Everybody on the board, the coach said. He raised his right hand and held up his index and middle finger before blowing his whistle. The players were kind of like dogs actually, by the time the coach had put his hand back at his side they were already halfway across the ice, hard work glistening from their foreheads. The sweat made their heads gleam like polished jewels, and as they went back and forth, it began to fall. The sunshine striking through the window cast a brilliant light as they skated, illuminating every last drop of sweat, and casting a large shadow over one side of the rink. They skated, back and forth, back and forth, back and forth. The only noise that could be heard in the rink was the heavy breathing of all the players, and their skates tearing through the ice. Rip, rip, rip, shhhhhhh, rip, rip, rip. Each player was going as hard as they could, pumping their arms and legs, trying so desperately to prove that they were no lesser than the people next to them. With one final “shhh” they came to a halt. As soon as they had stopped they leaned over their knees, trying to get what rest they could before the next round of liners began. In these moments of relaxation the cold air stung the inside of their noses, and with each exhale a white puff of steam exited the cages on their helmets. There was a moment of silence that was soon broken by the sound of heavy panting. Just as they had begun to lift their heads from in between their knees the coach signalled a three with his vein ridden fingers, and the ear piercing shriek of the whistle rang yet again.