Potomac to Petersburg RUSSIA NORMALLY INVOKES image sof endless cold snow, huge statues of
Lenin, the KGB and rows of uniform apartment blocks. So, when I told my family and friends I would be spending half the year in Saint Petersburg, Russia, they told me I was crazy. My Russian journey began my freshman year of college when I enrolled in Russian 101. Mme. Pilkerton at Holy Child got me interested in the origins of words in my three years of French with her, and I was eager to learn another language. Yet, Russian is a different animal than most; with its different alphabet and case system, its degree of difficulty is a four out of five. But I took to it like a babushka to borscht. It wasn’t just Russian that lured me. Since the day when I was eleven and volunteered to play goalie for my U-12 Chevy Chase team (I wasn’t even big enough to strap my own equipment on), I have been hooked on ice hockey, both playing and watching. My goalie hero was Vladislav Tretiak, the famous #20, probably the greatest goalie in the history of the sport. He won three Olympic gold medals and ten World Championship medals. (He was the goalkeeper pulled in the famous 1980 “Miracle” game.) I have tried to replicate the techniques of Tretiak, who is now president of the Russian Ice Hockey Federation. I wanted to go to Russia and train as Tretiak trained. After months of research, and numerous emails with my college recruiting tape, I got a response from three teams, but the Saint Petersburg team— Hokkei Klub Panteri (Hockey Club Panthers)—offered me a spot. Then I found a university program that would transfer back to Rhodes College. I arrived in Russia in the summer for preseason. Not like hopping in the car and heading to the modern rink at home, we spent an hour on the marshrutka (mini-bus), trolley and then the metro to reach the Khrushchevera rink. Unlike the world-class men’s hockey, the Russian women’s hockey program is still fairly new and struggles with a lack of support and corruption. Yet, the level of hockey is high and intense. Luckily for me, I ended up with a coach, Igor Kisilyov, who really wanted to propel the women’s ice hockey program in Russia. Igor didn’t speak any English, so my Russian hockey vocabulary quickly expanded. We traveled all over Russia and the former Soviet Union. Since it was too expensive to bring my own leg pads, I probably played with five different sets over my time there. Coach found out that I was the only player with a driver’s license, so when Igor needed a rest on some of our ten-plus hour drives, I became the driver of the 1982 UAZ Bukhanka 2206 team van. I learned to love Soviet manual transmissions on our trips as well as old Soviet war songs and corny Russian pop coming through the ancient radio. We played everywhere from Moscow to the middle of Siberia, driving or taking the train. We also played in Kazakhstan, Estonia, Latvia, Belarus and Ukraine. It’s interesting to see that despite two decades of independence, many of these countries still depend on Soviet infrastructure and Russian language. During the IIHF International Women’s Hockey Day Tournament in Tver, Russia, all the women’s hockey teams of the Russian Federation came to play. My team placed third and thus was invited to the medal ceremony. I nearly passed out when I saw who was standing on the carpet on the ice, ready to present the medals: none other than my hero, Vladislav Tretiak. His speech in Russian spoke of never giving up, despite losses, pain and struggle, then he gave out some special awards. I was listening, but was so mesmerized that I didn’t even notice my own name being called— “K. Velan, HK Panteri, sami lushi vratar turnira (best goalkeeper of the tourna-
ment).” I didn’t move until a teammate whispered to me that I was being called. I skated up to Tretiak and lost all the words that I wanted to say to him if I ever met him. He smiled, handed me my medal and put his hand out to shake mine. As we shook, he said to me nodding to my left hand, my catch glove hand, “U vas yest zolataya ruka (You have a golden hand).” I managed to say, “Spasibo bolshoe (Thank you very much).” Then I was invited to the Russian national team’s training camp for a week-long training session in Moscow, despite the fact that I was American. Tretiak designed his own drills back in the early 1960s, fashioning them after the style of the Russian Cossacks dances; this trained his legs to move side to side quickly along with juggling balls at the same time to keep his hands quick. That week was probably the hardest physical sport training I have ever gone through, but it also was the best. My dream had been to train as Tretiak trained, but I got something better. I got to train with Tretiak. Living in Russia is definitely not the easiest thing. There were some days that I really wanted to go home, especially the two months with no heat in my apartment when it was -20F outside! Holy Child definitely gave me a sense of perseverance: the fact that in Russia, almost no one speaks English, so the first two months it was extremely hard and awkward to try to do anything— from buying a bus pass to paying apartment rent. Sticking with it helped me to become fluent. I was also encouraged to try new things; as you can see, this was not anything I had encountered before, from the whole drafting process to traveling to trying to make friends with my fellow teammates who didn’t speak any English. Every time I step in goal, I remember the first time Coach Whitaker handed me my set of field hockey goalie pads and the voice of Mrs. Wooters telling me that the “goalkeeper is the quarterback of the team” and telling coach to hit harder shots on me. The most important thing that I learned at Holy Child has carried me on, not only just in Russia, but in my hockey career and in life— never give up and always try your best. See Kelly’s story on athletics on page 31. Fall/Winter 2013- Connelly Contact
41