When the next bus arrives an hour later, the room becomes too full, too loud, as men start doing some light warm-up jogging, sprints, and bounding work. I move on, rather than stay, as the other guys start to get warm.
“Sewer?” Li asks as I walk by, holding up the soccer ball the guys will use to help them get warm.
I shake my head. Sewer ball can get chaotic, and right now, I need to stay in control.
Hours later, I mentally check my pain levels as I go through my taping routine, making sure there isn’t any crumpling or bunching to throw the feel of the puck off once I’m out on the ice. Thethwip thwipof the tape pulling off its roll is the soundtrack to my meditation as I evenly cover my stick, leaving the tiniest hint of the toe showing.
I inspect my work, and when I realize there’s a slight bunch in the center, I fight the rage that wants to bubble out of me.A completely inappropriate response to a minor inconvenience. With a jerk, I pull it all off, starting again.
Once I have it perfect, I do a few minutes of puck-handling drills before finally taking three minutes to do some mindfulness and breathing work to ensure I’m in the right headspace before we begin.
***
I slide back in the zone, tracking the Ironhounds’ center as he looks to press their advantage.
“I’ve got middle!” I yell to Volkov in the net.
“Middle’s yours.”
“I’ve got puck!” Li calls.
When Li and I hustle over the boards for a shift change, I gulp down some water, making sure to track my pain levels. Low. We’ve been up since J.D. flew in a goal five minutes into the first period, so I’ve played it safe. Smart.
No unnecessary hits. No unnecessary movement. Just smart, sound hockey.
After the first score, the game became an offensive struggle. Both goalies were on tonight, and everyone struggled to find the holes. When the final buzzer sounds, we win with J.D.’s single goal. Beating Pittsburgh in Pennsylvania is a crucial win, and I climb onto the ice with my team to celebrate, but I opt to stay on the outskirts of the celebrations, rather than jumping into the fray.
As soon as we’re in the locker room, I pull off my gloves and helmet before shoving on my headphones. I’ve never been a big music guy, always content to listen to whatever is playing in the locker room, but headphones give a certain go-fuck-yourself energy that I am desperate for right now. I can’t focus when guys are chirping constantly about inane things like whether theyshould get two or three lines for their new tattoo, or if they’re going to the club the bunnies like to hang out at, or trying to meet real women in normal bars. And if we’re going to make it to the playoffs, I need to focus.
I’ve gotten most of my pads off and am working the tape off my socks when Coach Blake’s double knock sounds at the locker room door. My pulse jumps slightly at the sight of her, but I don’t let in any of the feelings that are trying to come along with it.
She made the right call,I remind myself for what seems like the millionth time.
“Well, gentlemen, that was a hard one, but we pulled it out. Our shots on goal numbers were right where they needed to be. Volkov, defense, excellent work out there. The plane will be wheels up in three hours, the bus in two. We’ve kept ourselves alive and in the hunt for this long—we’re not letting the Bears stop us. Morning skate and then film tomorrow. Late schedule since it’s going to be a long night. One more win and we’re in the running.”
I slide my headphones back on and move through my usual post-game routine. Now is not the time to cut corners or do anything but follow the plan—and to make sure I recover thoroughly, I’ve added even more post-game time to my plan. I’ve been on the bike for longer than any of the other guys when Larsen taps on my shoulder.
“What?” I say, making sure to only slide one of my headphones off.
“Okay, no need to bite my head off. A couple of guys are coming over for dinner tomorrow. I wanted to see if you were in before I told my chef final numbers.”
“No.”
He raises an eyebrow when I don’t give him anything more than that, and when I pull my headphones back on, he rolls his eyes and walks away.
Getting to know the team is an important part of my strategy for next year, but they clearly like me. Larsen invited me to dinner. I don’t need to eat with them every night.
If I let this injury slow me down, I might not even be on the ice next year. And then I’ll lose my career and my new friends in one go. So, I have to stay healthy this season. Perform well. Position myself to take on a leadership role next year. And to do that, it requires one hundred percent focus on getting prepared, mentally and physically, for every game.
Deviation is dangerous.
So, connection is going to have to wait—even if no one knows exactly how long this season will last.
I grit my teeth through the ten minutes in the ice bath, thankful I’m the only one icing today. Young guys always think the ice bath is optional, but for me, it never is. Then, I find the stretching area, moving through my hip mobility exercises twice before working my hamstrings, glutes, lower back, and ankles. Once I get through the whole set, I do it again. When it’s my time for PT, I head over to the tables, stripping to my boxers before I climb on.
“How you feeling today, Kane?” Glenn asks, working my hip.
I bite down hard on my back teeth to fight a grimace as his fingers hit a sore spot and work it.
