“What am I doing here? Why would I try hockey, let alone skating, for the first time in my thirties? What does hockey mean to me anyway? It’s just some stupid sport”
The doubts heavied my mind, pushing me down into my skates that had called to the ice and froze me in place.
“Doing okay?” A voice rang out, cracking into the frozen grip that had begun to encase my entire being. Though still too frozen to turn towards the source, I felt my lips could yet answer.
“No.” I answered candidly. “I think I may be having a panic attack.” I threw out my lifeline, hoping that while the rink seemed to open and swallow me whole, I could at least be myself and not have to hide my feelings.
“That’s okay. Is it alright if I stand by you then?”, his voice warm called against my frozen terror. He didn’t slip by me like others, but yet did not assume I needed saving. His presence was like a flickering campfire, inviting me to stay. Warm. Cozy. Handsome.
The thought shattered the spell, snapping me back to the task at hand.
The invitation to stay had to be declined, less I stay by the fire and never face the frozen beast. I turned to the rink again, realizing the fear had raked its icy fingers across my mind. Gone from my memories is the man who stood beside me, but the passion he ignited remained.
Before me, the swirling blizzard subsided. Stood now in its place, a wintery wonderland. I heard laughter and sounds of joy alongside words of reassurance and welcome from all those around. I take one last weak breath and push myself off on unstable footing into the rink. The ice sparkled and glistened, and I was reminded of the twinkle of his eyes. His eyes? Who was he? I guess I’ll thank him later.
The next time I faced the rink; I greeted it in sneakers. In return, the magical ice beckoned me in with cautious curiosity. That would be the day I found out who the others on my team were.
Would they be new to hockey like me? Or would I be laughed off the team for my lack of skill. I ambled about the ice making small talk with those around me. Hoping I can make a friend. A connection. Anything.
I was assured I would be assigned a team but slowly watched as group after group got called off the ice. At worst, I’d be asked to leave and never come back. At best, I’d be the last kid picked in gym class.
Finally, I, among the small handful of others all last picked, were pulled off the ice into the bleachers. Though my fears whispered I would still be axed, the figure before me announced himself as our captain. He introduced his husband, another captain, who passed around cookies. Our team color, he announced, would be white; as if the ice rink still mocked me with its frost.
As we nervously chewed on our baked goods, we began to introduce ourselves.
This one has been with the gay hockey association for a few years, that one for a few more. This other one transferred from another league, and another practiced all summer. I introduced myself and told my tale of new beginnings on the ice. They listened and laughed at my stories and woes and assured me I’d fit right in. I then headed home with doubts held close and waited for our first game.
Game day came too quickly, and we met in the locker room. Only this time, I was not alone with my nerves as they lingered in the air. Our captains had an announcement: the name of our ragtag group. We were declared “We All Scream”; an ode to ice cream and my insides.
Though the name implied, I was still taken aback by the sweetness all around me. One woman took me under her wing and taught me that was a hockey pun. My co-captain helped to tie my skates and the whole team agreed how shot our nerves were.
The time had finally come for us to head out on the ice. The rink had shifted again, casting a deafening silence all around. I was to start the first game of the season on the ice, known as the starting line. I wobbled my way to position, face to face with my opponent. His terror did not match my own.
And then, unceremoniously the puck dropped; the game had started. There had been no gong, no starting gun, nothing grandiose. I did not, as I had hoped, magically gain skill to fit my narrative. Instead, I watched as the players around me moved at both lightning speed and slow-mo. I decided to make my move and as I did, my skates decided against it. I lay flat on the ice looking for some hint that the rink itself had raised and trip me. Slowly I began to realize that I had tripped on my own.
With panic and embarrassment, my body called for the safety of the bench. Without the skill to stand up, I made the only choice I could. On hands and kneepads, I crawled across the ice. When I reached the sideline, my teammate took my position on the field without comment. Did they not see me? Were they too fighting their own battle with the rink? Or was I finally in a place without judgement?
I pondered this during my escapes from the ice. Each shift was like a spoonful of ice cream with a stomachache. I watched the time tick backwards on the clock until finally my sentence was served. The buzzer shrieked across the rink ordering my release. The game had ended in a tie. My coaches explained to me a tie was the best outcome. They said a tie implied each team was balanced. I don’t remember the other team’s player that had to crawl off the ice.
As we undressed in the locker room, my coaches pointed out plays and players that had done well. They awarded players with a puck, signifying their hard work and awarding them player of the game. Though not excluded from the praise, my swelling feet and welling tears caused any words to fall on deafened ears. The only words I could make out were “see you next week.”
The following week, I was absent from the game. As I laid in my bed with my stuffed-up nose and sore throat, I couldn’t help but wonder if the ice was to blame. Even though I was feeling better than days prior, I still had felt the growing numbness of my frozen core. “I should skip this week” the chilled voice echoed in my head “It’s just some dumb sport”.
The next week I had known I was to miss since the beginning of the season. I had a concert to go to with my family and had not touched my skates in weeks. I had figured I would have more fun at the concert anyway. And maybe, I had thought, I would skip the next week too. That would bring me to the winter break and I could pick it up next year.
But just as the thought had formed, it was crowded out by a push notification that appeared on my phone. An email. From one of my coaches. Both of my coaches? I had received a few. They were worried about me and hoped I was doing well. They did not berate me for missing games or even mention it at all. They had just reached out to make sure I was okay. They cared.
I thought back to the frozen tundra of an ice rink where I had fought to survive several weeks earlier. Moments ago, I was sure it was a dangerous pitfall, that I would be foolish to return to. But then the frozen blizzard shifted, and I saw my coaches skating upon it. The winter winds blew quickly by, but as I focused, I saw faces. My coaches were joined by the woman who had helped mentor me, and my other teammates. One by one they joined on the ice; laughing, smiling, eating ice cream. As they passed me by each one invited me to join them. During a break in the line of skaters, I looked towards the center of the rink as the whirlwind raged on. Staring straight back at me was a warm, burning campfire. Sitting at the fire stood the twinkling eye of the storm.
The following week was met at in the locker room with warm greetings and hearty welcomes. We talked about my concerts and my sickness, but never my absence. That was handwaved with a simple “we’re happy to have you back”. They helped to tie my skates and we made our way onto the rink for the game. But this time I did not greet the ice alone. My team had helped to warm my heart, and I was determined not to let them down.
We lost that game. The other team was skating fast and playing hard . We had lost by only one point. It was exhilarating to try and keep up with them and everyone was having fun. I was still full of adrenaline as we made our way back to the locker room. It pumped through my ears so loudly; I could barely hear my coaches announce me as player of the game.
I did a double take. Me? Surely not. I was nowhere near as good as my teammates.
And yet, my coaches had seen past that. They had seen my hard work and determination. They appreciated that I was trying not because of my skill, but my lack of it. They knew what it was like to be in my skates and recognized me for trying my best. They welcomed me for who I was.
To celebrate, the woman who took me under her wing took me to the Eagle’s Nest; A spot above the rink for players to hang out between games. There we had drinks, and I was introduced to more players from all the different teams. Each one greeted me with kindness and included me in one conversation.
As most of the players moved on and conversation dwindled, I turned in my chair to see a man approach the woman who had mentored me. He was on the team we had just lost to. Even though we had not been introduced, and I wished not to eavesdrop, I could not help being drawn in by his aura. He spoke of his pets, and as he did, his passion and care for them was carried in his tone. Each word like a loving embrace. As my eyes focused on his lips, I couldn’t help but find myself falling for his adorable smile.
He finally must have felt me staring as his gaze shifted to me. It was then that I saw his eyes sparkle just like the ice on the rink. It was in his eyes I saw the magic of the ice, shifting to frozen lakes full of joy and wonder. The magic twinkled in his eyes.
Though he had invited me to his birthday, I would not see him again until New Year’s Eve. With the newfound confidence installed in me, I told him I wanted him to be my New Year’s kiss. Speechless, his nodding head informed me of his approval of my plan. We kissed for the first time at midnight and the warmth of the fireworks of our kiss melted the splinter deep within my heart.
It is now the end of my first season of Madison Gay Hockey. Our final match ended with a victory. My team is in the finals and my only game left is the championship match. In my hand, my second puck for Play of the Game, earned for showing tremendous growth and becoming a confident player. My boyfriend and his twinkling eyes are waiting for me in the car. I take a moment to greet my friend, the rink, and think one last time:
“What does hockey mean to me anyway?”
The question that has led to my fairytale ending. Who would have expected that finding my community and a place to belong would lead to me discovering my truth and truly understanding that confidence comes from within. Hockey may still be just a stupid sport, but Madison Gay Hockey has meant I become more than I could ever dream.
And while I may have made a home in Madison with my Prince Charming and our 4 pets, I have a feeling that this fairytale is far from over. There are more seasons to come and more stories to tell, but one thing is certain:
Madison Gay Hockey means to me happily ever after.