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No Fear


There is no trepidation for me when it comes to broomball.

My lack of fear might make me a perceptually fast learning player, but it also puts me in the line-of-fire frequently enough to equate injuries to the number of games played. 6.

Lucky game number 7 is tomorrow. If this correllation continues, I'm afraid I might have to hang up this helmet and play in something made of steel. Maybe the Mark VII.

My own teammate took my feet out from underneath me on Sunday. I told him if he wanted to take me out, he could have just asked me out on a date. Instead, he slid full-on into my legs sending them to the heavens. The pursuing opponent slid in perfect harmony and in such a position that my body was suspended for 6 solid feet while my face cage scarred the ice making the most awful scraping sound ever. My mind commanded my body to stay loose and I silently pleaded that it fall anywhere but behind me. Luckily, it listened.

Cirque du Soleil? Stand back. I'm training to be a self-made contortionist.


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