Lacey Middlestead is a Montana native and freelance writer currently living in Helena, Mont. She loves meeting new people and helping share their stories. When she’s not busy writing articles for newspapers like the Independent Record and Helena Vigilante, she can usually be found indulging in her second greatest passion–playing in the Montana wilderness. She loves skiing and snowmobiling in the winter and four wheeling, hiking, boating, and riding dirt bikes in the summer.

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I love the shock my lungs get when I first walk in and breathe the chilled rink air. I love the Zamboni’s steady hum as it circles around leaving a new, shiny layer of ice in its wake. I love the obnoxiously loud buzzer that echoes out every 20 minutes signaling the end of a period. I love the rancid smell of sweat and unwashed gear hovering in the locker room---it’s the smell of dedication. I love the abrasive tug of the laces against the palm of my hand as I tighten my skates. And I love that first shaky step out onto the ice with my gloves gripped tight around my stick.   

Hockey…it gets inside you.

My dad has been an avid hockey fan his entire life and has played the game for as long as I can remember. Last January, he convinced me to join a novice league that was starting at the Helena Ice Arena. Having never played a team sport my entire life, let alone a sport as intense and aggressive as hockey, I wondered if my dad had lost his mind. But I gave it a try. After one game, I was addicted.

I finished out last season with one goal on the record books, several new guy friends from the league, and a love for the game. There was no doubt I would be back next season.

I am currently in my seventh week of hockey this season and the thrill of it all still hasn’t worn off. When the game starts, I skate out to center ice and align myself in the position of left wing. My dad, who plays on the league alongside me, takes center. As the referee prepares to drop the puck, my eyes swivel about the ice—taking in each player and trying to guess where the puck will go after the face-off. The second the puck is dropped, the chaos begins. The puck ricochets off everyone’s stick like a ping pong ball. You’ve never really seen people move fast until they are chasing a small, rubber disk on ice.

When my dad snags the puck I know it’s time to book it down to the goal. I’m one of the slower skaters, but I put my head down and push hard and fast off my skates with nothing but the net and the seemingly impenetrable goalie blocking it in my sights. I position myself right in front of the net all while keeping my eye on the puck---hoping someone will pass it to me. When a shot finally breaks through the defense and heads my direction, I pull my stick back a few inches to take some of the heat off the pass when it hits my stick. Then I hit it as hard as I can at the goalie. I miss, but my team members crash the net and snag a few more shots before the goalie finally covers the puck up. The ref’s whistle sounds and I skate reluctantly back to the bench to switch out lines.    

Fifteen seconds of a hockey game is both the longest and shortest fragment of time. You might get slammed into the boards, score a goal or assist in one, get a breakaway, or fall flat on your face trying to skate. But no matter what…you’re going to love every one of those seconds. Hockey is both intense and light-hearted. It is beautiful and brutal. Even if you don’t play it, you can’t help but be mesmerized watching it.
When that puck drops, it’s game time. I hope next game I’m ready.

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