Lucas
My finger presssnoozefor the third time in a row on my phone alarm. One more drink at the party and my head would be spinning from nursing a gnarly hangover. My eyes long to be closed and exhaustion riddles my body. Good thing practice isn’t for a few hours.
Ensuring a hangover doesn’t creep up on me, I eat a greasy but semi-healthy breakfast before taking the longest cold shower of my life. Drinking and partying have never been my forte, I’ve always been dedicated to hockey, but it comes with the territory.
My eyes were playing tricks on me last night, I swear I saw my ex-girlfriend. It must’ve been a combination of drinking more than I usually do and hearing her name for the first time in years, despite it technically being someone else's name.
The cool droplets graze my skin, instantly making me feel revived as if they molded to me forming a whole new person. The water relieves me, easing the thoughts of my ex from my mind and clearing my head for the day ahead.
After throwing on some sweats, I settle into my desk, ready to start looking at some of my old notes on players and other hockey teams. My heart plummets like a stone seeing the new pocket book I started last year is in the desk drawer, but Nick Bellinger’s player notebook that Laur let me borrow is nowhere in sight. The calmness the shower brought me disappears completely.
My room looks like a tornado came through, I ravaged it from top to bottom, but the notebook still hasn’t shown up.
Glancing at the clock, my pulse quickens with only forty-five minutes until practice starts. My anxiety rockets sky high, I really need time to meditate before I’m on the ice or I’ll play like shit. Nick’s notebook search will have to continue when I get back.
My heart rate doesn’t slow while I power walk to the arena. My chest tightens as I enter the locker room. Each breath becomes harder to take. Without thinking, I practically collapse down on the floor in front of my cubby and open my meditation app, not bothering to put headphones in. My eyelids instinctively close and I let the tranquil tunes and gentle, soft voice surround me, taking over as I take deep breath after deep breath.
In.
Out.
In.
Out.
The two words are on repeat in my head trying to bring calmness over me and soothe my breathing. After a minute, my heart thumps at an almost normal speed, no longer racing. Giving myself over to the healing sounds, I focus on each breath leaving and entering my body.
My eyes snap open at the noise of footsteps.
“Shit, I tried to be as quiet as a mouse I swear.” Blaine’s eyes fall to me on the ground.
My face heats and my eyes quickly dart away from his. I scramble to pause the music. The only sound I can hear is my heartbeat picking up speed again.
“I really should do that more,” Blaine mutters, taking a seat on the ground across from me. He clears his throat. “When my parents were getting divorced, my mom forced me into therapy.”
Running my hand threw my hair, I stay silent. Embarrassed that Blaine’s witnessing me meditating.
“The ice was the only place I felt at peace until I had a panic attack,” he continues, ignoring my lack of response. “That anxiety rushing in and taking over my body made me feel like I was dying.”
“Really?” I’m not sure I’ve had a full-on panic attack, but I don’t want to experience one.
“Honestly, it was scary.” Blaine casts a wary glance around the room, avoiding looking at me. “Talking to my therapist about it was the only time I felt like I got anything out of therapy. He taught me how to meditate like that.”
Letting out a quiet chuckle, I reply, “I don’t think I’m very good at it."
“No one’s good at it," Blaine assures me. “It’s fucking hard not to focus on yourself when the world around you doesn’t stop.”
Letting out a sigh, I confess, “It doesn’t always work for me.”
“It didn’t always work for me either.” Blaine lets out a deep sigh. “But I haven’t had a panic attack since my sophomore year of high school, so it had to have helped.”
An awkward silence settles between us.
“You know,” Blaine’s voice is quiet. “A lot of famous hockey players meditate.”
“Really?”
“Yeah.” Blaine starts to casually list a few, “Zach Hyman from the Leafs, Colin Wilson that played for the Avs, that goalie from Buffalo . . . I can’t remember his name but I remember he did an NHL interview about it.”
