Back to the Breakfast Club with Laura

What week is this? Where have I been? Who am I? Where am I? Am I sounding like John Stockdale? Are any of you even old enough to remember who John Stockdale was?



Geesh, a girl stops blogging for a few (OK, more than just 'a few') weeks, and she gets razzed at the club. Which must mean that you really do read this! Sniff, sniff, golly gee, I'm feeling all sentimental, gosh, you really do love me, really you do :)

So where have I been? Well, I've missed two weeks, and one week I went to the Wednesday class instead of Thursday's class. Scott and Lyle were there on that Wednesday. Tom. Donny. Hmmm, but no Kirk. Not that I was terribly "there" even though I was there, so who am I to judge? Either way, I can't possibly remember what we did two weeks ago, so I won't pretend to recount my adept moves and awesome wicked skills. I'll leave that to your imagination.

This week I was at my regularly-scheduled Thursday class. So was Martha. And Olga. No Fiona, though. Duncan was my date, girl friends, don't tell Fiona that he was making passes at me while poor Fiona is nursing her likely blown ACL. Yes, today's class was about passing. Cross ice, give 'n go, tic toc, ba da bing ba da bang. Joe and Lyle kept us going, going, going. Doggone, I was a sweaty mess. Happy, grinning from ear to ear, but yes quite the mess.

Speaking of messes, what was up with my non-existent wrist shot? Hmmm, let's see: I don't use my wrists, I don't start releasing the puck until it's two feet in front of me, my bottom hand is too high... did I miss something? Why, yes, I did miss something: the net. Nonetheless, a goodly many of the hearty cohorts did just fine with our round-robin shooting drill. The one-on-ones are always fun, too. Up and around, make the defensive play near the blue line, offensively your 'win' was to get a shot off in the danger zone. Then, just like the Mad Hatter in Alice in Wonderland, 'new puck! new puck!' and the play continues in front of the net, with the defender trying to take away the pass while the offensive player's goal was to get open and make good use of the pass from the corner from the coach.



Are you sweaty enough yet? Good, so let's do some cross overs. Forwards five or a thousand times in one direction, then the other. Then backwards. "Lyle, I'm dizzy." "Yes, you are."



What week is it again? I dunno, but at least it isn't the next-to-last week, that's all I know. Which means a few more weeks until spring season, when I can do this all over again.



So why do I keep pushing that boulder up the hill, you might ask? Because each week, I get a little better, that's why. Heaven forbid that I am forever doomed to play like I played last week or last month or last year. It might not be as noticable as it was when I first started out with hockey oh those nearly six years ago, but I can still see myself getting better. Or stinking less worse. Take your pick. Since we're in the peak of pothole season, all I can say is I don't like being in a rut, and the Breakfast Club is the patching crew of life. Toss down a little cold tar and aggragate, pat it down slightly, and start driving on it. Don't dwell on the hole that you just left behind, focus on the road ahead and plan for a little smoother sailing. Yeah, that's it! So until the next time that I get around to writing something, keep your head up and your eyes on the goal.

Back to the Breakfast Club with Laura

What week is this? Where have I been? Who am I? Where am I? Am I sounding like John Stockdale? Are any of you even old enough to remember who John Stockdale was?



Geesh, a girl stops blogging for a few (OK, more than just 'a few') weeks, and she gets razzed at the club. Which must mean that you really do read this! Sniff, sniff, golly gee, I'm feeling all sentimental, gosh, you really do love me, really you do :)

So where have I been? Well, I've missed two weeks, and one week I went to the Wednesday class instead of Thursday's class. Scott and Lyle were there on that Wednesday. Tom. Donny. Hmmm, but no Kirk. Not that I was terribly "there" even though I was there, so who am I to judge? Either way, I can't possibly remember what we did two weeks ago, so I won't pretend to recount my adept moves and awesome wicked skills. I'll leave that to your imagination.

This week I was at my regularly-scheduled Thursday class. So was Martha. And Olga. No Fiona, though. Duncan was my date, girl friends, don't tell Fiona that he was making passes at me while poor Fiona is nursing her likely blown ACL. Yes, today's class was about passing. Cross ice, give 'n go, tic toc, ba da bing ba da bang. Joe and Lyle kept us going, going, going. Doggone, I was a sweaty mess. Happy, grinning from ear to ear, but yes quite the mess.

Speaking of messes, what was up with my non-existent wrist shot? Hmmm, let's see: I don't use my wrists, I don't start releasing the puck until it's two feet in front of me, my bottom hand is too high... did I miss something? Why, yes, I did miss something: the net. Nonetheless, a goodly many of the hearty cohorts did just fine with our round-robin shooting drill. The one-on-ones are always fun, too. Up and around, make the defensive play near the blue line, offensively your 'win' was to get a shot off in the danger zone. Then, just like the Mad Hatter in Alice in Wonderland, 'new puck! new puck!' and the play continues in front of the net, with the defender trying to take away the pass while the offensive player's goal was to get open and make good use of the pass from the corner from the coach.



Are you sweaty enough yet? Good, so let's do some cross overs. Forwards five or a thousand times in one direction, then the other. Then backwards. "Lyle, I'm dizzy." "Yes, you are."



What week is it again? I dunno, but at least it isn't the next-to-last week, that's all I know. Which means a few more weeks until spring season, when I can do this all over again.



So why do I keep pushing that boulder up the hill, you might ask? Because each week, I get a little better, that's why. Heaven forbid that I am forever doomed to play like I played last week or last month or last year. It might not be as noticable as it was when I first started out with hockey oh those nearly six years ago, but I can still see myself getting better. Or stinking less worse. Take your pick. Since we're in the peak of pothole season, all I can say is I don't like being in a rut, and the Breakfast Club is the patching crew of life. Toss down a little cold tar and aggragate, pat it down slightly, and start driving on it. Don't dwell on the hole that you just left behind, focus on the road ahead and plan for a little smoother sailing. Yeah, that's it! So until the next time that I get around to writing something, keep your head up and your eyes on the goal.

Back to the Breakfast Club with Laura

What week is this? Where have I been? Who am I? Where am I? Am I sounding like John Stockdale? Are any of you even old enough to remember who John Stockdale was?

Geesh, a girl stops blogging for a few (OK, more than just 'a few') weeks, and she gets razzed at the club. Which must mean that you really do read this! Sniff, sniff, golly gee, I'm feeling all sentimental, gosh, you really do love me, really you do :)

So where have I been? Well, I've missed two weeks, and one week I went to the Wednesday class instead of Thursday's class. Scott and Lyle were there on that Wednesday. Tom. Donny. Hmmm, but no Kirk. Not that I was terribly "there" even though I was there, so who am I to judge? Either way, I can't possibly remember what we did two weeks ago, so I won't pretend to recount my adept moves and awesome wicked skills. I'll leave that to your imagination.

This week I was at my regularly scheduled Thursday class. So was Martha. And Olga. No Fiona, though. Duncan was my date, girl friends, don't tell Fiona that he was making passes at me while poor Fiona is nursing her likely blown ACL. Yes, today's class was about passing. Cross ice, give 'n go, tic toc, ba da bing ba da bang. Joe and Lyle kept us going, going, going. Doggone, I was a sweaty mess. Happy, grinning from ear to ear, but yes quite the mess.

Speaking of messes, what was up with my non-existent wrist shot? Hmmm, let's see: I don't use my wrists, I don't start releasing the puck until it's two feet in front of me, my bottom hand is too high... did I miss something? Why, yes, I did miss something: the net. Nonetheless, a goodly many of the hearty cohorts did just fine with our round-robin shooting drill. The one-on-ones are always fun, too. Up and around, make the defensive play near the blue line, offensively your 'win' was to get a shot off in the danger zone. Then, just like the Mad Hatter in Alice in Wonderland, 'new puck! new puck!' and the play continues in front of the net, with the defender trying to take away the pass while the offensive player's goal was to get open and make good use of the pass from the corner from the coach.

Are you sweaty enough yet? Good, so let's do some cross overs. Forwards five or a thousand times in one direction, then the other. Then backwards. "Lyle, I'm dizzy." "Yes, you are."

What week is it again? I dunno, but at least it isn't the next-to-last week, that's all I know. Which means a few more weeks until spring season, when I can do this all over again.

So why do I keep pushing that boulder up the hill, you might ask? Because each week, I get a little better, that's why. Heaven forbid that I am forever doomed to play like I played last week or last month or last year. It might not be as noticable as it was when I first started out with hockey oh those nearly six years ago, but I can still see myself getting better. Or stinking less worse. Take your pick. Since we're in the peak of pothole season, all I can say is I don't like being in a rut, and the Breakfast Club is the patching crew of life. Toss down a little cold tar and aggragate, pat it down slightly, and start driving on it. Don't dwell on the hole that you just left behind, focus on the road ahead and plan for a little smoother sailing. Yeah, that's it! So until the next time that I get around to writing something, keep your head up and your eyes on the goal.

Breakfast Club with Laura - Winter Session Day One

It’s the start of a new year, and the start of a new session of the Breakfast Club. By a strange twist of fate, Kirk and I are no longer in class together. I’ve heard that this separation has been very hard on Kirk, and so I’d appreciate it if you didn’t remind him about me because the poor boy just might bust out … crying? Heck no, more like giggling maniacally. Bwah ha ha ha ha! You know the sound…

Speaking of sounds, I think I heard the sound of the angels singing. Laaaaaa! Due to some scheduling issues, I was going to have to miss this session of the BC entirely, and I was understandably bummed out. But then it seems that some phone calls were made, favors called in, I’m not sure if any incantations were uttered but I did hear there was a sacrifice offered to powers of Tim Horton’s coffee. In any event, Breakfast Club is now running Wednesdays and Thursdays at Suburban Farmington 6am-7:30am, and Thursdays at Rochester Onyx 6:30am-8am. If you were sitting on the fence waiting to see what was gonna happen with the Tuesday class, well, didn’t you read the part I just wrote about the sacrifice to the hockey gods? The Tuesday class has been reincarnated as the Thursday class. Which, seeing as all the chicks are enrolled in the Thursday class, it would seem the Thursday class was reincarnated with all of the higher life forms.

For our first week back, accounting for the hideous weather and the rearranging of schedules, it wasn’t too surprising that we were a little light on turn out. Scott used that opportunity to go back to bed, leaving poor Joe to fend for himself with the bunch of us. We tried to be good little hockey players. We couldn’t have misbehaved too badly, because Joe indulged our request to beat each other up towards the end with a little tag-in chase the rabbit. Two players go in, and whoever gets the puck first has the option of trying to score right away or of tagging in a team mate waiting outside the blue line to create a 2-on-1. If the defender gains possession, he similarly has the option of trying to score or of tagging-in a second defensive (now offensive) team mate. So it could be a 1-on-1, 1-on-2, 2-on-1 or 2-on-2, depending on the situation and the decisions that were made. Because there is no such thing as “just like in practice” when you get to the game. Every situation is a little different, and so being able to make better decisions is the best skill to hone. We can only tweak so much more out of our aging bodies, strength and speed-wise, but at least some of us still have some brain cells firing. Use all of the tools in the toolkit.

Not that anyone was in need of some Mr. Fix-It repairs. Yes, there were a few human Zamboni moments, like doing the tight turns and losing an edge. Hmmm, where did I leave my inside edge? Must be around here somewhere... Tight turns toward the boards when you’re evading a defender creates a natural barrier between the puck and your opponent. That barrier being, your big ol’ posterior. Of course, to do a tight turn well, you need to use both skates, not just the inside edge of your outside skate. So we practiced turning just on one edge. First inside edge of the outside skate, and then the outside edge of the inside skate. It’s amazing what happens when your upper body cooperates, directionally, if you’re trying to do the outside edge-only turns. And, conversely, how an uncooperative upper body will harpoon your best-intentions of thinking you’re gonna turn.

I’m sure I could go on and on and on and on and on and on and on… (slap!) OK, so enough of me blabbering. Get your duff to the rink, and see you on the ice. In the meantime, keep your head up and your eyes on the goal.

Breakfast Club: Thanksgiving Eve with Laura

Well, first we skated, and then we ate-ed. Yes, yes, it’s been a busy Thanksgiving week.

Turnout was a little light on Wednesday morning, but not too bad. We still had a good-enough mix of reds and blues to end it all with a little red-versus-blue cross-ice chase the puck. Although, despite the food-based theme to this week, sorry, Scott, there wasn’t any jello…

Lyle kept telling Sarah to keep her feet moving, and then he remembered that her feet will be moving all the way to Washington, D.C. in two weeks and he almost started to feel wistful. Sarah! Sarah! Don’t make me represent our whole species by myself, girlfriend! But hey, I see that the Fort Dupont Ice Arena has drop-in every Sunday from 9-10:20pm, so it doesn’t seem too desolate there. Next time I have to haul my lawyer butt to D.C. for a hearing, I will pack my stuff and look you up. I am quite the sight tromping through the airport in my high heels, with a laptop on one shoulder and my hockey bag on the other shoulder.

So let’s see… it’s been a few days and a few thousand calories since we skated on Wednesday morning. The details are somewhat sketchy. I seem to recall us breaking into length-wise halves this week instead of end zone halves, meaning we were skating our pre-eating keesters from end-to-end all morning long. Maybe it was part of Lyle and Scott’s diabolical plan to make us feel less guilty about over-eating on the following day? Who knows what evil lurks in their minds. Scott was secretly hoping for a face-plant or two, though, I’m convinced. Otherwise, why would he have had us doing those stride balancing drills with our sticks over our shoulders like oh-so-many woe begotten oxen? Stride using your right, then touch your right knee to the ice. Rub your tummy. Pat your head. Walk. Chew gum. Geesh, slave driver…

Lyle had us doing some one-on-ones. Always a good time, beating up on each other. Grinning from ear to ear, of course, but definitely some good rivalry going on. I was asked at one point if I was prepared to be dominated. I’ll let you answer that question yourself…

I’m sure we did more. It’s not that it wasn’t memorable, of course. It’s just that I’ve lost too many brain cells in the past couple of days that have passed between attending the class and writing this post. Like this: my mind has completely forgotten that there was some kind of large cat carnivore purportedly playing a game called “foot” “ball” that didn’t really involve much feet at all. Nor any feat, come to think of it. Ooooh, but I can’t think of it. My mind is blocking that. I’m thinking about rainbows, and unicorns, and making a crisp tape-to-tape pass….

Breakfast Club with Kirk

I haven’t done that many hockey stops in the past 3 months during league play than we did today at BC. I’m exhausted. Wow, during league play the goal is to keep your momentum going, the only time you stop is when you run into the bench to rest. Just another dimension of the game, you’ll definitely get the jump on guys during directional changes when you can pop from a stop to powering into stride. You’ll be a stride or two ahead of your opponents for sure. It’s all about edge work isn’t it, mostly getting command of the outside edges.

The drills today focused us on one outside edge at a time so we can focus getting on that darn edge and work it. Lyle keep pushing us on this stuff, I saw many teammates gasping for a little air after some of those drills. Another good part of the day was working a 2-on-1 and positioning for a quality shot on goal. Key word position. I have a tendency to go straight line to the goal which makes it easy for a defender to cover me. Joe was working on different scenarios to open the play up and have better chances for a quality shot. OK Laura what up, a big no show, did you get the word on a hard workout? See ya folks next week, Kirk out.

Breakfast Club with Laura

I talked to Todd this morning about him blogging. He said he'd think about it. He said he couldn't blog about the whole session, though, because he needs to leave early every week.

So here's your chance, Todd. I'll leave the whole first part of the blog blank, and you can just fill it in however you wish...

[blank]

[blank]

[blankitty blank blank]


wow, Todd really has a way with words, doesn't he?



Hey, at least he said he'd try. Kirk didn't even bother to show up this morning.



I hear from Sarah that there were five chicks at the Tuesday skate. Her, Fiona, Martha, Courtney and someone else who's name escapes me at the moment (sorry, sister, not dissing you...). That's pretty good considering there were 13 guys. So the dude-to-chick ratio was 2.5-to-1. Kinda like ladies night at the bar, eh?



For this morning's skate, I was the sole chick on the ice. "But wait," you say, "Sarah was there." Yeah, she was there, but she wasn't skating; she was goal-tending this morning. And so she wasn't "on" the ice like I was. No one was "on" the ice like I was. I was all over that ice. Upside down. Backwards. Sarah just got to stand around, blocking shots. Me? I was this morning's entertainment. It was a hard burden to bear, but I did so with honor and grace.

With three goalies, we took advantage of our shooting opportunities. After warming everyone up, we broke into length-wise half-ice groups, so we were skating end-to-end all morning long. And doggone, that can wear you out when you're as, ahem, well-seasoned as some of us not-so-spring chickens are. Joe's one-on-ones were particular humbling. Or amusing, depending on whether you were me or whether you were merely watching me. After three tries, I at least managed to not trip over my own skates on that backwards crossover start. Hurrah for life's little victories...

Meanwhile, on the other length-wise half, Lyle had us refining our strides. Maximize the power and minimize the wasted body movement.

Then back into the committee of the whole, still running lengthwise, but this time passing out to the coaches and getting that pass back. Receive it one-handed and skate one-handed, pushing that puck so that you don't waste speed trying to puck handle.

And we ended it all with a little of my favorite, that being beating the snot out of each other trying to get to the puck first. Two on two. Except we were too tired to really have as much fun beating each other up as we should have. It was kinda like, yeah, whatever, you really want to get to that puck before me? Sure, go ahead, knock yourself out. I'm just gonna hang out here and try to find some oxygen if you don't mind...

I guess, in retrospect, the reason we got so tired this morning was because the drills didn't get goofed up as much as they usually do. So either we're getting better, or Joe and Lyle were easier on us, or else Scott and Kirk are a disrupting force that we were spared from being subjected to. I'd like to think it's the former. I'd hate to have to permanently deprive myself of Scott and Kirk. What else would I talk about then??

So, until next week, or until Todd writes his part of the blog, whichever comes first, keep your head up and your eyes on the goal.

BC: Election Hangover

Hey! I didn't realize it until last night. We're wearing RED and BLUE jerseys this session. Did you do that on purpose, Lyle? Far be it from me to question that man's motivations. And while I believe I have a unique foreign relations perspective, considering that I see Canada from my beer fridge every night at home, I will not sink to a campaign of fear by pointing out that there was not any good ol' American music piping into the locker rooms this morning. No, I will not do that, unlike my opponents who will hook and trip and pull every dirty play in the book. In a show of bipartisan unity, I won't bring any of this up again. Well, except I will point out that Courtney was the lone representative of the Green Party at this morning's skate. But Lyle made her pretend to be red. Not like I can talk; I swapped my blue for a red toward the end. Ah, but I digress...



We did some passing in passing. Actually, we did more than just a passing amount of passing, we did a lot. Give 'n go's, one touches, bing bing bing. We went straight from the stretching into two groups, one group warming up the goalie with some two-lane shots while the other group worked on passing. Passing with your top hand only, then keeping that same distance from your rib cage when you add that lower hand. It ain't as easy as it should be. I guess that's why we call this practice, eh? Meanwhile, the two-lane shooters were warming up the goalie while also purportedly working on our stick-handling and deaking.



The second set of drills was likewise divided into ends, with the one end doing some passing to and within the center circle while the passer and his/her partner skated up the boards, stop + crossover start back, take the pass, and two-on-oh! at the goalie. The other end was working on quick release shots with a partner. Which, hey, by the way, Lyle, when I signed that injury waiver form, I never dreamed I would have to stand at the boards while Randy let lose his wrist shots at me. I felt like one of those wild west gunslingers where someone is shooting at my feet and telling me to 'dance!'.



We closed with a little zone game. The blues versus the reds (this is where Courtney's green became an honorary red, and where I doffed my blue and donned a red). Two roamers each, and three stationary players each. Change of possession required a pass out to one of the stationary players, strategically located at the point, down low and at the opposing hash marks. More or less keep-away plus setting up the shots.



A good sweat was had by all. Except Kirk, of course, who tried to sneak out early without being noticed. But we have proof that he was there, seeing as Courtney was clicking away with the ol' Nikon. I sure hope she got a good shot of me with my head up and my eyes on the goal...

BC: Week 3

Bad girl, bad girl. It's Friday and I forgot to write about this past Wednesday's practice. Which is a problem. It's been 48 hours since I was there, and the details are already fading from my memory. Not that Joe wasn't memorable: he and Lyle had a little sibling rivalry going that morning, which was alll the more entertaining when you remember that they aren't related. And Scott, Scott, Scott... I find I am drawn to you, like a moth to a flame, as you whisper sweet nothings to me on the ice. You know what I'm talking about. Those tender words of love, like "what heck are you doing with your chicken wings up in the air? No wonder you can't catch that puck." Ah, you sweet talker, you!

Welcome back Ronnie! It was nice to have a target again. Lyle actually slipped and called you a goalie. Did anyone else but you and me notice that? Maybe absence does make the heart grow fonder.

I felt faster this week. Don't burst my bubble and tell me any differently, OK? Us old chicks need to cling to our illusions. I hope I'm not seen as the hockey equivalent of Blanche DuBois, though. I don't have any scarves big enough to drape over the mercury vapor lamps. But come to think of it, it couldn't have hurt Blanche to lower a shoulder and deliver a good solid check to ol' Stanley, eh?

We broke into two groups after warming up Ronnie with left/center/right lane shots. The east end group stayed in the east end the entire time, and the west end group stayed in the west, and instead of the players swapping ends the coaches swapped ends that morning. Interesting twist. And very necessary, because Lyle's victims were chewing up the ice pretty badly, especially when we started playing bowling for skaters. You know the game I'm talking about: where we peel off into bunches of three, doing ever-faster crossovers between the tops of the circles and the goal crease. Inevitably, someone will lose an edge and go skidding across the ice towards the other two skaters, who themselves are teetering on the brink of losing an edge. And just like bowling, that 7-10 split is always so hard to pick up in that second frame. The Scott+Joe victims, on the other hand, were working on our tight turns. First time through, officially without pucks, and the second time through, still sometimes without pucks although we were supposed to have pucks the whole time. Sigh... I guess I'll still need to keep that day job, huh? But, hey, did I mention that I felt faster that morning?

We probably did some other stuff, too, but it's been two days, one hockey game and one drop-in clinic since the class, so it's all kinda blurring together right now. Maybe some sugar will help clear the fog. I think I'll go trick-or-treating as a demure housewife. No one will recognize me!

Until next week, keep your head up and your eyes on the goal.

BC: Week 2

This is week number 'two' but I'm calling it "weak too", as in doggone they wore us out this morning! Everyone really worked up a sweat today. And that is despite the fact that it was officially freezing this morning, complete with frost on the whole nine yards of grass. So even though the rink was cold, cold, cold this morning, we managed to do our fair share of perspiring.

What else did we do besides drip? Well, it all started with the ever-humbling sideways jumping over your stick. Two footed, and then one-footed. Yeah, Lyle, that was my strong foot, you should have seen how lame my weak-footed hop was... Then on to some stationary dribbling, front, side, other side, around the horn and back again. I think that's where I started to seriously sweat. Finding a buddy to pass with was easier, but doggone why doesn't that puck go where it should have gone? And don't even get me started on the directional integrity of my backhand pass versus my forehand pass.

We then split into two groups, one groups that was seriously chewing-up the ice with Joe and Scott doing tight turns of all sorts, while the other group was playing heat-seeking missile with Lyle as we shuffle-skated and tried to keep puck possession from our opponents. Except when we were in cahoots with our opponents, who were our glorified passing cones. Ah, yes.

We then moved back into a committee of the whole, which, if you know what happens when you design by committee then you have an idea of what happens when we try doing one-on-one's down the ice. Luckily, there was only one near-death experience. That's why we wear all that padding, right?

And wrap it all up in a nice little bow, by skating some figure eight's and keeping those turns tight, tight, tight.

Ronnie, Ronnie... calling all goalies!!

Until next week, keep your head up and your eyes on the goal.