Joelle Morrow has her focus set on the future. As an up-and-coming lingerie designer, she's overcome multiple setbacks on the road to achieving her dream of opening her own boutique but has yet to be knocked down, leaving her no time to think about...
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With each day, the playoffs grew closer, and so did the standings in the Eastern Conference. As it stood, we were hanging on to the third-place position in our division. Barely. Three teams were right on our heels, trailing by only a point or two, and with a few weeks of games left to be played, anything could happen.
Every game was important, and one loss could end up being the difference between being on the ice or hitting the golf course come April.
And with that resolve in mind, I raced down the left side of the rink with the puck. Only when I neared the net, maneuvering around the defense, did I veer back towards the center, coming in at an angle to flip the puck over Nyberg's shoulder. Or at least I tried to. He moved his glove in the nick of time, capturing the puck and tossing it to the side.
"Next time, hold onto the puck for another second," one of the assistant coaches said as I skated to a stop beside him. "It'll make the goalie you're up against move across the crease with you, and if you shoot for their stick side, you'll have a bigger opening to score."
I nodded. "Got it."
After all, that's what practices were for. To improve. To iron out the problems and sharpen plays before they truly counted.
Filing the advice away, I put it to use a few rushes later when I skated the same route, tweaking my shot so it sailed straight into the netting.
Gradually, the 1-on-1 drills shifted to 2-on-1 drills, and then 3-on-2 drills, covering all the bases. We worked on offense, defense, our aggressiveness on rebounds, and our communication, preparing for the five-day road trip that started in Minnesota the next day. Three games in which we needed to shut down the opposing teams by controlling the puck and generating quality shots.
Which meant running drills for a variety of different scenarios over and over again until they were second nature to us all.
When the whistle blew hours later, signaling the end of practice, most of us were breathing hard as we gathered at the center of the ice.
"Good work today, men," Coach Davidson said, loud and proud. "You all put in the effort expected of you, some of even surpassing that bar, so head home. Rest up and get ready for tomorrow, because if you all play like I know you're capable of, Minnesota won't know what hit them." Hoots and hollers filled the air as the team agreed, causing Coach to shake his head in amusement. "Alright, alright, just remember, our flight leaves Logan at nine tomorrow morning, and if any of you are late, you'll be looking forward to riding the bench for a few games, understand?"
"Yes, sir," I said, in time with the rest of my teammate's affirmations.
Once we were dismissed, I took a slow lap around the ice, loosening up my muscles with elongated strides before following the line of men headed towards the locker room. Stripping out of my sweaty practice gear, I wrapped a towel around my waist, securing it with one hand and using the other to rummage through my bag for my phone.
