I will not be pairing mine with jeans. Instead, I pull out a pair of black joggers that are like my shield. Dressy enough to make me look presentable but also fitting enough so that they are not baggy, all the while showing the curves that I have, which are a bit more ample than Mac’s.
Some people call me ‘The Wall’ because I can stop a ball that is flung at me at around seventy miles per hour. The pros I play against aren’t soft with that ball and I know how to stop it, hence the nickname. When I first heard it, I thought it was because of my skill but also because I’m not petite. I’m not delicate. I take up space and I refuse to apologize for it. My hips are full, thighs are strong, and I have broad shoulders that opponents bounce off of when they charge the goal. Curves wrapped around muscle in a way that makes me look unmovable, grounded like I’m built from something sturdier than most women. When I plant my feet, I don’t budge. When I hold my line, no one gets through.
Sometimes I catch my reflection, and I see what they mean—not a wall as in “big” but a wall as in unshakable. A wall as in solid, reliable, the last thing standing when everything else gives way. I’m not the player that slips through the cracks; I’m the player that closes them. I’ve learned it’s not something to shrink away from. It means I’m just what the team needs. It’s a strength, not a weakness. I decide I shouldn’t be afraid of a couple rows of reporters and sigh deeply, suddenly feeling ready to face them.
“Hey, you ready, Hen?” Mac asks me, pulling me out of my thoughts.
“Yeah, sorry,” I say with a shake of my head. “Let’s get this over with so we can get to celebrating.”
“Amen to that.” Mac holds her hand up and I return the high five.
Together we make our way out of the locker room and find Coach Watts leaning against the wall waiting for us. He’s tall and with his wide shoulders, he can be intimidating. But he has kind blue eyes and is always ready to talk to a player who needs it. I’m told being a father has softened him; he has twin girls that are the apple of his eye. Right now, watching him stand to his full height, I think those eyes look more tired from little girls that aren’t really sleeping. But I guess that’s just another season of parenthood.
“I figured we could all get through this together,” he says, grinning at both of us.
“Thanks, Coach,” I reply. Mac replies with the same.
“Cindy will be in there,” Coach Watts explains, mentioning the name of the PR staffer who always handles the press. “She’ll be calling on the reporters for questions like she always does. You’ll each answer a few of them before we finish for the night and then the two of you can go out and celebrate.”
“You’re not coming, Coach?” Mac asks, grinning over her shoulder at him.
He chuckles and shakes his head, “No, I am not coming out tonight. I’m hoping that when I get home, the girls are sacked out and sleeping so that I can do the same.”
“You’ve certainly earned a good night’s sleep tonight,” I add.
“Thanks. For whatever reason these girls have stopped sleeping through the night and are waking up to sleep in our bed. I would love to just let them lay down. However, their mother says no to co-sleeping at this age.”
I laugh. “I imagine it’s not as comfortable as it sounds.”
“It is not,” he confirms.
We reach the press room and Cindy is walking towards us. “Ladies, great game tonight. Congratulations to all three of you on making the playoffs.”
There’s a short chorus of greetings and thank yous from me, Mac and Coach.
“The press is in there waiting. I’ve hand-picked a few that we’ll take questions from. But if there is someone that you would like to speak with, just let me know and I’ll direct them,” Cindy explains. I’ve done this before and so has Mac, but the refresher is welcome.
“Whoever you think is fine with me,” Mac replies, smiling at her.
“Same,” I chime in.
“I’m sure you’ve covered everyone we usually talk to,” Watts says. “Now, let’s get this over with.”
“Alright, here we go.” She places her hand on the doorknob that will take us in through the back entrance of the press room. I can already hear the hum of talking inside the room. “Just remember to smile and be natural with your expressions and answers. No need to put on a show or front. Tonight’s press will be friendly,” she promises. Without waiting for a response, she opens the door, and we follow her through it.
Inside the rows of chairs are full of reporters and photographers. There are a few cameras set up along the side of the room. I follow Mac and Coach Watts up the steps and onto the risers that hold the table and chairs that the Blaze staff sit at. Behind us there is a backdrop of the Blaze crest, in case anyone forgets where they are.
I lower myself into the chair and fold my hands in my lap. This way when I fidget, the tablecloth will hide my nerves and clammy hands.
“It’s going to be fine,” Mac says lowly, placing a comforting hand on my leg.
I turn and wink at her. “I’ll be okay.”
“Oh, I don’t doubt it,” she says, winking back at me.
I sigh, hoping that I’m right—that I will be okay. While all this press may be normal for Mac as our team captain, this is a room that I do my best to avoid. Usually, Coach Watts allows me to duck out, but I stopped quite a few shots from the Spirit tonight, so I knew that there was a good chance that I would find myself in here.
Cindy is greeting the press and introducing us to them. I’m pretty sure most of them know exactly who we are from the press briefing packets, but I nod and smile when she gets to my introduction.
