Return of the Hockey Novice – This Time it’s Physical

Er, who am I then?

For those of you who don't know me, let me introduce myself. My name is Katy, and just two short years ago I was completely oblivious to the world of ice hockey and all the glorious joys that came along with it. I found (and subsequently lost) Elite League side the Newcastle Vipers, and along the way I wrote about my experiences in this here blog, as I discovered the myriad intricacies of the world of ice hockey; learning the rules, finding out about players and teams, figuring out what the strange language meant, realising with unbridled joy how much facial hair was involved, and quickly falling head-over-heels love with what I now view as the greatest sport in the world.

So I'm not a novice anymore, right? Well, from a spectator standpoint, no. I rather like to think of myself as a fully-fledged hockey aficionado. Ish. As such, I graduated from hockey novice to hockey nomad last season, as I travelled around the UK to follow my new-found passion. And of course, it's tempting to want to have a crack at playing the game myself. But the fact that I'm only just beginning to master the skill of moving backwards on ice skates rather limits my desire to even consider actually picking up a stick and hitting a puck with it.

'Fear not!' Cried Kevin, my longtime ice hockey travel-buddy, 'you SHALL go to the ball (hockey rink)!' 'But HOW?' I enquired in wonder. ‘Ball hockey!’ He replied. ‘It's a fabulous indoor alternative to ice hockey, and best of all, you don't even need to skate! You can just use your boring old regular feet!'

Imagine my delight!

I can't go for long without being a novice at something or other, and as my recent foray into the rather terrifying and yet fabulous world of roller derby proved, despite being completely uninitiated, I am quite willing to throw myself into any activity, even if the outcome might well be pain. For someone who is scared of balloons bursting, hates spinny rides at theme parks and can't actually look at a television if it has a spider on it, I've got a decent set of cahones when it comes to launching myself into something that I’ve no idea how to do. Maybe it’s my competitive streak. In addition to roller derby, I've atttemped bootcamp, street dance, rock climbing, squash, charity runs and assault courses and paragliding with varying degrees of success in recent years, because God forbid I stick to a sporting pursuit I'm actually any good at (swimming, rowing, competitive cider drinking…).

So it was settled. I would try Dek hockey (that's what all the cool kids call it, in case you weren't aware). Aside from a couple of winters in the dim and distant past pathetically dragging my posterior around a frozen field at my all girls' high school, I'd never played any hockey before in my life, but despite this I had to admit I felt mildly optimistic. A sport in which I didn't have to initially master staying on wheels or blades had to give me some sort of a head start, right?

So what is it?

So: trainers. Holding a stick. Running around. I can totally do those things! Yes! It was possible I may even be able to hold a stick and run around at the same time. You want me to also attempt to control a ball whilst doing these things? Well, that might be pushing it. But I'm game. And I had the advantage of a modest level of fitness to aid my in my new endeavour. What could possibly go wrong?

The North East Dekstars are a friendly bunch of hockey fanatics from various walks of life who come together on a Sunday morning (for some insane reason) to hone their dek hockey skills. There are ice hockey players, roller hockey players, and just plain old hockey players, both male and female, young and slightly less young, along with total novices such as myself who have arrived purely for the love of the sport and the desire to try something new. Add them all together and you have an astoundingly jovial and welcoming group of people who are always happy to welcome flailing newbies such as myself into their fold. I later realised that motivation may not have been entirely benevolent. But more on that later.

You must need more than a pair of trainers and a stick though?! I hear you cry! Well yes. Some sort of clothing is to be advised. In addition to clothing, some shinpads, hockey gloves, and a helmet are all compulsory gear. But don't worry if you don't have these things, you can borrow some! You may find yourself with rather a funky smell hanging around your face and hands by the end of the session but to be honest, when you hear about the sweat, you're not going to be precious about a slightly musty hockey glove.

The nitty-gritty

I'm not going to lie to you. When I arrived at my first Sunday session and we were immediately separated into teams play a game, I was not without some degree of trepidation. I struggled into my helmet, which like a toddler trying to put on shoes, involved someone else having to do me up. Except this was putting my face into a cage. Yes, a cage. There are a number of practical implications about having your face fully covered by a metal grid. Drinking water, wiping sweat from your brow and scratching your nose to name but a few, become nigh on impossible tasks. But being a girl, and a relatively narcissistic one at that, I am not going to take the risk of NOT wearing one. I like my face. And I didn't go through three years worth of orthodontistry in my teen years to go losing teeth. What do you think I am, a hockey player or something?!

Normally, I was reliably informed, a session would begin with some drills and exercises - this sounded good to me. I needed to get a feel for the length of the stick, the weight of the ball (keep it clean people, keep it clean). But no - we were missing balls so it was straight into the fray of an actual game. A baptism of fire if ever there was one. As we organised ourselves into forward lines and defensive pairings, I was, quite frankly, terrified. My knowledge of the rules was purely based on watching ice hockey, and my instinct to defend would be all I had in my arsenal as I was launched like an unwilling human cannonball straight into a live game situation.

I have no real memory of that first shift. It's as if my mind has buried it so deeply as to prevent the subsequent trauma of the memory resurfacing and haunting me for the rest of my days. Actually, it was more likely because it was a complete blur. The speed of ice hockey baffled me in the early days of my obsession, and this was the same, except now I was actually involved in it. Opposition forwards came at me and I did all I could to impede their progress, but for the most part I remained rooted to the spot as they danced around me. They probably did a few pirouhettes on their way past just to mock me but in all honesty, I wouldn’t have even noticed if they had, as I was too busy trying to keep my eyes on the round orange thing that was zipping about the place like a brightly coloured amphetamine-fuelled mouse, as I desperately tried to prevent it getting past me.

And then I lost the ability to breathe and decided it was high time I was swapped off. As I tried to restore my circulatory system to something resembling normality and took stock of what had just happened, there was really only one thought persisting: I wanted to do it again. And with a two hour session stretching ahead of me, I would have plenty of time for that.

A number of things became very quickly apparent over the course of my first dek session, and for the sake of brevity I will summarise them in a series of unrelated bullet points of varying importance:

- I have the ball skills of a five year old child. Possibly four and three-quarters.

- The fitness I was relying on to at least make me look like a person who could run around adequately was woefully inadequate

- I need to engage in some serous sprint training

- I need to invent some sort of sweat-mopping device that can be inserted through the gaps in my face cage

- Blocking shots with your thighs is incredibly painful and despite the adrenaline of a game situation concealing the pain at the time, the resulting bruises make you look as if someone has beaten you with a mace
- I'm going to carry on blocking shots anyway, because that's all I know how to do

- I really need to eat a proper breakfast in future

- I really, really, love playing this game

This is what Dek looks like! When I'm not playing, that is.

The verdict?

I made my fair share of mistakes that first week (and everyone else's fair share if I'm honest) but it didn't matter. Everyone was encouraging, supportive, and non-judgmental. Advice was shouted by teammates and congratulations offered at the end of every shift in which I DIDN'T do something horrendous. The camaraderie was both heart-warming and a little disorienting. Once out on the court, everyone means business. It's not intended to be a full-on checking game (there is no dropping of gloves here) but it's a physical contact sport, and bumping into people, leaning your weight into them, and expecting the same in return is par for the course. However nice everyone seems, they will not hesitate to put you on the floor if they need to. These are passionate competitors. I tripped people up, knocked them off the ball and probably trod on a few people. I've no idea yet which of these I did legally or which are actually considered acceptable defensive tactics, but I do know I said 'sorry' a lot. Probably unnecessarily. Or not. I felt terribly British. But these people were all so nice, I had no desire to actually inflict pain on any of them. Note to self: I may need to toughen up a bit.

So I made it through my first session relatively unscathed. A bruised thigh, a slightly bruised ego, a pair of legs unclear on the motion required to get up a flight of stairs on my return home and about eight pints of fluid that needed replacing, but despite all this, an urge to return and play again so strong it caught me off guard. It was above anything else, incredible fun.

The aftermath

Well, that was three weeks ago. So did I go back? You bet I did. After an initial recovery period which took about three days as my back once again got used to being held straight instead of at an inhumanly hunched angle, I've played twice since and am officially a Dek hockey addict. In the sessions since my first, I've had my ups and downs; the downs probably outnumbering the ups by a ratio of about 9:1: I've scored an own goal, passed to opposition players on innumerable occasions, flapped, squealed, been hit by a stick, taken a few more balls to the thighs, poured water onto my face in an attempt to hydrate through my cage, seen a man's nose broken in front of my very eyes, (no, I didn't do it), sweated a small river, broken a stick and realised that I am an absolutely hopeless hockey player – for now.

But on the plus side, I've done some sort of, okay things. I've taken the ball away from people a few times. I've gotten in the way – in a good way. I've learnt not to pass the ball directly across the face of my own net. I've learnt to eat a balanced meal beforehand. I've lasted a full session without feeling like I'm going to die. And most importantly, I've met some really great people. There's no doubt I need a LOT of practice. I’m most definitely a hockey novice once again. But I'm just fine with that. (And anyway, if I was good already I wouldn’t have further embarrassing stories to impart to you in future blogs, now would I? Check them out in the weeks and months to come…).

You too can try Dek hockey regardless of your degree of ineptitude – howay! It takes place most Sundays from 9:30 – 12:00 at Gateshead Leisure Centre. To find out more, follow NE Dekstars on Facebook or Twitter (@NEDekstars).