Sometimes the equipment doesn't match the goal

Thursday was a, ahem, "cross-training" day.  I went out with some of the old-time homies to play hockey on Thursday night.  These are the same guys I played with last year every Thursday.  At the beginning of this year I gracefully withdrew since I was driving half-way across the southern end of the province to get to work and back.

Anyway, last week they called me back needing an emergency goalie and since I hadn't played since the end of last year I figured I'd at least be good for padding everybody's stats.

So as usual I remember five minutes before sho

oting out the door to work that I haven't loaded the equipment bag in the car.  Eek!  I barrel down the stairs throw everything into the bag, throw out my daughter's skates (I think) and fly out the door.

Later that same day (this is where the eerie music starts) I show up to the rink and get ready to play.  Small problem, and yes the pun is definitely intended.  I've packed one size eleven skate and one size twelve skate.  Doesn't sound so bad, does it?  I mean, maybe you can pack an extra sock into it and make it work.  Hmmm - not so much:

Yep, this is what you get for rushing your "preparation".  Two white skates yes, but that's about where the similarity ends.

So funny story, but it's not over.  I'm packing up to leave when one of the guys says he has an extra pair of skates and since their size 9.5 I should be close enough to good.  I've already driven all the way there so I give them a try.  By the time the zamboni hits the second turn I can't feel my toes anymore.  I spend most of the game on my knees keeping off my feet (cross training be jiggered).  Afterwards, as the pins and needles are shaking themselves out of my numb feet and my pinkie toes are pushing themselves out of their coccoons, the truth comes out - the skates are size 8.

At the time I had a clever lesson to be passed on about prerace preparation and making your checklists and checking it twice and so on and so forth but that was all erased by the numbness in my feet on the way home.

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This weekend was pretty solid for training:  a nasty three-hour trainer ride in the basement, burning through nearly two full X-men movies and this morning's piece de resistance.  24km over the hills.  At 7 a.m. this morning it was -16 degrees (3 degrees F) with a wind chill of -26 C.  In the group this morning (and the fact that it was a group tells you all you need to know about the relative sanities) I saw three balaclavas, two frozen bottles of Gatorade and a scarf wrapped around a frosted face (but no partridge in a pear tree - sing it to the tune if you like).  

The moral of the story is in the title.  Figure skates are not meant for hockey.  Basements are not meant for three-hour rides, and if you're going for a long run in the cold weather you'd better make sure you have the right insulation for the fingers, toes, noses and frank and beans.

Six days to the Alton Half.

Peace.