When I got home from school yesterday, I was reading through many different blog posts, which I thoroughly enjoy doing. After reading one about taking on different challenges, I wrote a response that I don’t like to take on too many challenges all at once, but later in the evening, I began thinking that I often take on many challenges (even though they are not called “challenges”). Well, in March, I am challenging myself to write a blog post each and every day, but the other challenge comes in the fact that with the blog, I have been writing my story each and every day. I’ve never thought of it as a challenge (outside of the challenge not to post part of my story each and every day – I have been good about posting only twice a week:). After further reflection, my week is filled with little challenges, but I often don’t think of them as challenges because I enjoy doing them.
Here’s a snippet from the story I’m writing this morning:
“Reynolds, Evans, Cavanaugh, get out there.” Coach says after blowing his whistle.
We skate to mid-ice ready for the next play on coach’s whistle.
“The freshman line. Great! Fresh meat.” Will Crowley, the senior captain, snarls as he skates a circle around us before heading into the defensive end. Before he even turns around, coach gives a loud blow of the whistle.
The first play as a varsity player is a simple weave down the ice. I race to the middle from the right wing and Cavanaugh zings the pass right onto my stick. Keeping my head up, I dribble, and look to connect with Bradley, but as Bradley makes his way to the middle he is crushed by an open ice hit from Crowley. Bradley hits the ice like a rag doll and Crowley lands on top of him. Crowley grabs the back of his neck and pushes his face into the ice. Bradley squirms while Crowley applies more pressure.
I race over and tackle Crowley off of Bradley. As he tries to stand up, I grab his shoulders and slam him into the glass.
“Evans, are you outta your mind? You’re a dead man.” His glove is off and he grabs my throat. I level him with a right arm jab and he lets go.
“You’re kiddin’ me, Evans. Reynolds has been punkin’ you all season and you’re stickin’ up for him. Not on my team. You’re both goin’ down.”
He grabs me again, but I slap his hand away. And now Coach and his whistle, which has blown for the hundredth time, is standing next to us.
“Crowley, Evans, stay after practice. You’ll be doin’ red line sprints until I see your breakfast and lunch.”
Coach heads back to the bench. Crowley is following close behind pleading his case. Bradley skates up from behind and hands me my stick. He reaches out his hand.
“Thank you, Grif,” he says while shaking my hand, “I owe you big time.”
Forgiveness. He’s been riding me all season and our first play on the varsity team, he’s sorry. He knows that if I didn’t jump in, he’d be in the hospital.
*This snippet is raw and unrevised, but I’m out of time and need to go to work. I don’t like hitting “publish” without a little more time to revise, but I’m taking a chance this morning.:)