Page 6 of Home of the Brave

I went from having my team, fans, and community counting on me, to the entire country.

Now, I’m playing for them on yet another once in a lifetime stage.

America’s two-hundred and fiftieth birthday celebration was taking over Washington, DC, for the entire summer with the NHL hosting a special tournament, mostly riding the high of the Winter Olympics and keeping new fans of the sport engaged during the off-season.

It was an honor to be chosen; for Hartman and Schultz to be joining me. For my own goalie coach to be selected.

It was all more than we could ask for, but it came with me relinquishing my limited time away from training and playing.

The weeks I’d mentally blocked off for relaxation and rehabbing my mind and body had been claimed.

A privilege.

I’d look back on this experience with awe someday. I’d tell my family about this year with gratitude and reverence.

One day.

But right now, I was seriously concerned about how I was going to make it.

Growing up, I’d always played goalie. From my very first team, my coach saw something that made him certain it was where I belonged.

It's the same something all goalies possess. The one characteristic we all have in common that makes us want to stand in front of giants and let them take shots at us for sixty minutes. The missing part of our brain where common sense and self-preservation usually lived. At least, that was what my mom said.

I realized that quality wasn't all goalies were good for around the time I started college.

We’re leaders.

Not captains. Not the most vocal. Not the most demanding.

But we have to be the most confident. We have to be the quiet calm. We determined the energy of the entire team. If we slipped, if we showed our nerves, we set everyone else up for failure.

Goaltenders are the backbone of the team, sturdy and straight and unwilling to turn away.

Unfortunately, I wasn’t feeling that way.

We lost in the second round of the playoffs. I was ready to get on a plane to an island far enough away to have zero interest in hockey and sulk for a few weeks.

I wanted to feel sorry for myself and bask in the guilt of not doing enough.

I was angry. The rage that motivated me through post season had simmered into disappointment. I wanted to lick my wounds and fester until I was ready to come back with a clear head and fresh determination for next season.

I didn’t want to continue to be strong for a whole new group of players. I didn’t want to be the one to demonstrate resilience, perseverance, and selflessness.

The traits that had been drilled into me since I laced up my first set of skates felt like twelve elephants on my chest.

Weeks ago, when I got the call about this tournament, I was still riding the high of making the playoffs.

I was young and stupid. Full of hopes and dreams.

If I were absolutely positive no one else was around, I’d stomp my feet and throw a mini tantrum about not wanting to do this.

Instead, I closed my eyes and stayed perfectly still.

I don’t want to go.

I want to find a hole and live in it until preseason.

Let me waste away in my misery!