Gästebuch » You dont want them to see you as one

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The empty, ancient arena was a thing of beauty: the massive swath of ice, diamond-hard after a sub-zero night, and our sharp silver blades slicing it as echoes rang out under the high-beamed wooden roof.The emptiness of the rink invited long strides from one end to the other. I could race against only myself, sweating in the cold, pushing the ice from underneath my blades in circles.I was practicing my wrist shot against the boards, satisfied by the dull boom each time the puck hit the thick plastic: a proclamation of power.You know, were equal in the eyes of the school, Kevin said as he lifted the puck into the corner of the net.Hockey was less of a choice I consciously made than a birth rite. Allegedly, my first word was hockey, and by age 4 I walked around declaring that I would marry Wayne Gretzky.My dad, who was also my coach, had been a Division I goalie, and my older brother Ethan had played since childhood. Later Ethan grew to the size of a refrigerator and had a successful career as a power defenseman at the same high school I now attended.Just fall on the puck! hed tell me when I was 6 years old, strung up in goalie pads while he and his friends took shots. I idolized Ethan and was happy to be included, tennis balls whipping past my face.?Id been on skates for the first time at age 2, but gaps in my training had prohibited developing formidable skill. My shot wasnt strong enough, and my aim was not accurate. I couldnt maneuver past my opponents to the goal. I was a good skater, but couldnt nimbly dance around a huge defender. I loved being on the ice, and in high school the rink became my second home.Kevins ironic assertion of our equality, while he was clearly athletically superior to me, was a typical exchange of gender relations at our high school. I rolled my eyes at him, used to it. We were both members of our schools varsity hockey teams, but I understood that he meant to make clear that I was a guest in a realm that belonged to him.Our school itself had transitioned from all-boys to coed only the September before my freshman year, and female students were struggling to find a place and identity on campus. Wed commit ourselves fully to the court, field or ice, all grit and sweat.Then wed buy new dresses and lip gloss for school dances, hoping to be adored, or at least hoping to appease, an attempt to gain power in this nation of boys where our citizenship was tenuous.At my high school, girls with exceeding athletic talent werent an anomaly. Prowesss on the field, court, or ice was more of a standard we all tried to live up to.dddddddddddd. The field hockey and lacrosse players, who traipsed around their fields tanned, in mascara and skirts, their ponytails bouncing, were lusted after.Hockey was different.Even more so than football, the cold night games of the Boys Varsity Hockey team in the outdoor rink, with the crunch of helmets, pads and bones against the plexiglass boards drew roars from a devoted crowd of students, mostly boys who wished they were on the roster.The girls games, in general, were quieter affairs. Our first season began my junior year. We were covered from head to toe in thick padding, skating out onto unchartered territory.Theres no checking, or pinning someone against the boards in womens hockey, so the rabid fans of fights and falls tend to consider it boring, and dismiss the game as a pale imitation rather than a distinct athletic endeavor.For girls to interlope in the schools most sacred athletic ritual was taken as heresy by some of the sports male fans: we were treading on territory explicitly marked for and by them.Previous to having our own team, girls at my high school who wanted to play hockey were shuffled onto the junior varsity B team, which also became home to the boys who were cut from junior varsity. A.During games, our opponents would spot our ponytails and stride straight toward us. We were smaller, easy targets apparently deserving of a check against the boards.?It was as if they were asking You wanna play hockey? Here it is, as they pinned us against the glass.The guys on our team, themselves full of shame for having to play with the girls at all, would be suddenly roused to come to our defense, chasing the offender down and serving it right back to them.Hanging with Kevin and the guys over Christmas break gave me hope: maybe I could be tough, and taken seriously, maybe I could be a person to them, and not just a girl, vulnerable at every turn to a critique of my appearance.I remembered the warning from one of my beloved teen magazines that cautioned against playing sports with boys: You dont want them to see you as one of the guys.Still, whenever I can, I lace up a pair of skates. Its best at night, when the rink is empty, and the ice becomes a thread that runs through the needles of my skates, and the motion is so seamless that the ice and I are moving as one.Emily May is a writer and artist based in Boston, Massachusetts. She is currently at work on a book of essays. Follow her on Twitter?@l337tween. ' ' '