The Drive to the Rink

Saturday

5:45am
The alarm goes off. My eyes spring open and I quickly reach across to the night table, grab my phone, and after three tries, manage to shut the alarm off. I slowly roll to my right, swing my legs over the edge of the bed, and sit up. After a deep breath I stand up and stretch my arms before slowly making my way across my room to start getting dressed.

5:52am
I’m in the elevator. Bundled up in anticipation of the frigid temperatures sure to continue from the past few days, I’m on my way to the parking garage where I will get into my car, containing my hockey gear, and head to the rink for an early morning game of shinny.

The feeling of regret in the back of my mind for agreeing to play so early on a Saturday is largely drowned out by the anticipation of strapping on the pads and stopping some pucks.

I get into my car, start it up, and roll out of the parking garage.

5:58am
The neighbourhood Tim Horton’s is almost invariably a bustling hub, especially on a Saturday morning. It is not unusual for the line to be out the door, but on this trip I’m too early. While probably not really necessary, the pre-game coffee has become part of the routine this season. Because my ice times are either late at night or early in the morning, that extra jolt has become an expected part of the process.

The lady that always seems to be working calls me to the counter and I order my large dark roast, one cream and one sugar, hand over some money, and not a minute later it is ready and I’m on my way out.

6:06am
I’m on the highway. It is nearly deserted. While a bit disorienting, it is also relaxing cruising down the freeway with only a handful of cars in front of me. There’s a strange sense of calm that is never present when faced with the usual bumper to bumper traffic. I can say that I enjoy the drive to the rink for the 7am skate on Saturdays.

6:32am
I arrive at the rink. It’s been a while since I’ve played here and for a moment I can’t remember which side of the building the entrance is on. Then I see my friend’s dad waiting for me and park next to the other cars on the west side of the arena. I hoist my bag on my right shoulder, grab my stick and pads with my left hand, pick up my coffee with the right, and find my way into the arena and the dressing room.

6:35am
I’m a bit late, but it’s okay. Over the years I’ve settled on aiming to arrive at the rink 30 minutes before hitting the ice. When I make it, I feel relieved. I feel like I have all the time in the world. I can take my time. When I don’t make it, I feel rushed, like I’m in the middle of a race. I only really need about ten minutes to get my gear on and get on the ice, but there is something about being there early, chatting with the guys, cracking jokes. It allows me to relax my mind before I play.

The usual dressing room banter is in full force when I sit down on an empty section of the bench on the left side of the narrow room. I mostly keep quiet since it has been a long time since I’ve played with these guys, most of whom I don’t fully recognize. I sip away at my coffee and slowly put my gear on. Jock. Knee pads. Pants. Left skate. Right skate. Left pad. Right pad. I stop there for a few minutes, lightly stretching out my hamstrings as I continue to listen to what’s going on around me.

6:52am
It seems like a long time has passed, but it’s only been a few minutes. The first few guys fully dressed grab their sticks and leave the room. It’s time. I put on the last of my equipment, chest protector, sweater, catching glove, blocker, mask, then grab my water bottle and stick, and head to the ice.

It’s a short walk, made a bit awkward by the flat blades of my goalie skates, but it’s a maneuver I’ve become pretty good at. As I approach the door I see there are six or seven guys and the other goalie skating around the ice. I get to the door, push off my right foot still on solid ground and glide onto the fresh ice on my left.

6:58am
Most of the guys are on the ice now, skating, shooting pucks, stretching. I’m finishing my skating drills along the boards on the far side of the rink just barely on my side of center. I’ve done two laps, tossed my water bottle on top of the net, and gone through my usual stretches. It’s all very ritualistic, but in the past few years I’ve purposely tried to alter the sequence just a little. It helps me to relax not thinking about doing everything in the same order and prevents me from getting uptight if the routine is somehow interrupted. Just get it done.

I start with a quick push to my left and quickly stop, then back to the right again. I repeat this five or six times, focusing on keeping my elbows tight to my body and altering my stance as little as possible as I move. That’s been the focus this season, keeping my arms tight to my body as I move. No goals through me I’ve been telling myself.

Then I angle out a little bit, take two C cuts backwards and butterfly slide to my right, again focusing on maintaining proper position with my arms and keeping my butterfly tight. I repeat it on the other side. I keep going until I’m satisfied, then get in the net.

7:06am
Warmups are done. The extra pucks have been tucked into the back of the net. The teams have been evened out. The extra guys are on the bench. It’s time to go.

I take one last gulp of water, turn to center ice, tap the shaft of my goalie stick against the crossbar then my right elbow, clap my blocker and catching glove together, skate to the top of my crease and fall into my ready stance. The puck is dropped and the game starts.

Any fatigue I felt at getting up early or driving to the rink is gone. Any wandering thoughts that were floating around in my head are gone. My focus is completely on the black rubber disc sliding along the ice and keeping it from entering the net behind me. I follow it with my eyes as it goes from stick to stick in the other end while leaning against the center of the crossbar, and then spring into action as soon as it crosses the centerline. Without any conscious thought my body moves to follow it around our zone, trying to stay square and on angle.

7:11am
We’re about five minutes in, and it has quickly become very clear that I need to speed up a bit. My usual Thursday game doesn’t move quite this fast. After a second goal on a rebound that I was a bit slow reacting to, it’s painfully obvious.

“I can't cheat, not even a little” I tell myself. “I gotta be ready as quickly as I can and I need to react as quickly as I can.”

It’s been a while since I’ve played in a game this fast. But I know I can do it.

7:29am
I’m almost halfway. I’ve settled in with some good saves and proper plays on routine shots. I’m starting to remember some of the tendencies. The guy in the old Leafs jersey who’s not quite as good with the puck as he thinks he is. The guy who can skate like the wind. The guy with the quick release on his shot. I start remembering and it reassures me a bit.

7:48am
The game is nearly done. Tired defenseman are half a second slower while the guy who hasn’t scored yet is half a second faster and a bit more tenacious. The chances are a bit more frequent, but I hang in there. Someone yells out the score after a goal on a broken down play. I’m not really interested. When I walked into the rink my main goal was to not hurt myself. I’m about five minutes away from reaching that.

I’ve made some good saves. I’ve had a couple of goals I’d like back. But after I had adjusted to the speed of the game I felt like I played pretty well.

8:04am
I trudge through the narrow dressing room back to my spot. My mask and gloves come off immediately followed quickly by my sweater and chest protector. I arrange them in my bag and sit down.

The trash talk begins: reminders of missed scoring opportunities and accusations of goondom after an inadvertent trip, all in jest. I sit quietly and smile.

I go back over the game in my head quickly and reassure myself that I had a good game. I feel good.

Sometimes I don’t have good games. I don’t like the feeling I get after those games, but as I’ve gotten older I’ve learned to accept that those games are going to happen. I don’t let them get to me like I used to.

I stretch out my legs a bit, then start taking off my equipment: left pad, right pad, left skate, right skate, pants, knee pads, jock. I drink some water and stretch a bit more before getting dressed. Some of the guys linger for a bit, but I take off once I’m ready after a chorus of “Hey man, thanks for coming out” rings through the room.

8:22am
I’m on the road again, this time retracing my path and heading home. The highway is still pretty deserted. The sun isn’t quite up yet. My thoughts again turn to why. Why on earth would I get up so early to play hockey? There’s the practical reason. It’s great exercise, but I can get exercise any number of ways. Why hockey? Is it because I’ve always played hockey? Nah, that’s not it, not quite.

Is it the challenge? The mental challenge of staying focused on a black puck? The physical challenge of making the correct movements with many different parts of my body to be in position to make the save? The challenge of overcoming that tiny, but ever present fear that the next shot might find a chink in the armor and hurt? There are few things that challenge me the way goaltending challenges me. Few things challenge me as completely as goaltending challenges me.

Yep, I think that’s it. That’s why I get up at 5:45am and drive to the rink.