At BlogHer, I met Lori Hylan-Cho during a Flickr session, she of Avocado8 and the Ice Hockey Escapades, the latter of which is a highly-detailed amazing chronicle of her adventures in my favorite sport. At the time of our meeting, I was inspired to digitize my hockey journal at some point. But of course, the “at some point” grew farther into the future as “life” intervened.

In honor of the New Year and pseudo-renewed energy, I have spent many hours today scanning in some of the photos from my amateurish album. No, it isn’t a professional-looking Sizzix-machine-created scrapbook of the sort so popular these days. Rather, it is a bunch of stuff-cut-out-of-hockey-magazines interspersed with photos, ticket stubs, tourney programs, and so forth. And, as evidenced by the shot of the opening page of my scrapbook at left, it involves cutesy little quotes and cartoonish figures (a teddy bear playing hockey? Puuuuhllleeze!)

I will omit most of the paper-y things (Snoopy and Mickey Mouse playing hockey, a photocopy of a plane ticket to Toronto) in favor of putting up some photographs of my adventures along with a description or story.

As eager as I am to share, I won’t bore you by unrolling all my tales simultaneously. At least not all today.

Can you picture this naïve little ballet dancer at right deciding to check people into the boards?

Senior year of high school was great. Rad. Awesome.

On New Year’s I got myself my very first boyfriend. Shortly thereafter, we went on a sweet date to the local ice-rink. He rented hockey skates. I rented figure skates. That is how it is supposed to be, right?

Around the same time, I auditioned for and was cast in my high school’s annual musical. That year, we performed “Guys & Dolls,” a show which held special meaning for me since it was the very first musical I had seen as a little kid.

I started dancing when I was two and a half. My mom says it was because I had lots of extra energy, so she needed a way for me to “burn it off.” Now that I have two extra-hyper boys, I can understand where she was coming from!

Dance was my life for a long time, about fifteen years worth. I did tap, ballet, jazz, hip-hop, lyrical, and a smidgen of modern. I was part of our academy’s “performing divisions” from a young age until I “retired.” I placed and won “Dance Masters of America” and “Dance Masters of California” competitions. I went to Australia to perform at the U.S. Pavilion in Brisbane, Australia for the 1988 World Expo celebration.

When I thought of who I was, dance was a large portion of my identity.

My very first course in college was entitled “Gravestones as Evidence of Material Culture.” It was held right before the two hour free skate period during which any student or alumnus could use the rink. Thus, I brought my ice-skates in my backpack to class.

One of my “Gravestones” classmates was a member of a co-ed Society I would rush much later in the year. Another of my classmates was a member of the esteemed women’s hockey team. I wonder if she ever noticed the skates in my bag?

I went to the free skate religiously. I skated around in circles while listening to the cheesy music the on-duty guard provided. Some days were busier than others, but for the most part I had the rink to myself. I practiced crossovers, taught myself to skate backwards, and then began doing backwards crossovers.

I had huge thigh and knee bruises from my efforts, but I quickly learned to maneuver well while traveling backwards. In fact, I became faster and more accurate while traveling backwards than forwards.

Towards the end of each session, the women on the team would arrive to begin their practice. At that point, I’d try to show off as much as possible. Of course, that was a ridiculous idea since these gals were too accomplished to care about some random newbie player.

Frequently I’d stay past the end of free skate so I could watch practice. I attended several of the women’s games. The crowd was miniscule compared to these gals’ talent. I wonder how many people realized they could have seen future Olympians for free?

One day during free skate, I met a tall awkwardly-skating young man. He asked me if I was on the women’s team.

I laughed a little, but admitted that I hadn’t ever actually played hockey. Sure, I had the skates, but really I was just going around in circles for the exercise.

He invited me to join his intramural team. I was flattered and excited. We became “The Luthers.” Creative naming, that, as this guy’s name is Luther.

On our team were a few women, but mostly men. We played against teams that were mostly men. Of course I was the tiniest. But that made the whole situation hilarious.

I didn’t have the right equipment. It took a few trips to the sports store before I finally had enough padding.

The helmets provided by the school were enormous and beat-up. I bought my own.

The gloves the men would lend to each other were similarly huge. I bought some excellent leather-lined ones.

I bought a stick I sawed down with a kitchen knife, lots of tape and junior-sized shin/knee guards.

I put all my hockey gear in a very large tote bag that I wore backpack-style. It would be years before I had a “real” hockey bag.

Around junior year of college, I no longer played hockey. Just as academics took over high school, so they did in college. I didn’t go to the free skate on a daily basis as I did my freshman year. Instead, I worried about my future career. I forgot how hockey could be a stress release. I was afraid I didn’t have enough time to participate in sports.

When I started my post-graduation job in Boston, my new boyfriend played approximately twice a week at several rinks in the area. He thought it was cute that I played intramurals as a young college student and I imagine he was glad I enjoyed freezing in the rink to watch him play.

For a time, I was content to watch. I knew I had become rusty. I hadn’t been on the ice in a couple years, although I did a lot of rollerblading. Being just a fan was fine by me. I spent some of my meager salary on NHL tickets.

One afternoon, the boyfriend and I went rollerblading. He wasn’t used to being on concrete, but I was in my element. I skated around swiftly, maneuvering well. Given my success on land, he offered to let me sub in his on-ice hockey game that evening.

Hahahahaha.

I made a fool of myself.

I was way out-played. I didn’t know positioning (we hadn’t done that in intramurals!) I was nervous. I was very slow. It was humiliating. But also fun.

I never played on his team again. However, I did find an all-women very-beginner league that accepted me. I became a Raven.

My father used to do a bunch of traveling. He earned plenty of miles, hotel rewards, and other such perks. He gave me a hotel certificate good for a three day stay at any Sheraton.

At the time, I was working in Boston in a research position that I didn’t really enjoy, but it was a stepping stone to graduate school. Taking a break from that was a welcome relief.

My then-boyfriend and I decided to go to Montreal. We drove up without a plan, other than our hotel reservations.

It is amazing how as we entered the city (I believe we crossed a bridge,) the whole world changed. I’ve never been to Europe, but I’ve heard many describe Montreal as being European.

I was hooked!

When I left my job in Boston, I was excited to be moving on to “bigger and better things” by moving to New York; however, I was sad to leave the Ravens.

The Ravens had been a fantastic social and physical outlet for me, particularly after the ex-boyfriend and I broke up. These gals meant a great deal to me, and I was nervous about trying to find a new team.

Fortunately, one of the Ravens has a sister who played for the Brooklyn Blades. As it turned out, one of the then-Blades also belongs to the same Greek organization I joined in college (although a different Chapter.)

So, I had two “in”s!

I contacted the Blades and was excited to be put on their beginner team. Although the Ravens had beaten the Blades during one tournament I had played in, once I started skating with the Blades I realized they were much more in shape and technically proficient than I.

      

One of my favorite hockey-related things to do was tournaments. I went to a couple as a Raven, but several as a Blade. Many were local, but I had the pleasure of traveling to Brampton a few times for mega-tournaments. One such trip I earned free for selling lots of subscriptions to one of the Blades sponsors’ magazines.

Of course, one of the fun parts of the tournaments (aside from being satisfyingly sore and drinking tons of beer) was the professional-style photographs that they sold of each player. Usually the pros captured us in such a way that we looked like what we were doing! Of course, people who know about hockey love to point out that my photos show really bad form. But, oh well. My family was impressed.

I remember some great things from those tournaments.

One of the huge perks of playing on the Blades was the media opportunities that came our way. From being mentioned in “Women’s Sports and Fitness Magazine” to getting in for free to the New York Premiere of “Mystery, Alaska,” I enjoyed pretending to be a celebrity.

For the Mystery, Alaska premiere, I didn’t even know who Russell Crowe or Scott Grimes were. But I was on the same red carpet they were. Now I can laugh at Crowe’s antics and watch ER with amusement. Husband and I sat behind Danny DeVito & Rhea Perlman in the theatre. Jeannine Garafolo was just a few seats up. Gary Bettman was there. And so forth.

When a call for a photo shoot or other opportunity would come out over the Blades chat list, I would jump. I was photographed with a teammate for an article in the now-defunct Hipcheck magazine. We paid a cab driver to sit there while we pretended to stick our bags in his trunk. Then we went in and out of the subway turnstile as our friend took shots of us.

But the real photography experience was for a Reebok ad. I wrote an email to my mother afterwards:

One of my friends on the Blades was affiliated with a group of folks who created an “All Star” tournament down in Philly for charity. Although this was part of an all-male mid-Atlantic league, my friend and I joined the dudes with glee.

We got to play at the then-named First Union Center right before a Phantoms game. It was cool to use the locker rooms there and to see a few of the AHL players. Of course, none of the Flyers were around, but it was still a thrill to play on the “same ice” and to hear my name over the loudspeaker.

I wasn’t very good in the game, but the men got a kick out of me.

After the game, we stayed for the AHL game. My friend and the guy I had just started to date sat with me in the bleachers. The original plan was that my friend would drive me back to New York. My date would drive back to his home in Washington D.C.

But, since this was sort of our first official “date” and the guy didn’t want it to end, he offered to drive me back to New York. He’d leave first thing the next morning and still get into work on time.

(Okay, that sounds really bad. Here’s the deal: I had known this guy for many years and he had visited me in New York overnight before, so it wasn’t like I was being a total slut, okay? By “first date” I mean this was the first time we had done something date-ish, and this was pretty much soon after we had decided to go from “friends” to “something else.”)

My friend had to leave early anyway, so by agreeing to take me back to New York, he enabled me to see the whole game.

We got into it, cheering, and so forth. We got some nachos. I stood to clap for a Phantoms goal.

I sat down.

In the nachos.

Why this guy decided to put the nachos container on my seat while we were cheering is totally beside me. Except it was under me.

Mortified, the guy apologized for my salsa ass, and it has been one of our oft-told stories ever since. Because the guy turned out to be my husband.

It was indeed an exciting day: to play in an NHL arena, hear my name over the loudspeaker, and then emerge from the experience with salsa, cheese, and tortilla chip particles on my butt!

As wonderful as the Blades experience was in New York with its excellent hockey, fun tournaments, and magnificent media experiences, the career path that had taken me to New York was not as exciting.

After Husband and I married, I was having serious reservations about continuing my studies in Neuroscience. When I became pregnant, I thought about how and where I wanted to raise my child. As much as I love New York, I longed to be back near my family in California. As much as I enjoyed neuroscience in theory, I didn’t enjoy it in practice.

And so, through the morning sickness that lasted all day and exhaustion, I completed my Master’s Degree and Admission to Candidacy exam for the Ph.D.. I pushed myself so that I would have enough credentials to earn one degree and leave the door partially open if I wished to return to the field at some point.

When I left my New York life behind in February of 2001, so did I leave hockey behind, at least until September 11th.

No, 9/11 didn’t prompt me to suddenly take up the sport again. Rather, I had already started the process but the final try-out was on 9/11. Instead of sitting around watching the same coverage over and over again, I made the hour trip to the rink (past the closed SFO, over the Bay Bridge – would it be a target?) to complete an evaluation session and experience some stress-busting.

I was assigned to the Red Division. The organization was more lax than the Blades: Fewer practices, fewer games, fewer tourney opportunities. But that didn’t matter since my life was now dedicated to my son. I enjoyed my time in the red division, earning “Most Sportsmanlike Player” during one season, and the “Puke and Keep Going” award during another. The latter was bestowed on me because of one particularly gruesome shift which I ended by heaving myself over the boards in more ways than one.

I played several seasons in a row before I became pregnant with Spliggle. I then resumed hockey after that, and played until last year when we started having additional concerns about the Cat’s behavior and transition to Kindergarten. Of course, because of his expulsion, starting again this past September wouldn’t have worked well.

Both my kids have indicated an interest in hockey. Perhaps one of them will actually learn to skate, unlike their silly father. The Cat talks about “seeing mommy play hockey” and Spliggle perks up when he sees just about any sport on television (he knows “baseball,” “hockey,” “football” and “golf.”) So I have hope that hockey will remain a part of our lives, regardless of whether I am playing any given season.