“Definitely,” she says. “It’s a good way to look at things—what your priorities are.”
And it’s a reminder too—mine are hockey, family, and my dog. Romance isn’t on the list. Dating isn’t even close.
It’s my final year in the pros, and I don’t need a thing distracting me.
“Speaking of priorities,” Skylar says, then shoots me a quick, hopeful look. “It would be cool to do a before and after video of your parents’ home. To show on the podcast.”
“It’s video and audio? Your show?”
“Yep. But if that’s too much to ask I completely understand. No pressure at all,” she says. “If your mom doesn’t want their home featured at the end, it’s not a problem.”
I take a beat to think it over, even though it’s Mom’s call of course, since she’s making all the calls on the home. But probably a before and after for a big project like this would help Skylar. “I’ll make it happen,” I say, since it’s a two-fer. It’ll make Skylar happy and, well, Mom likes showing off things she’s proud of.
“Thank you,” she says, sounding both relieved and excited.
This thing with us is business. Just business. And her podcast is a good reminder.
When we return to our homes, I say goodbye, making plans to see her when the furniture arrives at the end of next week, and walk my dog alone.
My arms are shaking, my shoulders are screaming, but I don’t care. I lower myself from the plank position to the floor again. And again. And one more time.
“All right, all right. You can do push-ups—we know. No more showing off,” my conditioning coach, Leah, chides, beckoning for me to get to my feet.
“What? Extra is good,” I say as I pop up from the floor.
“Not always,” she says, then points to the barbell on the mat. “Rest for one minute. Then I want ten box back squats. Only ten.”
“I can do more,” I offer.
Leah Boasberg has made a name for herself as one of the top strength and conditioning coaches in the game. She worked for our intra-city rivals, the Golden State Foxes, before going out on her own. We have a strength and conditioning coach on the Sea Dogs, but I wanted a personalized program for the entire season, so I hired her for private sessions. Some of the guys on the Golden State Foxes followed her too—like Corbin Knight, who’s here with me today at the gym we go to on Fillmore Street in the city.
“I can do double what this clown does,” Corbin offers.
Leah rolls her eyes before flicking her thick brown braid off her shoulder. “Conditioning is not a competition, boys.”
I shoot Corbin a skeptical look, then flash the same doubtful one to Leah. “You sure about that?”
She points to the weight again. “Do ten, or I’ll make you do nothing.”
Corbin steps back. “Whoa, reverse drill-sergeant psychology.”
She looks his way with a proud grin, then points her tablet at him. “That’s right. And I’ll use it on you too, Knight.”
With a gulp, he heeds the warning, holding up his hands in surrender.
I squat down, grab the bar, and lift it up, then squat until my ass touches the box. My legs bark at me. But if it were easy, it wouldn’t get the job done.
I’m going to do everything in my power to have a phenomenal season. To ensure I can walk away from hockey, rather than have hockey slip away from me.
Like my marriage.
I blink away the unwanted thought. Brittany made her choice, and I learned from it—it’s best to rely on myself and my dog.
When I finish ten reps, beads of sweat are sliding down my back, but I’m feeling stronger, and that’s the goal. Once I set the bar back in place, I catch my breath before I grab my water bottle. I down some, stretching out my legs as Corbin takes his turn, obeying perfectly.
“Good,” she says to my buddy as he puts the barbell away with a huff. “I’ll let you keep up the training.” Then to me, she adds, “But more is not always more.”
“Agree to disagree,” I say.
