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The sun sleeps as the desolate city streets await the morning rush hour. Driven by an inexplicable force, I enter the building along with 14 other hockey players, inching my way toward the cold, dark locker room of the Mc Farland Ice Arena. As we walk in, the lights come on with the hum of electricity waking up from a long night’s sleep. All together at the speed of a slug we get into our equipment. Always watching the clock to make sure we don’t add any skating on to the already painful practice awaiting. Walking out of the locker room seeing the coach already on the ice, ready for action, makes it seem 50 degrees colder. We quickly respond with a set of warm-up laps and stretches. When we are finished warming up, our coach gathers us at center ice. He offers no friendly accolades, just a rigid regimen of drills, commands, and exhortations. Four more “wallies” and we are done. A quick shower, and a two minute drive to school. Then it’s back to the rink; the afternoon consists of dry land training and jogging.
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