NHL, Here I come?

Tomorrow is always a unique day for many in Canada. Its NHL Draft day. As in National Hockey League for you non-hockey types, which means all of you.

Like most boys growing up in Canada, we all wanted to play professional hockey. I was no different. My brother and I would practice in our basement, putting on old stinky equipment my Dad had lying around the basement, and shoot a million shots at each other like the pros. We both fancied ourselves as quite good street hockey players, able to fire the ball (in lieu of a puck which was way to hard to play with in the basement) all over the play, much to the chagrin of our parents who worried windows would be broken and walls dented. While the existence of a piano caused some logistical challenges, some of our best saves resulted in a few wall dents, but nothing the repositioning of the couch could not hide. Plus, our mock hockey fights were epic, though less so for my brother who never won.

I never played organized hockey as a kid growing up. Hard to believe, given the passion most Canadians have towards the game. We were too busy doing other Canadian stuff like pronouncing words funny (its r-oof, not r-uuuff), heating the igloo and frying our back bacon with maple syrup - very tasty on a cold night by the way. My Dad figured waking up at 4am to trudge our sorry butts to hockey practice and fork out $500 per kid was a bit too much. Instead we played soccer. Less likely to get injured playing soccer, unless you are my brother, who broke a collarbone, wrecked an ankle and other sorted issues. I apologized every time ;)

As an adult, I get the high cost of sports and the parental commitment, but as a kid, you kind of learn to adjust. I would tell my friends I was more focused on other sports or girls, which was a blatant lie, since I really wanted to skate and show my awesome hockey skills. The hockey culture is so strong that in elementary school, all kids were sent to skating lessons. Not sure if every school did this, but for us, it was like Christmas, since all the kids would practice flailing around and falling at top speed. Most snow attached to your body after you wipeout wins. Then get free hot chocolate at the end. Bonus! Somehow, my brother got a better grade than me. Something about him stopping without the use of body checking another kid. Now why would you want to do that?

So fast forward 30+ years, and while I've since played a wealth of recreational hockey (aka Beer League hockey), the chance to skate with the pros still eludes me. I watch the draft wondering what it would have been like to have heard my name called. With my luck, they would have mispronounced it, but hey, we're Canadian, everything sounds funny here.

I "might" have a Lower Body Injury

Well sadly, here we are one week after my big announcement, and I have done squat all regarding preparing for my big run. I know, big surprise, but I have a good excuse which does not involve candy, television or Ivanka's rack.

I hate doctors. Hate them with a passion. Not personally of course, but no way am I letting that person anywhere near my body, especially if they are waving a needle in my face. I realize thats highly unlikely to happen, but I am also afraid a big wind will come and blow me away one day, like on the Wizard of Oz. Can you tell I was tormented with fears as a kid? Must have been all those soccer balls I took to the head when I was younger. Now what was I talking about?

So it took every ounce of courage I had to go see the doctor regarding my faulty ankle. I hate the place, I hate how it smells, I hate the people you find there, I hate the crappy magazines that are a minimum 2 years old they leave for you to read. By the way, are any of you like me and sit in the waiting room, wondering what problems everyone else around you might have. There are the obvious ones, where blood is gushing, or people are holding their body parts in unusual angles. But then there are those tougher people, who might be sick or have more difficult issues to diagnose. Then you start to think, I'm more in need of medical attention than that guy. Look, they clearly have no pain threshold, like me, who can eat glass, sleep on nails, watch Millionaire Matchmaker. I call it the waiting room Olympics, who will win the contest for worst one off. I'd just be happy to medal.

Now I was not expecting amputation or anything, but that queasy feeling as the doc was groping my ankle in a variety of ways certainly rose. The old "does this hurt?" question 10 times, as he poked away at my leg. I always wonder what might happen if I accidently boot the guy right in the jewels, seeing as my foot was facing his groin area and he's testing my pain threshold. Now I'm not that cruel, but at the same time, I trust he's not wearing a cup, and if I did have the twitch action, I cannot be held accountable for the thrust my foot might take.

So the prognosis - I might have a fractured ankle. Might? When I hear that word in a sentence, I automatically think back to those Publishers Clearing House envelopes addressed to Master Rusty or "To Whom it May Concern," telling me I might have already won! We all know how those contests turn out. So for the last 5 weeks, as I've been hobbling around like a man twice my age, I "might" be walking on a fractured ankle. I'll need X-rays to confirm.

Using a sports vernacular, I have a lower body injury and the use of duct tape will not fix it. Nor will Windex, as some people seem to think is the magical cure for everything. Speaking of which, we used Windex to clean up a horrible colour stain on a countertop. It worked like magic, even though the stuff is blue, and does not leave a blue stain. I've started spraying Windex on my head in hopes my receding hairline will grow. I'll let you know the results, but I'm optimistic.

I had great intentions of pushing my running limit this week. Too bad my ankle is bad. I guess I'll have to watch some TV instead and I "might" eat some candy.

Baby you were "Bored to Run"

You know when your really bored? I mean really really bored. So bored, Jersey Shore seems like a good show to watch. So bored you decide to clean your toilet. So bored you're willing to figure out how many words you can make using the 5 letters in the word bored (I got 28). So bored, you will read this blog.... you get the gist.

When I get bored, I tend to gravitate to a couple of things - surfing the net and doing puzzles. Web browsing is always easy, but it comes with a price. Somehow, I wind up getting tons of spam every day. You can tolerate getting only so many spam emails about "special" vitamins, sex websites, over-the counter drugs, or growing your penis by 3 inches before that gets stale. Besides, in my case, I would have 10 inches total, so why bother? Speaking of bored, people who measure their junk - now there is constructive use of their time.

I also love all kinds of puzzles - jigsaw, sudoku, kenken, crosswords. You name it, if I can solve it using a pencil and a shriveled up eraser, I'm usually in. I have even progressing to taking on the monster New York Times puzzles, which tend to use words I have never even heard of, let alone could fill into the grid. What is a 14 letter word for "Didactic book". What the heck does didactic mean? Sounds like something you might catch. Needless to say, I can only do so many puzzles.

So I need a new challenge. Something I know is outside my comfort zone. I've been wracking my brain trying to figure out what that should be. I'm pretty sure I have landed on a couple of ideas.

For starters, I hate running. With a passion! But for the past couple of years, I've been trying to run varying distances, only to run out of good weather, or to get tired, go home, eat a pile of candy and kill any momentum I have gained. I have a logbook which I have been updating telling me how often I ran and my distances and times, but the last month is sadly quite empty. I blame it on the fact I had to jump into a burning building to save multiple families and pets from sure disaster, fireman carrying each out of the flaming window to safety, severely injuring my ankles as I tripped through burning floorboards. OK, I actually got kicked playing soccer, but the burning house stuff sounds way better. Regardless, my ankle is starting to heal, so I will be back out there running very soon.

My ultimate goal is to run a marathon. I watched the Hawaii triathlon on TV as a kid, as these people ran through desert-like temperatures, and people were crossing the finish line sometimes entire days after the event had started. That will be me one day. But for progression, perhaps I will tackle a 5K run first. I know I can do it. I need my asthma puffer, my oxygen tank, my personal trainer with the handy Gatorade water bottle filling my dry palate, and my cool running shoes with the speedy stripe on the side. I'm there!

I'll save my other boredom challenge for later. In the meantime, I'll see you out there running. I'll be the one you pass. If you're a hot chick, I promise not to look at your butt.

By the way, a 14-letter word for didactic book is ecclesiasticus. I knew you knew that one.