You Hit Like a Girl

HEY GUYS, GUESS WHAT? AS IF NONE OF YOU NOTICED BY THE COPIOUS AMOUNTS OF FACEBOOK STATUSES FROM PEOPLE THAT DON’T KNOW THE DIFFERENCE BETWEEN OFFSIDES AND AN ICING… MY BELOVED TEAM THE BLACKHAWKS WON THE STANLEY CUP AGAINST MY 2ND FAVOURITE TEAM, THE BRUINS. UPSET MY BOSTON FAMILY… BUT AT LEAST MY AUNT DIDN’T KISS ANYONE OTHER THAN MY UNCLE THIS TIME. Also on a calmer note, my cousin had twin boys two days ago… they’re ginger, so naturally I asked him to make their middle names Daniel and Hedrick Sedin, he said no, so then I asked him to make them Weasly themed… he said I have to change their nappies for the whole first week when I live with them.

‘Well that went smoother than expected,’ I think as I walk through my apartment’s door, setting my bag down in the closet. I am still gross from practice so I drudge into the bathroom and turn the shower on to a lukewarm stream to soothe the bruises and sore muscles I acquired today. My stomach looks nasty, but I think it will heal soon; however, I also have rings of bruises down my arms and legs from pucks and hits, but I usually bruise easily my first few weeks back.
The shower worked wonders for my body and also gave me time to think about what the guys are really going to act like tomorrow. Sure, they were shocked, but they should get over that, whether it will be get over as in, yea sure you’re a girl, but we don’t care, or will it be get over it like ‘GIRRRL you don’t belong here you’re going to get hurt’. I haven’t figured that out. Personally I think that Kaner was jealous of Hammer, and Toews may have needed a little zap to get him out of the shock, and Frolik always look surprizes, like always, so who knows with him.
None of the guys I passed really seemed angry or like they would cause any problems because they saw me play before knowing that I was female. So, my biggest problem is going to be the media as well as the other teams, who shouldn’t find out anyways. If they did find out there really is nothing I can do or anyone else can do either, so I just have to go along with it.
After dressing in old clothes I unpack most of my stuff for the rest of the day and slip into bed early, exhausted from the day. My head hits the pillow and I sniff in the smell of fresh laundry and lavender. I smile and try to fall asleep, but the aspect of the lockdown has me in the dumps. Not being able to play when I actually catch a break. Poop.
I fall asleep after a few minutes of worrying, flopping around like a fish, and untangling myself from the sheets eighteen million times. My body was exhausted and my mind was as well, so no dreams for me. I set my alarm clock after I got home from the rink, making it so I don’t wake up so early to get to the rink, thank god! My body starts to repair itself by developing bruises, fading old ones away, and mending sore muscles.
The sleep isn’t exactly long because of the time I have to get up and ready, but it did the trick. My body is sore and tight from practice, but it feels regenerated and ready, although my mind is still hazy and slow. I walk into my kitchen and grab a granola bar and apple for the road as well as some orange juice and set it on my table so I don’t forget them, and I walk back into the bedroom. Today’s practice is ‘Outside’ as Coach Q would like to say, so I stick to long basketball shorts, two sports bras to hide my measly cleavage, and a baggy T-shirt with the Blackhawks. I am worried about the public outing, so I add a ratty old baseball cap and a smidgen of makeup to roughen up my face and give the illusion of a bit of short stubble. I look in the mirror and don’t exactly recognize myself at first because my hair is a different colour, my jaw looks stronger, and I look bigger, more manly… it is truly a miracle. Another miracle appears to me, I look a smidgen taller than I was weeks ago, which is confirmed by my height chart, I grew half an inch in the past few weeks. It isn’t uncommon for me because I didn’t have a teenage growth spurt until I was seventeen, so this must be the tail end of things.
I look at the clock and frown; I am already five minutes late. I run into the other room, grab my bag, keys, and breakfast before running all the way to my car, bag slipping off my shoulder, keys in my mouth, and my apple falling down the stairs, not once… but twice! The drive to the practice rink is short again, but I am lucky to arrive just before Coach Q rounds us all up, which incidentally spares me from the whole awkward interaction between me and virtually the whole team. They stare at me, but I try hiding behind Rozsival to save me from embarrassment.
“Guys, we have done outside practices before, but this one is a tad different. Instead of having to do outside strength exercises and runs, we are working on team building while doing a bit of stamina training,” Coach Q talks, handing out thick wrist bands, some red, some black, and others white.
“Everyone get into groups according to colour, and I’ll explain the rules.”
One of the equipment managers hands me a black band, which I roll onto my wrist. My team included Shaw, Hjalmarsson, Crawford, Keith, Leddy, Handzus, and Stalberg. The teams were pretty even in terms of speed, strength, and size which helped if this was to turn competitive.
“This wasn’t my idea, but it seemed to work in some of the farm teams to give a hard workout, but also build on teamwork at the same time. I am going to give this a chance, but if it doesn’t work we can go back to boring workouts. So behave. We are having a semi-city wide scavenger hunt. Each of you will have a tracker in your pocket as well as one map per team and clues to insure that you don’t take taxis or public transport as insure that you all stay together in one group. I have informed the places where you will visit and they are all o.k. with you being there as long as you don’t break anything.” Coach says, some of the guys groan, but I am secretly excited to explore the city and get to know the guys more.
Our map shows the general downtown and tourist areas of the city as well as safe crossings for the streets and the main buildings. Keith stuffed that in his waist band, while handing Crow the clues, and all of us a tracker that looked like a plastic and metal matchbox.
Crow reads, “I am the ‘Gretzky’ of basketball, find a black backpack to take on your way.” Ok, that’s vague… It’s Chicago, Michael Jordan is everywhere!
The poor guys look confused, especially Hjalmarsson, Stalberg and Handzus who aren’t exactly sure who Michael Jordan is. I speak up, leaning around Shaw, “Guys, where are we going to find a famous place with Michael Jordan?”
The guys think for a minute, I am not really familiar with the city, it being my first month in the city and all. The other teams have set off in different directions, white going east and red going south.
“Guys, this is easy,” Leddy says pointing to the map, “the united centre has that huge statue of Jordan as well as enough room and it is easily accessible. Let’s go.” He says this grabs the map and starts a steady jog towards Madison St. with the rest of us following behind.
We stay mostly silent, only laughing at the weird looks we are getting from the citizens as well as the evil glares we got from a group of taxis that Crow jumped in front of before they illegally turned on a red light. Amazingly we all make it, granted a bit winded, to the centre in one piece and see the Jordan statue with three backpacks hanging off his arm. We jog up to it and try to reach it, but none of us were quite tall enough or daring enough to climb the statue.
“Hammer, give me a lift.” I say, making him give me a look.
“Why you?” He asks.
“Because unless you want to lift Shaw, I am one of your best shots here and Shaw looks pretty sweaty,” I point out as Hjalmarsson gets down on one knee. I throw my legs over his shoulders, making sure he has a complete hold on my calves. I rest one hand on his head and reach up and snag the backpack before Hammer squats down and throws me off.
“Charlie, I am taking my chances with Shaw next time, you touched my hair!”
“Where to next Crow?” Keith asks wiping his brow.
“It says go fish and walk on water; find a Blackhawks weight to take on your way.”
Fishing? Ok well water? The aquarium or the lake shore? That could be anything? I mean really?
“It’s Navy Pier,” Shaw says. “Those giant plastic spheres that people walk on and the pier= fishing. I took my last girlfriend there.” Shaw explains shrugging.
“Ok.”
The game went on for six more stops, including The Bean, Art Institute, the Blackhawks Store, Gino’s East, Michigan Ave., and the ever popular huge McDonald’s. At each stop we added weights and were soon given time limits to force a high paced jog. We pass the backpack and almost sprint back to the training centre in order to be on time, skipping the last two stops because we had no idea what the last clue was saying, it was in Russian.
We sprint down the street, now used to the whole staring thing now, and I have the bag, its straps biting into my shoulders as I turn around the corner, only to collide straight into Jonathan Toews.
“OW! What the fuck, Charlie?” He asks, and I know everything would be fine.