Page 48 of Switching Skates
Muscle memory helped me the most. When a puck came my way, I simply thought about blocking it, and it’s like my body did the rest. I felt like a superhuman.
It’s four-on-four hockey for this scrimmage, shortened ten-minute periods, three periods total. I can survive thirty minutes of this. Easy.
A thrum of excitement pulses through me. I’ve secretly always wondered what it was like for him on the ice. To be in gear with pucks flying ninety miles an hour toward you.
He’s always been such a natural at it, and I’ve always been good at teasing him about how easy it looks.
Time to find out if there’s any truth in that.
Assuming the position, I crouch down, readying my body for anything that could come my way.
His words echo in my mind.“Always be ready so you don’t have to get ready.”
The opposing team takes possession first, skating toward me and breaking into the zone. Ross passes it to his teammate, who dishes it back to Ross.
Ross pulls back to fire and?—
Holy shit.
It flies at me in the blink of an eye and ricochets off the post. I duck away from it and wince. Jesus, I could barely even see it. It was going way too fast!
I force a few breaths in and out to calm my heart as our team takes control.
Chet skates it up the middle, beating out their skater. Chet goes for a quick shot, but it ricochets and flies up and over the boards.
Thank God for a little break because I nearly shit myself a minute ago.
Turning to grab my water and taking a sip, I set it down and quietly talk to my savior. “Posty, you did it. Good job, buddy! Keep it up.”
Skates cutting across the ice grabs my attention, and I turn just in time to see two of my opponents flying toward me with no one in their way.
“Oh God, oh God, oh God,” I mumble to myself as I brace to take a shot.
They pass the puck back and forth, closing the distance fast before one of them fires it toward me.
You got this. Just make one stop.
Lifting my blocker, I pray that it’s quick enough to beat the puck.
As if by magic or maybe just that exceptional muscle memory, the puck bounces off of me, rebounding wide enough that my teammate can grab it and take off back down the ice.
“Yes!” I scream, and a couple of the players look back at me curiously.
My stomach drops. Oh, Mason probably doesn’t audibly cheer after every save he makes. But this is a big deal to me. It’s not every day I get to do this.
Chet pulls back for a slapshot, and it flies straight into the back of the net. My team erupts with cheers.
“Yes! Fuck yeah!” I yell down the ice.
This time, when the players turn and look at me, they don’t seem suspicious that something’s off. Some are elated by our goal, and others are annoyed that they’re now losing.
Sucks to be them!
Since there are no refs for this scrimmage, the puck is simply set on the ice between the guys before they fight to get it. Ross’ team wins. They skate into our zone, and my three players are perfectly positioned between me and our opponents.
Come on. I got this. I got this.My inner thoughts become external mumbling, “I got this. I got this. I got this. I got this.”
One of the opponents pulls his stick back and slaps the puck hard. It flies across the ice, straight toward his teammate. As it glides in front of him, he winds his stick back and shoots the puck toward me.
