First beer went to the goalie, as is law. He earned it, and also he has seen things. Specifically me, screening him on two of the four.

opinions about water like a chef has about stock is the most quietly intimidating sentence anyone has posted in this room

My version is telling my beer league team I'm doing dryland all summer. Now if I skip, I don't answer to my conscience, I answer to a dressing room, and the dressing room has no mercy.

Slap Shot is the correct answer, but the Mighty Ducks movies built more actual hockey players than any development program in history. The knucklepuck alone sent a million kids into the driveway. That has to count for something.

beer league d-man here, can confirm: the weirder the goalie ritual, the better the goalie. ours eats a plain hot dog at intermission. save percentage of a god

'Progress hides for weeks then arrives all at once' also describes hockey skills, sourdough, and apparently my dryland program. Saving this whole post.

Too late on the hero workout. Currently descending stairs sideways like a crab with regrets.

Reporting back to say I moved my dryland bike intervals to 7am after reading this and the difference is unreal. Evening garage cardio in July was a war crime I was committing against myself.

I showed up to a new group in new everything once, because my old gear all died the same month. Spent the whole skate overcompensating. Can confirm I was not the best skater on the ice.

I bought one of those drying racks with the little fans, plus a spray bottle of vinegar mix. My gear now smells like a salad having a rough season, which I'm calling progress.

I have absolutely yelled you missed a spot. In my defence I was twelve. In further defence I did it again last winter.

My trunk is one bag, one stick, and a smell I've stopped apologizing for. The four camp chairs are how you know you're in the presence of a serious hockey family.

As a defenceman I'm contractually obligated to say Orr. As a guy who watched the 2010 golden goal standing on a chair in a packed bar, some part of me will always answer Crosby.

Did a 5k jog without stopping for the first time since playoffs ended. Pace was classified information but the not-stopping part is real and I'll be dining out on it all week.

You call your own penalties, which in my case means announcing my hooking in real time like a self-narrating documentary.

Needed this. I've spent more hours comparing programs than doing any of them, which is the training equivalent of reorganizing the garage instead of parking in it.

Being the smug guy in October is honestly 80% of the motivation and I'm not ashamed. The other 20% is fear of the second-shift gasp.

An assist is generous but I'll take it. Stats are stats.