A few years ago, we started Podunk’s official ladies beginner hockey club — the Cold Muthas. We had big ambitions, like learning to get dressed and maybe even skate. For the most part, after 4 seasons, we have accomplished these lofty goals. A kneepad occasionally ends up strapped on the outside of a sock, helmets are put on before jerseys are pulled over heads, etc, but we’re getting there.

While I greatly admire the 75 billionish women who marched in capitol cities throughout the nation last weekend, I must note that few things are more inspirational than grown women learning to play hockey.

The tender toughness of my teammates grounds me in this world. For instance, with the combination of a seriously badass winter and the fact that our rink is starkly outdoors, the Cold Muthas new tag line has become, “Try not to cry.”

After 4 years, the Cold Muthas have started to have schwag thanks to our teammate Cruella’s artistic beau. OK, and in addition to “Try Not To Cry,” we also prefer to remind ourselves, “What’s Done is Done.” In stores soon!

Yesterday, practicing with possibly only one degree on our side, one of our star offensivewomen, Absolute Zero, was in grave danger of breaking that one small rule as her fingers turned into rake tines in her padded but uninsulated hockey gloves. McMitty, a delicate skater with a series of hip replacements on her resume, quietly came to the rescue. She compassionately attended to Zero’s impending frostbite with her cure-all oven mitt. In the Muthas’ season one, McMitty’s improvisational oven mitt /hockey gloves kept her hands warm. Warmer than anything, in fact. Absolute Zero accepted the kind gesture, persevered with the oven mitt, and went on to significantly contribute to our weekly scrimmage.

McMitty’s improvisational oven mitt/hockey gloves turn out to be hellawarm.

Today, we face challengers from the north in a 2 p.m. sideshow of the Salmon Lady Rapids U19 tournament. Zero managed to pen this elegant prose with her one cold paw still cradled in her armpit:

“Crazy or not, I’m a proud Mutha. I have suckled at the metaphorical teat of the Den Mutha  [author’s note: that’s me, the Den Mutha. And I guess I have a metaphorical teat.] for two winters. Like Ruth, I say, “wither thou goest, I shall go. Thy tournaments shall be my tournaments.”

Pretty sure that’s in the Bible.

At this moment I think of Eisenhower rallying his troops:  “We are about to embark upon a Great Crusade, toward which we have striven these many months…Our task will not be an easy one. Our enemy is well trained, well equipped and battle hardened, and will fight savagely. We will accept nothing less than full Victory!”

Muthas, I feel unfit for the task at hand, but my sense of duty and loyalty surpass my feelings of inadequacy. I would skate with you through the gates of hell wearing a gasoline g-string.