The last thing I loved is ice rink air.
There’s a smell that all ice rinks have, like the smell after the rain mixed with bitter spice (really, it’s just gasoline and sweat, but we don’t have to talk about that).
There’s so much to the cold, the way it stings and the way it soothes. I may have a million bruises and a hundred scars but I’m still standing on 1/8th an inch of steel.
When you jump you’re only in the air for 1/4th of a second. You have 1/4th of a second to rotate 720 degrees and land on a perfect back edge. You jump and you fall and jump and fall and eat the ice until you finally eek out a landing and take a victory lap to celebrate.
You spin and the world blurs out and you feel your mind flicker. The cold and the pain goes away as you skate on, free.
Cold Critical 