Hockey is my world. All of the excitement, the electricity running through the air, a sport like none other. When I enter the rink I feel home, on the ice I enter a different state, all problems are forgotten what ever happened earlier is gone. Nothing exists but me and the ice. I lace up my skates, put on my helmet and grab a stick; walk down the tunnel and immediately feel the icy blast of cold air as the door opens. I wake up instantly, my eyes wide from the chill. I take the first step on to the smooth glassy surface, my blades cut deep into the cold, crisp ice.

The noises are captivating, the crackling of steel cutting the ice, the booming of pucks ricocheting off the boards and the crunch of players colliding. It’s magnified ten fold when game time arrives. The thrill of game night, the anticipation building, the nervous excitement and the restless atmosphere; the noises are amplified and the environment is fueled by the energy of the crowd. Immediately engulfed by the roar of the crowd, my heart races as I jump on the ice and skate my first lap. The game progresses and the intensity rises, the puck blazes into the back of the net and the building erupts. The crowd screams and the stands buckle as people rise from their seats. The players go insane; sick “celes” are performed as teammates rush to the scorer.

For a while hockey was all I did; I lived, breathed, dreamed hockey. It’s the only thing I’ve done all my life and plan to do for the rest. I don’t care if I can’t play competitively after high school as long as I can feel the rush of skating again.