When I was 8, I used to eat, breathe, and sleep hockey. My life revolved around it 24/7. Early morning practices before school, late night ice times, and of course, the games. At the start of this particular season, my team had won our first 4 games, leaving us to be undefeated champions thus far in. Practice was intense and left me feeling numb for the rest of each day but we were winning and that’s what mattered most to us. I was our team’s goal tender. It was my job to ensure the success of my team when everyone else couldn’t.

One early Sunday morning practice had managed to change all of this for me. I awoke to see my mother standing over my corpse like body in my bed. The minor freckles my mother had on her face always stood out to me most, but to no one else apparently. She had only spoken a few, very short words to me, but in truth, that’s all I needed. The words “30 minutes” flowed into my ears the way that rain flows down a busy street during a downfall.

My morning routine at age eight was simple. It started with me brushing my teeth. The sound of bristles again teeth is one that I think to be impossible to forget. The harsh scrapping noise reminds me of someone sweeping a dirty floor with a broom. After brushing my teeth, I put on my dry fit under layer, then tossed on my sweatpants and hoodie. My mother always had breakfast ready for me when I had early morning practices. It was the same every time; two eggs that were lightly salted and cooked sunny side up( I believe this to be the reason as to why I now dislike eggs). I devoured my breakfast as if it weren’t enough for my small body then practically flung myself out the front door in excitement. Hockey practice in the morning was always my favourite because we stopped at Tim Hortons. The hot chocolate I had was extra hot that morning. The burning hot drink scorched the roof of my mouth, but the pain was worth the sweet reward.

The sun was just starting to rise by the time we arrived at the arena. The crack of dawn shot bursts of yellow, pink, and orange into the sky. The air had a little chill to it but was nothing unbearable, the arena was always much colder than outside. Putting my goalie pads on was always the worst part. It took a team of 3 people to put on all of my padding. Laces that needed to be knotted tighter than the lid to an impenetrable pickle jar, straps and buckles that needed to not only be done up, but also hidden from sight. Then there was my helmet, which shared qualities with a dumb bell, due to its…. substantial weight. Through all of this effort and work, I still managed to be excited to get on the ice. To me, there was nothing better than the sound of ice being carved by the deadly sharp blades of my skates. Once I was on the ice, there was no stopping me, even with an additional 5 to 6 pounds of goalie equipment.

Before I continue, it’s important for you to understand that padding doesn’t completely protect you. There are parts of your body that are left bare; goalie pads are notorious for these small areas. A puck to the back of the leg or shoulder region are the worst because there’s nothing to save you in those areas.
Now, I would like to think that what happened was fate, and I just wasn’t meant to play hockey. It eases my mind more.

Warm up started with practice shots from the team. The euphoric sound of the whistle created by pucks slicing through the air is one that I’ll never soon forget. One after another, all stopped…. well I should say MOST of them stopped. The adrenaline pumped through my head like never before, my mind was focused on only one thing. Stopping each and every single shot. I felt unstoppable, as if no one could penetrate the wall I formed between them and the glory they craved. I felt like the best. I felt invincible.

After the team took their warm up, my coach took his. Remember those bare spots I mentioned early? This is where they come into play (no pun intended). Coach Mathew had shots that flew like a feather in proximity to a wind turbine. He took his first shot and I blocked it but I wasn’t as fortunate with the second. The slap shot came second and in order to stop this shot, I slid from one side of the net to the other, laying my leg and pad flat to the ground… exposing my knees. Mathew’s slap shot had hit my knee straight on and shattered a portion of my left knee cap. The agony and pain were indescribable. The last thing I remember was laying on the ice in tears screaming as if someone has just driven a scolding, red hot knife into my knee. To this day, I have yet to experience something as painful as that puck.

My life had changed in the blink of an eye and was now out of my control. After surgery and months of recover, I would come to the heart breaking realization that I would never again play hockey. One of the most important things to me was stolen and I couldn’t do anything about it. No one could. Every moment in the day that I hear the click in my left knee, I remember to stay humble and be thankful for everything I have because it only takes a second for it to all change.