the journal of literature and the arts at saint david ’ s school
Little did I know that the next 70 minutes would change me forever and teach me one of life ’ s most valuable lessons .
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As I dragged my duffle bag up the stairs , I started to second-guess myself . “ What if they laugh at me ?” I asked my dad . “ They won ’ t ,” he replied . Tugging my bag over the last step , we made our way towards the elevator . Upon the doors opening , a sea of players holding sticks and carrying bulky bags stepped out of the elevator , walking purposefully on their skates , their shoulder pads adding breadth , their skate blades adding height . I was immediately intimidated . Traffic got heavier as another sea of players came up the stairs with hockey gear bags . Although the players who came out of the elevator were older than me , the guys coming up the stairs appeared roughly the same age as me . My teeth began to clatter against each other , as I began to feel the nerves . I wishfully thought , “ Maybe they are in a different group ?” Thankfully , I did not know it at the time but that army of kids stomping past me would be in my group . Had I known earlier , I would have turned around and left the rink , but I remained unaware . I was quickly swallowed up by their bodies as we all waited for the elevator . Upon its arrival , I pressed the button for the rink floor and held the door open for the other guys . In the small coffin-like space , there was a deafening silence . I was acutely aware of my heart pounding in my chest as we approached the rink level . The elevator doors opened . I walked to the revolving doors that separated the rink from the outside world . For a moment , I was caught between two panels of swiveling glass that separated me from the rink , and I felt my ears pop as the doors spat me out towards the rink . With my hearing at a disadvantage , I felt the frigid air wrap around me as I walked towards the baby “ teaching ” rink where I would suit up for my first skate ever .
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