Hockey Star

There I stood on the freshly frozen ice. When I signed up to join Virginia Tech’s Women’s Hockey Team, I was confident I would be an expert at hockey in no time given the couple years of figure skating I did as a kid. My skates were laced a tad too tight, a cruel compromise between stability and circulation. The hockey stick in my grip felt more like an absurdly oversized toothpick. In the blink of an eye, the practice game began, and I started my wobbly journey toward my destiny as a “hockey star.”

I skated with rehearsed confidence, moving with an air of purpose entirely fabricated. The hockey puck, however, had developed a mind of its own, darting off in every direction but mine. A singular shout pierced the rink air: "LANE, WATCH OUT!" Panic set in as the puck whirled my way, followed closely by an opposing teammate. Desperate, I readied my toothpick-stick. The result? A comic masterpiece: me, face-planted on the ice, puck nestled comfortably by the opposing net, my contribution to the game reduced to a spectacular fall.

It was at that moment that reality dawned: I was NOT made to play hockey. My coordination skills were seemingly on vacation, so I readjusted my course to establish myself as a sociable teammate rather than a valuable or athletically gifted one, given that maneuvering a puck felt just as arbitrary as speaking gibberish. In the subsequent practices, I veered toward my comfort zone, focusing on team bonding and inside joke fabrication while skating technique fell secondary.

But as the first game dawned, and I contributed nothing yet again, a spark of determination ignited. So, like any self-respecting athlete, I turned to the age-old training method: I bought "Hockey for Dummies." As unconventional as it seemed, that book bridged the gap between hockey jargon and my bewildered brain. Suddenly, drills made sense, positions found meaning, and I transformed from the team's comic relief to working with a couple of the other players who were at my same level. We decided to call ourselves the Bench-Coolers, demonstrating pride for our comedic and spirited contributions to the team’s efforts. With every stumble endured, we embraced our journey—both the face-plants and the heartening victories. The Bench-Coolers, our makeshift pact, wasn't about winning trophies; we were the sideline's most enthusiastic cheerleaders, savoring every bruise and board strike from the bench.

This spirit of camaraderie not only molded us as individuals but also enriched our team dynamic. Through motivating our teammates while privately honing our skills, all of the late-night drives to the rink in Roanoke were worth it. Conversations sparked, bonds deepened, and friendships flourished amidst shared stories of leg bruises and improbable progress. United under the banner of the VT Women's Hockey team, I discovered a camaraderie that transcended victories and losses.

Then, one memorable day, after months of tenacity and toil, the moment arrived. Five months into the season, we faced a team from North Carolina, and destiny knocked on my helmet. Coach's orders: "Get out there, hold your ground, rush the net!" The puck dropped, chaos ensued, and yes, I fell—only to rise again, rush the net, and to my joy and surprise, score my first goal. The pure shock was contagious; my teammates came over and knocked my helmet around in celebration.

In the end, my hockey journey might be an unconventional one, marked by endless injuries and infinite joy. Yet, what truly counts were the friendships forged and the ups and downs of sports I was so privileged to experience. I might not be the star player, but my heart overflows with gratitude for the VT Women's Hockey Team—a tapestry woven with laughter, shared bruises, and the resounding echoes of camaraderie. In the end, it's not about the goals scored, but the victory in having the gumption to try something new.