About Kyle Hull

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I grew up in Colorado in a split household. My parents had the opposite of money...like, no money! For much of my childhood, our family faced serious financial challenges every single day. During the week I lived with my mom, and on the weekends I usually stayed with my dad. Even with the challenges of raising two boys in separate homes, they remained incredibly civil and worked together to give my brother and me the best life they possibly could.

At times, my mom worked three jobs. She always had a full-time job, along with a couple of side jobs, just so she could afford rent, groceries, and whatever hockey opportunities we could manage. Looking back, I know without a doubt that I got my work ethic from her. She was, and still is, a superhero.

As a kid, I had no idea what she was sacrificing. It wasn't until I got older that I truly understood everything she did to make sure my brother and I could keep playing the sport we loved. At one point, while trying to find an affordable apartment, we lived in someone's basement for a month and used a cooler as our refrigerator. I also still very clearly remember those gigantic wolf spiders that seemed to own the place 😅. That probably explains why I'm terrified of spiders today, and why my wife has been promoted to Chief Spider Removal Officer.... Please don't tell your kids that...to them, I have to appear like I am a tough guy 😂.

I also remember when the first $100 hockey stick hit the market. Every one of my teammates seemed to have one, and I wanted one so badly. My parents looked at me and said there was absolutely no way we were buying a $100 hockey stick. At the time, I didn't understand. Now, I realize they weren't saying no because they didn't want me to have one, they simply couldn't afford it.

If you've gotten to know me at all, or if you've read the "About Me" section on the Hull Hockey website, you probably know I'm a huge animal lover. My dream is to retire on a farm and spend my days giving as many animals as possible the life they deserve. I've always had dogs, and I always will.

One of the hardest moments of my childhood came after I made a AAA hockey team. My parents sat me down and gave me a choice: we either had to step away from travel hockey, or we had to give away our dog at the time because we simply couldn't afford both.

Our dog's name was Brody.

Brody wasn't just a dog, he was my best friend. We had a bond unlike anything I've ever experienced. We rescued him from the Denver Dumb Friends League after he had been living on the streets, and from the moment I met him, I knew he belonged with us. I fell in love with him instantly, and he became a member of our family in every sense of the word.

Long story short, I couldn't walk away from hockey. Having to make that decision absolutely crushed me. I cried...and cried...and cried. At the time, it felt like I had betrayed my best friend.

Thankfully, the story has a happy ending. Brody went to live with Coach Mike's grandma, so he stayed close to us. If you haven't met Coach Mike yet, he was my childhood best friend and is now Hull Hockey's very own goalie coach. I practically lived at his house growing up, and Mike's mom would often pick Brody up and bring him over so I could spend time with him.

Experiences like that are why hockey has always been so much more than a sport to me. Hockey creates opportunity, builds lifelong friendships, and brings families together. For my family, it was the glue that held everything together. It gave my parents something positive to rally around during some incredibly difficult years and helped keep our family connected. Then, when I was 14 years old, something happened that I had always dreamed of...my mom and dad got back together. It remains one of the greatest gifts I've ever received, and I truly believe hockey played a huge role in making that possible.

My hockey journey started in roller hockey before my brother and I made the switch to ice hockey when I was eight years old. In my very first season, I cracked a spot on the DU 10U AA team. From there, I played for Arvada before joining the very first Junior Eagles team back when Foothills Ice Arena was our home rink.

Throughout my youth hockey career, I was fortunate enough to make every top-level team I tried out for. While talent certainly played a role, I believe my greatest strength was always my work ethic and my willingness to lead by example. If a coach had told me to sprint 100 yards inside a 90-yard building, I wouldn't have questioned it for a second. I would've found a way, and I would've tried to do it harder than anyone else, even if that wasn't possible, I would've died trying.

That work ethic wasn't something I was born with, it was earned by watching my parents sacrifice everything they had so my brother and I could keep chasing our dreams. They taught me that effort, gratitude, resilience, and character matter far more than talent alone. Those lessons shaped not only the player I became, but also the coach, mentor, and person I strive to be every day. They're the foundation of Hull Hockey and the standard we hold ourselves to every time we step on the ice. My goal has never been just to simply develop better hockey players, it's to help develop hardworking, confident, respectful young people who carry those values with them long after their hockey careers are over.

When I reached high school, something unexpected started happening. Hockey had always been my entire world and I never imagined my life without it. But around that same time, I became fascinated with fitness. I started researching training, nutrition, and strength development, and before long I found myself just as excited to be in the weight room as I was to be on the ice.

As a freshman, I made the Varsity hockey team. The commitment was intense. We practiced four times a week, played multiple games, attended team-building events, and spent many weekends at the rink. It was an incredible season. I was only 15 years old, competing alongside 17- and 18-year-olds, and it was the best hockey I had ever played. Our juniors and seniors that year were all tier 1 players and they were unbelievable.

Then my sophomore year came, and everything started to change.

My passion for fitness continued to grow, and I began thinking seriously about becoming a dietitian or working in the fitness industry. For the first time in my life, I experienced something that completely confused me...I started feeling disappointed when I had hockey practice. It wasn't because I hated hockey. It was because I felt like hockey was getting in the way of something else I had become passionate about.

My parents continued encouraging me to keep leveling up because, as far as anyone knew, that had always been my dream. Honestly, I thought it still was too.

I remember sitting on the beach at Lake McConaughy during the summer between my freshman and sophomore years, trying to figure out how I could get out of a junior prep camp my parents had signed me up for. That thought terrified me. For the first time in my life, I didn't want to go to a hockey camp. It took me days to build up the courage to tell my parents because I didn't even understand what I was feeling myself.

From that point on, my relationship with hockey slowly started to change. I played through my sophomore and junior years, but my heart wasn't in it anymore. If practice started at 8:00 p.m., I'd spend two hours in the gym beforehand and show up completely exhausted because, at that point, lifting weights had become my priority. Looking back, I wasn't giving hockey, or myself, a fair chance.

What made it so difficult wasn't that I wanted to stop playing hockey. It was that hockey had become my identity from a young age.

My nickname was "Fireball." I was one of the smaller players on the ice, but I loved playing physically. I took pride in finishing checks, standing up for my teammates, and competing with everything I had. In my head, people knew me as "the hockey player."

So if I wasn't a hockey player anymore...who was I?

That question consumed me, quite honeslty tortured me.

What would people think if I quit? Would everyone forget about me? Would people stop caring about me? If hockey wasn't my identity anymore, what was? From the day I was born, I was taught never to quit. And I still believe there's tremendous value in perseverance. But I eventually realized there's a difference between pushing through adversity and forcing yourself to continue something that's making you miserable. For a long time, I convinced myself that everyone else's expectations mattered more than my own happiness. Every day felt like a battle between staying true to myself and trying not to disappoint the people I loved.

Looking back now, I realize that I discovered one of the most valuable lessons I've ever learned: no athlete should believe their worth is determined by the sport they play. Hockey is something you do and it should never define who you are. That's one of the biggest reasons Hull Hockey exists today. Yes, we develop tremdendous hockey players, but more importantly, we help young athletes build confidence, resilience, and character so they know their value extends far beyond the scoreboard or the jersey they wear.

I ended up playing my senior year, although I wouldn't say I gave it everything I had. I just didn't care anymore. I was honored to be named captain, and I still led by example because that's just simply who I was. Giving less than 100% wasn't in my DNA. But I wasn't playing to get better anymore, I was playing to fulfill my responsibilities, lead my teammates, and finish what I had started.

Looking back, it makes me sad knowing I could have ended my playing career on a much higher note. But life isn't about "would've, could've, should've."

Near the end of my senior season, my coaches called a captains' meeting. They told me they had a connection in Minnesota who wanted to bring me out to play junior hockey. When I told them I was done, they couldn't believe it. They stood up, insisting I couldn't quit. That night, they even called my parents and pleaded with them to convince me to keep playing.

But my decision had already been made. For the first time in years, I felt an overwhelming sense of relief. I was no longer married to hockey. The mental battle that had been consuming me was finally over.

Looking back now, I know exactly what I was experiencing...I was completely burned out.

USA Hockey talks a lot about athlete burnout, and I can tell you from firsthand experience that it's very real. Burnout doesn't happen overnight. It slowly builds over months, sometimes years. It's confusing, exhausting, and incredibly lonely because most people around you only see the athlete. They don't see what's happening inside your mind.

After high school, I enrolled in college with plans to become a firefighter while also pursuing my passion for nutrition and fitness. Even though I had fallen out of love with competitive hockey, I wasn't ready to leave the game completely. I joined a lunch league at The Ice Ranch to stay active, and if I'm being honest, because I hated doing cardio in the gym 🤣. I figured I'd rather get my conditioning on the ice than on a treadmill.

Ironically, those lunch league games helped me rediscover what I had been missing.

There was no pressure. No expectations. No scholarships. No scouts. No stress. It was just hockey...the way I had fallen in love with it as a kid. For the first time in years, I wasn't playing because I had to, I was playing because I wanted to. That simple change helped me rebuild a relationship with the game I thought I had lost forever.

People always say you have to find your passion in life. While I think there's a lot of truth to that, my passion actually found me. I never imagined becoming a hockey coach.

One day after a lunch league game, a youth hockey director walked up to me and asked if I had ever considered coaching. My answer was simple: "Honestly...not really. But it sounds pretty cool. I'll give it a shot!"

In the summer of 2011, I laced em' up for the first time ever as a coach. Over the course of two months, I made a grand total of $600...probably around five bucks an hour 🤪. Looking back, I have no idea why I kept doing it. It certainly wasn't for the money.

What I didn't realize at the time was that coaching was about to change the entire direction of my life.

That fall, I landed my very first assistant coaching position, working with both a 10U B team and a 10U AA team. Somewhere along the way during that same season, a parent from one of those teams asked me if I offered private lessons. I didn't. Truthfully, I had absolutely no idea how to run a private lesson. But it sounded like a decent way to accrue some income.

I still remember that very first lesson like it was yesterday. I stood there waiting for the Zamboni to finish resurfacing the ice, watching the doors slowly close, wondering what on earth I had gotten myself into. I was unbelievably nervous. Holy s**t, I was terrified.

This is probably a good time to tell you something that surprises almost everyone...I'm an extreme introvert!

I don't enjoy being the center of attention, and large crowds make me incredibly uncomfortable. Most people never believe me because I've learned how to hide it really well. If you've ever seen me hustling through the rink with my head down, looking like I'm in a hurry or don't want to talk, please know it has absolutely nothing to do with you. It's just my socially awkward self trying to survive the moment 😆.

I'm actually laughing as I write this because the version of me that you see on the ice is almost the complete opposite of who I naturally am. So yes...that very first lesson? I was quietly FREAKING out.

Now, before anyone overthinks anything, I want every family to know that our staff and I are incredibly approachable. I genuinely love talking with parents and players, and in fact, it is one of my favorite parts because I truly care about everyone. Sometimes, during our larger Hull Hockey events, I've overheard parents asking, "Why doesn't Kyle come over and talk to everyone?" Well...now you know.

The funny thing is, the second I step onto the ice, something changes. It stops being about me.

My nerves disappear because my focus shifts entirely to the kids standing in front of me. My job isn't to impress anyone, it's to help every player become a little more confident than they were when they stepped onto the ice.

I coach with an energy, enthusiasm, animation, and purpose that I never experienced growing up from any of my coaches. Because I've lived through burnout, I understand how fragile a young athlete's love for the game can be. I refuse to let hockey become just another obligation. My mission has always been to create an environment where kids work incredibly hard while never losing sight of why they fell in love with hockey in the first place.

After that first lesson, things started growing faster than I ever could have imagined.

One lesson turned into several. Before long, I was coaching six to eight private lessons a day during the summer. My days often started with a 6:00 a.m. lesson and didn't end until 9:00 p.m. It was exhausting, but I loved every minute of it.

Eventually, there were more players asking for lessons than I had hours in the day, so I started running small-group sessions. Every evening, I'd sit down and plan the next day's practices, constantly asking myself how I could make each session more effective than the last. As demand continued to grow, I rented my own half sheet of ice. (Back then, that was actually an option!) Soon after, I outgrew that too.

In 2016, I took the leap and rented my first full sheet of ice. Then, in 2018, I realized I needed a better way to organize everything that had grown far beyond a simple side job.

That's when Hull Hockey was born.

If I'm being completely honest, I never imagined I'd own a hockey company. Seriously...I'm just me. I am precisely a nobody. I didn't play in the NHL. I don't have a professional hockey résumé. I wasn't some famous player whose name opened doors. In fact, I walked away from hockey altogether before I ever found my way back to it, so yeah, I am indeed a nobody.

Yet somehow, here I was, building a hockey company and standing alongside programs run by former NHL players.That realization has never been lost on me. It's also why I've never believed that the name on the back of a coach's jersey matters nearly as much as the impact they have on the kids standing in front of them.

The best way I can explain it is this: when I step onto the ice, something just clicks. I turn into a completely different person.

I know the game, but more importantly, I know how to teach it in a way kids understand. And I won't stop until every player gets it. That same competitive fire I had as a player never disappeared, it simply found a new home in coaching. Instead of chasing my own goals, I now get to chase theirs.

For years, though, I struggled to understand why families kept choosing me over coaches who had played in the NHL, Division I, or professional hockey overseas. It honestly didn't make sense to me. Being the introvert that I am, I eventually talked with a therapist because I couldn't shake the feeling that I didn't belong.

Through those conversations, I learned that I was dealing with imposter syndrome. A lot of it traced back to watching my mom work herself to exhaustion just to keep a roof over our heads and food on the table. I had spent so much of my life believing success belonged to other people that, when Hull Hockey started growing, I almost felt guilty. I had watched my mom cry because she couldn't pay the bills, yet here were hundreds of families trusting me with their kids. It was an incredibly strange feeling to process.

Thankfully, I've worked through much of that, and today I can honestly say I'm incredibly proud of what Hull Hockey has become. Not because of the numbers, but because of the real life impact. Every player who walks through our doors deserves to leave with more confidence, more knowledge, a stronger work ethic, and an even greater love for the game than when they arrived.

Over my years of coaching, I've learned something that statistics can't fully explain: kids don't reach their potential because someone yelled louder or happened to play at a higher level. They thrive when they're challenged, encouraged, believed in, and coached by people who genuinely care about them. The player-coach connection is simply my specialty and it is where the magic happens.

You don't need to have played professional hockey to change a child's life. You do need to know how to connect with kids. You need to know how to communicate, how to teach, how to inspire, and how to build a culture where every player feels valued. Plenty of people know hockey. Far fewer know how to coach children.

Today, Hull Hockey isn't just a business to me. It's the culmination of every lesson my parents taught me, every sacrifice they made, every mistake I made as a player, every challenge I faced, and every family who has trusted me to be a small part of their hockey journey.

If you've made it this far, thank you for taking the time to get to know me. I hope you now understand that Hull Hockey has never been about me, it's always been about the kids, and it will always be that way.

Whether you have questions about hockey, your child's development, team decisions, confidence, burnout, or anything else, please don't ever hesitate to reach out. I don't claim to have every answer, but I promise I'll always do my best to help.

Welcome to Hull Hockey. We're so incredibly grateful you're here!