equipment I would need, all of it “junior”sized to fit my small frame. The only thing I was missing was a mask. As luck would have it, a sizeable snowstorm rolled in that night, and for the next week I was unable to go outside and practice my new craft. Not to be deterred, I donned my gear and stood in the living room attempting to deflect the cat toys my husband shot at me.
The delay caused by the snowstorm gave me time to find a mask. None of the inexpensive street hockey masks in the chain sporting goods stores fit, so I called around looking for a place that sold smaller masks. It was at this early stage in my journey that I experienced the natural assumptions of others that a woman asking about hockey equipment must be asking for her son. (Stay tuned, more on this later). We ended up at a hockey specialty store, and fiddled around with a junior sized Itech ice hockey goalie mask until it fit just right. It was pretty expensive, but my husband and I both figured that was the most important piece of equipment in terms of protection, and not a good thing to skimp on. Besides, I had dreams of one day playing on ice, and with a quality mask like that I could make the transition without having to buy another one.
So finally, fully outfitted, I could start the process of re-learning the response to move away from things hurled at me at high speeds. But before I did that, I felt I needed to work on something that’s widely disregarded by those who don’t play the position, but crucial to one’s success at it: skating.
(Next up: And Then There Was Skating)
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