Reading time: 2-3 mins approx
Just by opening the door of the little stadium, I went back to Switzerland for a second, in Lugano. Taking the bus in the evening, the number 3 or number 2 [they both ended at the stadium anyway]. iPod in one pocket, and a chocolate bar in the other. Once sat, the journey could start. First row, right behind the driver, for the way there; first row but on the other side on the way back. Music and chocolate were my fellow travelers.
I’ve always said that those buses are my favorite in the world, probably because their unforgivable warmth is better than any blanket could be. And so I would fall asleep, carried around the city, passing by the Pensilina, the Congress Building, the High School, over the little bridge, by the public swimming pool, tennis courts, and my favorite bar. Left turn and then dreams.
Next, something mysterious would happen, every night. Right before my stop, I would wake up, getting back into the rhythm of the beat in my ears. I would nod at the driver and cross the street [if that was the bus #2], and then, the cold of the Resega. Not just another cold though. This cold is different, it has a certain smell, a certain temperature; the cold you encounter at a hockey rink is the one that wakes you up, like the morning water on your face. And to the person who grew up with it, running into it, as I did this morning, is really cool, a welcome back from an atmosphere that I missed, and vice versa, or this is what I like to think.
The next step is the locker room; first of all, finding it. For some reason, it has always been hard to find it [at least for my team]. The whole sequence to wear the equipment came to me naturally, it is something you don’t forget as if you had to use a cassette player again. Putting the black tape on the blade of the stick felt super good too!
For the whole time I was getting ready, I wondered if I was going to be able to play at the level I stopped with. The answer came fast and dry, as the ice. I stepped into the rink and my feet trembled, scared and new to this feeling. I then tried to pick a puck, failing miserably. I therefore decided to do some stretching avoiding additional embarrassment.
The game started and during every shift I couldn’t understand how was that possible. After just two years I could not make a decent pass, a quick move, but that was just the beginning…
I was not able to play an entire shift at the fullest: my breath first, and my legs after, fell apart. I was surprised, yet not discouraged. There were probably ten minutes left before the end of the game, and I had the chance for a break-back. The pass was way long so I had to sprint from the blue line to the other goal. After few skates, my legs completely stopped moving. It was my upper body now to drag them trying to keep the balance. It hurt, my muscles were stuck, and every skate was like a big elephant stepping into a marble pool.
It hurt, it made me feel like I have never done sport before, it made me feel all the non-activity of the last year.
Most of all, it made me feel good. It made me feel like I was finally washing my body and my mind. For the two hours I was there I have never stopped thinking about hockey.
Talking with the guys on the bench, calling positions and actions, appreciating others’ moves, and laughing at some others’ mistakes made my day.
I felt dead, alive, alone, together, disappointed and satisfied.
For sure, I felt good!
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