Icy Pond (Greatest Medal)

        When I was twelve years old, I played for a traveling ice hockey team out of Northeast Philadelphia. The team was called the Bristol Blazers, but we played out of the newly created Flyers Skate Zone--which only opened a short time before I started with the team.

         Since I played in-house leagues prior to participating in this new travel league, I was pretty confident that I'd be a decent fit on the team. After all, I was automatically sanctioned to the team's B division, because I signed up after try-outs. Putting brand-new pads and skates on felt amazing. At this point, it was about a year since the last time I was on the ice, so my excitement, as every second ticked by before my first skate with the team, was a mini-adrenaline rush. The Zamboni from the previous skate finally comes off the ice, and it was time for us to go on.

          I face plant. Luckily I had a helmet on or my first concussion probably would have happened in the first second on ice with the team. I was the worst. It was like I completely forgot how to skate in a year. I would have fit better on the non-existent D team.

          I finally caught my bearings at some point and proceeded to do all of the drills with the team. Stopping was a nightmare. Especially with the left foot (pertaining to my hand-eye coordination, I'm left-brained). At the end of the practice, I saw my dad, who watched the disaster that was my skating ability unfold. Even though I sucked--and, man, did I suck--I loved hockey. So, my dad looked into other ways to strengthen my skating ability.

         I skated, in some capacity, almost every day of the week. Practices with the team only happened twice a week (Tuesdays and Thursdays) with games on Saturday mornings. I went up to Grundy--where the Bristol Blazers used to play--and participated in super rigorous skating exercises with this Mr. Feany guy (Yes, Feheheheeeeanay). I would also participate in two-a-day practices on team practice days. The coach for the team's A Division was nice enough to let me practice with his team right after practicing with mine. I became good fast. Real fast. So fast that I was skating as well as the A team's best player, who went to the AA team the following year. The league started around October and ended in March, so it took me about 5 months to get to something-from-nothing.

        In March, the team went to Lake Placid to participate in an East Coast inclusive tournament. Somehow, I was one of the top goal-scorers on my team for the tourny. To get into the elimination bracket of the tournament, we had to play, beat, or tie the best team in the league. We won 6-4. I had two goals and two assists for the game. By far the best I played all season. Apparently, I was very vocal about how terrible I was earlier in the season. One of our team mom's of noticeably one of the better players/goal scorers on the team came up to me after the game and said, "You do not!!"
"What?"
"You do not suck! Don't you ever say you suck again! That was amazing!"

       Needless to say, I was on cloud 9. We still had some tough games ahead of us, but in that moment, I knew that we could win this thing and that maybe, just maybe, I could actually help. 

       We got to the championship game, but lost in triple overtime. Everyone on the bench was devastated, but for some reason, I was not. We played our absolute best and got so close. It was still an amazing experience to play on the 1980 Miracle on Ice rink. I'll never forget it. We received silver medals that day, and the rest of the team made sure to sport them as we left our hotels to head back home to Philadelphia--we all joked about how we were wearing "bling" and that we were going to walk back into town like we're big shit. We were so cute.

       A week back in Philly and everything felt back to normal again. Going to school. Doing homework. The usual boring stuff twelve year old kids do. I believe it was a Tuesday, and I just got home from school. My dad said I had received a letter from my coach. (As an aside: I didn't talk about my coach much in the story up to this point, but he was an incredibly nice guy and he really helped with my game development. He saw, and heard about from the A coach, my work ethic come to fruition first-hand.) The letter was a hand-written two-page script of encouragement. He told me that I could be the best hockey player out of anyone on the team if I kept my work ethic going out of anyone else. Up to that point, I never cried from happiness, but in that moment I did. Though it wasn't a medal at all, it was to me--the greatest one I've ever received.

     A couple years later (4 to be exact) I stopped playing hockey. It was far too expensive for my family. Though I was unable to pursue ice hockey any longer, that letter from my coach is a constant reminder to me that I can do anything I put my mind to. He made sure to let me know that my work ethic greatly impacted the rest of the team, and that if I kept that mentality through life, then the sky is the limit. Lesson learned.

     For those reading this, know that you CAN do anything you put your mind to. Get fired? Get knocked down? Get back up! Afraid to try something new in fear of being terrible? Don't be! Remember this story of a kid who practically crawled onto the ice the first time he was on an ice hockey team, but worked hard to achieve near greatness. You are your greatest asset so long as you believe it. Yes, it'll be hard, and it'll take time, but who cares? The greatest things in life to have take time and hard work. Whether it's a career, a relationship/friendship, a sport, they all take hard work. Please, do yourself this favor: Never give up. don't do it. Especially if it's something or someone you love. Don't give up.

- PatInTheHat