Page 19 of Thrown for a Loop
And yup. His competitive urge kicks in, and he shifts into a higher gear, pulling ahead of me on the fourth and final leg of the drill. I end up finishing about a half stride behind him.
Then he drops his hands to his knees and laughs. “Holy heck, Coach. You got wheels.”
And now I’m preening inside. “First of all, call me Zoe. And secondly, I’ll never ask you to do a drill that I can’t do myself.”
But we both know this was a setup. I’m wearing black hockey skates just like his. And I picked an exercise where I could impress him, because I need him to understand I didn’t come here to play.
“All right, Coach Zoe,” he says, aiming a stealthy glance at the big clock on the wall. “Point made. Now what do you want to work on? Or is this just a getting-to-know-you session?”
Skating up to him, I make a quick stop. “I watch a lot of tape, so I already know you’re one of the best skaters on the roster. And you don’t have many bad habits.”
I see the flicker of pride in his eyes, because literally everyone is susceptible to praise. “Does that mean we’re done here?”
“Not so fast.” I flash him what I hope is a friendly grin. “I have some ideas about your corner work. You’re known for your strength. Even guys who are bigger than you assume they can push you off the puck. But they try it and find they can’t.”
He gives a modest shrug. “That’s what spending your whole life at the squat rack can do for a guy.”
“Exactly,” I agree. “So what I’d like you to demonstrate is the body position you’d take when some monster of a D-man is trying to bully you.”
“Sure.” He takes a wide stance, knees bent. His center of gravity is low and stable.
“Right. Good. Now let’s say you’re here, defending the puck, and you get the pass off to your winger. The next thing you need to do is explode in that direction.” I point to center ice. “Show me how you’re getting there.”
Before I even finish the question, he obliges, pushing off with his right foot and surging in the opposite direction. It’s impressive, but there’s a slight delay in his takeoff before he rockets across the surface.
Bingo.“Good stuff,” I praise. “You’ve got incredible power. But the downside of your wide stance is the time it takes to transition into a sprint. What if I could shave a fractional second off your acceleration?”
“I’m listening,” he says. “Hockey is a game of inches.”
“Right. So here I am, in a rock-solid defensive position…” I mimic his defensive stance. “But try shifting your weightbeforeyou actually move. Watch my edges.”
I demonstrate.
“See the difference? It’s not much, but in your game…”
“Every bit counts,” he finishes.
“Yup. Now it’s your turn—I want you to focus on that weight shift. Feel your edges change before you move.”
“All right. We’ll try it your way.”
The captain is a quick study, and I’m not surprised when it takes only a few tries before he gets the motion I’m looking for. “Yes!” I shout. “Now faster. Make it one smooth movement.”
But a new voice rings out before he can do it again. “Sorry we’re late.”
We both glance up to see two newcomers stepping onto the ice.
“Ah,” Tremaine says. “Coach Carson, this is Alexei Petrov, one of our veterans, and this youngster is Liam O’Connell. You guys didn’t see Merritt, did you? I asked him to come, too.”
I’m not surprised when both guys shake their heads.
“Your captain was just working on a quicker start out of the corners. Now he’s going to make another attempt.” I clap my hands. “Let’s go, Tremaine. Share with the class.”
He chuckles. And maybe it’s the pressure of being watched by his teammates, but Tremaine rolls his edges once more andbingo. He skates off like lightning.
“How does that feel?” I ask when he returns.
His grin is bashful. “Like I’ve just found an extra gear. And it’s just… easier this way?”
