The morning air was only slightly colder outside than it was inside the ice rink. And yet, Aaron felt more at home inside the rink than he did in the snow covered outdoors. It had been a constant refuge through his life. In fact, some of his earliest memories were on this ice, skates on his feet, his father pulling him around, smiling and laughing.

He closed the side access door behind him and walked the familiar path to flip the switches for the giant halogen lamps that lit the arena. Their hum filled the air as he dropped his bag on the floor next to one of the benches that were bolted down rink side. His motions were routine. He did them every single morning, just like this, and had for a very long time.

Most college students that had classes start later in the day took the chance to sleep in. Or used the time to do their work and study. Or as many reasons as any of them could think of.

But not Aaron Cavendish.

He might only have one class a week that started before noon, but that did not mean he slept any later than 7 am. Instead, he used that time for his first training session of the day. His training started early with a protein shake followed by a mile run down the road to the ice rink, and a couple hours worth of drills and running through choreography.

Then it was off back to his dorm to shower and prepare for his classes and back to training. It was the afternoon sessions that tended to change. There were ballet classes once a week to work on the fluidity of his movement on the ice. There were days he focused on strength conditioning. And most days he worked for at least an hour with his father.

Not that he called him Father, or even Dad when he was working. When he was on the ice, he was addressed only as Coach.

Aaron pushed himself each and every day because he was determined not to be a disappointment. Besides, if he worked the hardest of all the skaters his father coached, no one could say he was getting special treatment.

Not that this grueling schedule seemed to be helping anything.

Everyday seemed to be exactly the same, no matter what drills he ran, how many times, or what order. He didn't improve. Nothing changed.

It was becoming more frustrating each day. Which only made matters worse since the more frustrated he got, the more mistakes he made.

It was only during these morning practices that he truly felt some peace on the ice. before he started his drills, or even was truly awake enough to do more than just take slow gliding steps across the fresh surface, blades tracing his movements in faints lines on the ice.

Aaron stood with a yawn, stepping to the gate that would let him onto the ice. Moving slowly, he slipped the blade protectors off his skates one at a time before swinging the gate open and started taking slow strides. Every so often one of the staff would pass by, going about their tasks for the day, but rarely did they bother him. All it took was one conversation for them to learn that he was not much of a morning person.

Not that he was the most friendly person at other points in the day, but he really just hated people in the morning. It was only worse on days like this when he had forgotten his coffee.

After he was awake enough to concentrate on something more than putting one foot in front of the other, his pace quickened.

And just like that his peace fell away, focusing on the task at hand. With a practiced motion, Aaron shoved his earbuds in his ears, shuffling his music with a flick of his thumb. As driving guitar notes filled his senses, he started working on conditioning drills.

It was a task to concentrate on that did not give him time to think about how much he was struggling, or if it was just time for him to hang up his skates.

For now, he would dedicate himself to being as good as he could, and to working as hard as possible.