There are times that I’m convinced that I don’t take a breath for a few minutes. Those times are always playoff hockey games. I sit, usually with a pillow in a tight embrace, curled up in the fetal position. I’m so wired I wonder if I’ll ever get to sleep after the game if over. I’ve never been to a Lamaze class, but I’m pretty sure my deliberate breathing is similar. I stress more during these weeks than almost anything else in my life. I have to remind myself that it’s hockey. And should not, technically, affect my life. Whether win …
