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Picking up hockey as an adult |
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Written by Pikachu
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Wednesday, 04 April 2007 |
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Our gear was still wet from just hours before. And we hadn’t slept much — in a hotel bed at that.
There was a silence in the locker room as we all slowly put on our equipment. No one said it, but we were all thinking it — we paid for someone to torture us like this? Funny enough, at 25, I was among the youngest in the room of people at a four-day adult hockey camp in suburban Washington, D.C.
But we had a reason to keep going — the payoff. That afternoon we played at the Verizon Center, home of the Washington Capitals.
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THE ROAR OF THE ... CROWD?
The ice crunched beneath our feet as we raced across the rink. Thousands of seats stood empty, the swish of our skates and the slap of the puck echoing through the stands. Only seven people in attendance, but that didn’t matter.
We dreamed of a sold out crowd watching us win Game Seven of the Stanley Cup Finals.
We smiled like children on Christmas when later that day we watched pros like Alex Ovechkin — who is younger than all of us — skate on the same sheet.
Needless to say, we all share a great passion for the game and are determined to play it whenever and wherever we can.
Sore body and all.
And on my way to the camp, I wondered how someone who spent most of his life in sunny South Florida fell in love with a sport that got its start on frozen ponds in the Great White North. More importantly, I wondered why I waited until about three years ago to start playing.
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TIME FOR THE PAIN
I enjoyed watching the game growing up, but ice rinks were considered just a way to keep cool for a few hours during summer camp. Even after the Florida Panthers came to town, roller hockey was pretty much the only type available, and I was wrapped up in journalism — choosing to pick up a pencil instead of a hockey stick.
As I got older, went away to college and started my first job, I felt a need to pick up a sport, something to take my mind off work and get my blood flowing. I decided to lace up a pair of skates — something I hadn’t done in about 10 years.
Fast forward three years — a new job, new city, and almost a whole season of adult “beer league” hockey under my belt. Still, it took about $700 to convince me that playing hockey was the best decision I ever made, even when my body was telling me I was getting too old to learn something new.
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DISCOMFORT ZONE
My story was similar to the 30 people at the Weekend Warriors hockey camp. Some skated when they were younger and just started playing again, others had only first started skating a year or two ago. But we were all there to play the game.
And we did.
Twelve hours on the ice in less than four days — an intense crash course to elevate our game.
We had four coaches, including some current college coaches, and former college and minor leaguers. They pushed us hard, forcing us beyond our comfort level in order to make us better players.
Every time we stepped on the ice my legs cursed me with every expletive in the book. My lower back was throbbing even more than the day before, and I was still burning off the beer we had consumed the night before. But we kept going — all for the love of the game.
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SLIDING BACKWARD
My main goal for the camp was to get more comfortable on my skates. If I did that, everything else would follow. By the end of camp, I was faster on my feet and was using the edges of my blades more than I ever had before.
But my big triumph was backward skating. Before camp I couldn’t really do it. With a little help from the coaches, the encouragement of my teammates and the excellent padding of my equipment as I hit the ice, I did it.
The biggest challenge now is building on those successes.
By the end of the camp I got a message from my body telling me it was quitting for at least the next week — much to its surprise I drove two hours home just in time for my adult league game that night.
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AND THE GAME LOVES YOU
Despite the challenges, frustrations and sheer punishment to my body, it was well worth it.
It takes more than skill to play hockey, or any sport for that matter. It takes passion. And every hockey player I know lives and breathes it.
We all have our favorite teams, but will watch any game that’s on. We jump at the chance for open ice time and will gladly step in front of a puck flying toward our own net. We know the Canadian national anthem better than our own. We cry at the sound of the Zamboni coming to clear the ice, signaling our exit.
It’s these things that remind me that while I may not be much of a player, I sure do love the game.
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asap contributor Michael Felberbaum is an AP reporter in Richmond, Va. | Only registered users can write comments.
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