From as far back as I can remember, I’ve been on roller skates. From tiny quad skates to lace-up in-lines, roller skates or blades were foot attire as normal to me as shoes. Skating was easier than walking, and when you gave me a pair of roller skates, you would better watch out: I would be off like a racehorse, zooming around a rink or up and down the street. My mother had been an advanced roller skater, and my first pair of in-line blades were hers, handed down from her teenage years. According to my mother, skating was a vital skill that was needed to succeed and have fun throughout your life. Every weekend or day off from school, my mother sent me outside with a helmet and my clunky purple quad skates, telling me to skate up and down the block at least twice. As I grew older, finally growing into my mother’s pink-laced, near-antique in-line rollerblades, my skating paths became longer and more advanced, consisting of sharp turns and hills throughout my neighborhood. Occasionally, my mother would reward me with an hour at an indoor roller rink, where I would skate until my knees shook and I panted with exhaustion. My mother always urged me to practice skating, both before and after school, and I did my best to skate each day. However, as I got further into my teen years, I became overloaded with homework, studying, and extracurricular activities, and had less and less time to skate. Eventually, I stopped altogether, too busy with other activities to find time to do the sport I had once enjoyed so immensely. I could tell that my mother was a bit disappointed, but she understood that I, as a teenager, had to sacrifice some activities to make room for others. I miss skating, and I wish that each day was longer so I could once again enjoy whizzing through the neighborhood, powerful and unstoppable.