You strap on your skates, laces pulled tight, binding you to the thin blade of metal
You stand, your legs slightly shaking as they adjust to the smooth plateau beneath them. For a moment it feels like the ice may rush up to meet you at any second, but you manage to regain a suspended sort of balance. You place one foot in front of the other and hesitatingly push off. There are others, flashing by with shouts of glee and laughter, but for one serene moment, it's just you and the river. As you take these few baby glides, it all comes rushing back. Your feet remember the ache of being contorted into the strange shoes, your face feels the sting of the wind and your hands begin to swing in rhythm
The sounds of blades slicing through ice, and the swish of your coat against your legs.
The echo of voices,carried by a wind that either pushes at your back or grabs your nose in its icy claws.
And then for only a second, things like balance and fear cease to exist,the rhythm of the wind, the blades and the ice swells into a song and your feet move to it. Faster and faster. And in that moment, before reality hits and you remember that your feet are precariously positioned on that polished surface,
You feel like you are truly flying.