Chapter Three #4
"Talent brings people into this program."
Then back to us.
"Character determines who leaves with championships."
No applause followed.
None was necessary.
The silence carried far more meaning.
The last hours of the afternoon blurred into one demanding exercise after another.
Teams changed constantly, forcing us to rely on different people each time, while every challenge carried the same lesson beneath it: communicate, adapt, and finish together.
By the time dinner was served, every muscle in my body protested when walking across to the dining hall.
That evening the lodge echoed with laughter instead of first-day uncertainty.
Card games appeared around the long timber tables, stories from previous seasons grew more exaggerated with every retelling and even the newcomers found themselves drawn into conversations as though we'd belonged there for years.
I fell asleep that night exhausted, already understanding why the veterans spoke about these retreats with something approaching reverence.
***
The next two days followed the same relentless pattern.
Mornings began early with conditioning sessions or long hikes through the surrounding mountains, afternoons were devoted to team challenges designed to test communication and endurance, and evenings brought the group back together around the lodge where exhaustion gradually gave way to laughter.
By the end of Friday, the distinctions between newcomers and returning players had almost disappeared. Cabin assignments no longer mattered, conversations flowed easily across the entire team, and I had stopped feeling as though I was trying to find my place among them.
Saturday proved no easier. We hiked farther, worked harder, and laughed more. By the second evening, the easy laughter and constant conversation felt as natural as if we'd been playing together for years.
By Sunday morning, sore muscles had become the one thing everyone had in common.
Breakfast conversations flowed far more easily than they had two days earlier.
The newcomers no longer sat together by habit.
Seats were taken wherever space appeared, stories crossed the length of the dining hall and Oscar attempted to convince half the team he could identify every bird in the surrounding forest despite confidently calling an eagle a duck barely five minutes earlier.
Sunday's final challenge took us onto the ice.
A small outdoor rink had been constructed beside the lake years earlier, more for recreation than serious competition, but after two demanding days every player greeted the sight of ice with obvious enthusiasm.
We divided into mixed teams and spent the morning skating informal three-on-three games where positions changed constantly and laughter proved as common as goals.
Coach watched from the boards, occasionally offering instruction but mostly observing.
For the first time since arriving, hockey felt uncomplicated again.
Fun.
As the morning drew to a close he gathered everyone at center ice.
"You've done the hard part this weekend. Now don't forget it once the season starts."
Every player stood motionless, waiting for what came next.
"The name on the front is earned every day."
He glanced briefly toward Ryan before returning his attention to the rest of us.
"The name on the back..."
A faint smile appeared.
"...takes care of itself."
"We won't let you down, Coach," Ryan assured.
"I know."
***
The return journey to Evergreen felt completely different from the drive into the mountains.
Players exchanged seats without hesitation.
Card games appeared. Music played softly through portable speakers.
Oscar eventually fell asleep halfway through telling an elaborate story, prompting Ethan to finish it with an ending so ridiculous the entire bus erupted with laughter before Oscar woke and loudly insisted that wasn't how the story ended.
I found myself sitting beside Ryan for the final hour and he glanced across at me.
"Not bad for your first retreat."
"Is that your way of saying I passed?"
A faint smile touched his face.
"It's my way of saying you'll fit in here."
I looked around the bus. Oscar was arguing with Ethan over the ending to another ridiculous story while Ben had managed to fall asleep despite the raucous commotion. A few days earlier I'd have felt like I was watching someone else's team. I didn't anymore.
I leaned back against the seat and watched the mountains gradually give way to open countryside before the familiar skyline of Spokane appeared on the horizon.
Sometime over the previous week, without even noticing when it had happened, Evergreen had stopped feeling like the place I'd transferred to. It had started feeling like home.
By the time we returned to campus, the rush of move-in weekend was over. Cars lined the parking lots, and lights glowed from the residence halls as students settled in before classes began the following morning.
Tomorrow the academic year would begin.
Our season already had.