Instead, it feels like I’m standing at the edge of a cliff.
My first stride is tentative. I push off with my good leg and glide forward, my bad knee taking the weight for just a moment before I shift again. The sensation is strange and familiar at the same time, like hearing a song I haven't listened to in years.
The second stride is easier and the third even more so.
By the time I reach center ice, something clicks into place. My body remembers the balance, the rhythm, and the way my edges bite into the surface and propel me forward.
It's not perfect, and my knee aches with the effort, but I'm skating. I'm actually skating.
I pick up speed, testing my limits. A crossover to the left. A crossover to the right. My knee protests, but holds. I push harder, circling the rink with increasing confidence.
Then I try to stop.
My edge catches wrong, and my knee buckles. I go down hard, sliding across the ice on my hip until I slam into the boards.
“Ethan.” Natalie's voice echoes across the empty arena.
I lie there for a moment, staring up at the rafters. My knee throbs, my hip aches, and my pride is definitely bruised. But when I take inventory of my body, nothing is seriously damaged.
Coach Reeves skates over and offers me a hand. “You good?”
“Yeah.” I let him pull me up. “Just rusty.”
“You pushed too hard, too fast. That's normal.” He pats my shoulder. “Try again. Slower this time.”
I glance toward the boards where Natalie is standing. Her face is pale, but I grin at her. Then I try again.
This time I'm more careful. I focus on form over speed and on control over power. The stops come easier when I don't rush them. The turns smooth out as my body remembers the mechanics.
For the next hour, I do simple drills at first, then more complex patterns. Coach Reeves calls out instructions, and I follow them, pushing myself just hard enough to improve without risking injury.
By the time we finish, I'm drenched in sweat, and my knee is screaming for rest. But I'm also smiling so hard my face hurts.
“Good work today,” Coach Reeves says, clapping me on the back. “You've got a long way to go, but the foundation is solid. We'll do this again Thursday.”
“Thanks, Coach.”
I skate toward the bench where Natalie is waiting. She's beaming at me, her eyes bright with unshed tears.
“You did it,” she says.
“I did it.”
I want to grab her and kiss her and spin her around, but we're at the facility, and anyone could walk in. Instead, I settle for squeezing her hand.
“I’ll see you later.” I need to shower and change, and Natalie has to go back to work.
“See you later,” she says. “I’m so proud of you.”
I head to the locker room, still riding the high of the morning. I did it. After months of pain, doubt, and fear, I got back on the ice, and my body didn't betray me. There's still a long road ahead, but I'm going to make it.
The shower is quick, and I throw on jeans and a t-shirt, not bothering to dry my hair properly. I want to head to Theo’s and drag him out for breakfast. I need someone to celebrate with, and Natalie won’t be free until the evening.
I grab my bag and head for the parking garage. I pull out my phone and shoot a text to Theo, telling him about my morning and to get ready for me to pick him up.
The morning sun is bright as I push through the exit doors and head toward the outdoor lot. My legs are tired, but my spirit is soaring.
I pull out my phone as I walk, already composing the text to my parents.
