Ego Pads

If you had told me two years ago that I would take up the sport of hockey at the age of 32 I would have no doubt spewed a few expletives and laughed in your face. Well it's a good thing you didn't say that two years ago because I would owe you an apology.

I just signed up for my first hockey league. Gulp.

First, let's talk about the equipment. Helmet, helmet cage, elbow pads, shin and knee guards, chest protector, gargantuan socks, shorts with garters to keep up your gargantuan socks, padded pants, oversized gloves and ice skates. Yeah, sure it takes me an hour to get dressed, but I am impenetrable. A warrior on ice. (warriors fall a lot, right? Please say yes.)

Did I mention that hockey is played on ice? For many, growing up in Michigan is the only prerequisite needed to take up the sport of hockey. Drive through any random subdivision or lake community in the mitten state (except for the big D...not too much hockey going on at the corner of Mt. Elliot and Gratiot) and you're bound to see kids bundled up, skating around and dreaming of being the next Wayne Gretzky.

And then there's me. Convincing me to play outside in the winter is like convincing a cat to swim the English channel...a politician to tell the truth...a three-year-old to use chopsticks...you get the idea. I'll skip the frostbite and go directly to the hot chocolate, thank you very much.

So how does one play hockey when one doesn't know how to skate, you ask? There's a reason I spend an hour in the sweltering smelly locker room (for those of you who don't know, hockey is indeed the smelliest sport on record). For every piece of equipment I put on, I don a shield of courage and confidence and the assurance that while I may run into a 6'5" woman who is as broad as she is tall and the boards are there to stop me when I'm spiraling out of control, if I fall, I won't bruise anything except my ego.