Fight Club

I think that everyone, to some sense, is uncomfortable or insecure in surroundings they are unfamiliar with. For me it is hard to be confident in surroundings I am not used to. Having confidence in myself is a huge part of life. Insecure feelings in a foreign place are a very lonely part of life, learning how to overcome these feelings is always beneficial.

Last August I chose to try out for a hockey team in Port Alberny, British Columbia. The challenge I faced before I stepped on the ice was to rise above the nerves I had developed during my long car and ferry ride. The ten hours I spent in the car was horrible. I had all that time to think how the camp could turn out, which made me nervous. There were all the questions in my head. How would I match up against my competition? What if I played badly? What would the coaches think of me? And would I get cut or make the team? My whole hockey career I always worked hard to be the best that I could be. Making this team meant I would have a shot at achieving a college scholarship.

Upon my arrival to the rink I had to do a physical fitness test with the other guys in the camp. As soon as I joined the group of guys, I immediately felt distanced from all of them, since I was a day late to the camp and from the U.S. It was like I was walking around with Bobs bitch tits on my chest from the book Fight Club. Bob was a body builder taking hormones which caused him to grow breasts. He was used to having a fit body. So going from a muscular guy to having “bitch tits” is a huge change in his appearance. This would be hard for any man to accept. I imagine he must have felt as I did, like the spotlight was on him. I am not the kind of person who wants to be the center of attention. The coaches made us take a timed two kilometer run, which was tiring for just about everyone. After the run, we had a little rest, my legs felt like they were going to fall off; they were so stiff from the ten hour car ride and then running two km. After the run we dispersed into groups of five or six and each group took turns doing pushups on the coaches’ count. Since my group was the last to go, I noticed that most of the guys weren’t doing very many pushups. Assuming that everyone was in as pretty good shape I wasn’t expecting to get very many pushups. Me being a tall and fairly skinny guy, I don’t think anyone else was expecting me to get very many pushups either. When the pushup count got to about thirty there was only myself and one other guy left. This other guy just happened to be the team’s tough guy from the previous year, who was a muscular guy. And to say the least I was intimidated by him. His bulging arms were much bigger then mine. He was too old to play another season with the team so he was just practicing before he went to join a semi pro team in Texas. I heard about him before I went to the camp. Throughout the next ten pushups I heard comments from the kids watching like “Don’t let this American pussy beat you,” and “Don’t let this skinny punk beat you.” This pissed me off because these guys were calling me a pussy when I did more pushups than them. They were only trying to single me out because I was American. As I reached pushup