<p>Prompt: Describe a place or environment where you are perfectly content. What do you do or experience there, and why is it meaningful to you? </p>
<pre><code> nICE Life
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<p>It is 4:27a.m. on a Tuesday morning in the middle of February. I am in a dank, low lit room breathing in nothing but the pungent odor of our rarely washed hockey equipment; a stench to which only a hockey player can attest. My eyelids fight to stay open. The sight of my breath makes me feel colder than I already am. I unzip my bag to retrieve my towel to put around me, in an attempt to retain some of my body’s dwindling warmth. Much to my dismay, all that I uncover is a clump of rigid cloth frozen to my practice jersey. Crap, I forgot to take my bag out of my trunk last night. I see many of my closest friends occupying the same small, frigid room as me. Almost all are hunched over, trying to catch some brief minutes of shuteye. I pull out my gear and slowly begin attaching it to my body, letting the thin coating of ice defrost against me. My shivering body would much rather be tucked away in the warmth of my bed, sound asleep preparing for the arduous day of school and homework ahead. However, my mind, does not feel the same way. In my mind, there is no place I would rather be.</p>
<p>It is now 5:27 a.m. My teammates are no longer hunched over on the bench inside the locker room. Instead, many of us are hunched over the home team bench, getting rid of some undigested dinner from last night, a not so uncommon occurrence. Suddenly, the piercing sound of our coach’s whistle echoes throughout the rink, signaling the end to our brief respite. I re-strap my helmet and hurdle the boards back onto the ice for our second of three 25 minute rounds of continuous skating. Right now, there is no place I would rather be.</p>
<p>Finally, the clock strikes 6:20. The sound of the final whistle echoes off the rink walls for a final time. Using the last of my depleted energy reserves, I slowly glide off the ice without a word. Though practice is over and both my mind and body are drained, there is no place I would rather be.</p>
<p>I was two and a half years old when my Pop put on my first pair of ice skates. I can’t say I was thrilled. In fact, my parents said I cried when I finally stood on the ice with the help of a milk crate. But, something inside me wouldn’t let me quit. Apparently, I made an inspiring, but unsuccessful attempt to stumble across the ice to get to a 6 year old girl, who I failed to see, was way out of my league. However, this experience bred far more than a love for that six year old girl; it bred my insatiable love for hockey.</p>
<p>I say insatiable in that I have never thought to question waking up at 4:05am five times a week, eighteen weeks each miserable, New England winter to drive to the next town and skate to the point where I have lost feeling in my limbs. Insatiable in that I would spend all this time and energy, just to play high school hockey, knowing that I will never play in the NHL. I do it for that feeling of freedom and peace I get while gliding across the ice, and ultimately, for the glory of the place where I love to be.
This type of passion and commitment for something I love extends far outside the confines of the ice rink. It extends into the classroom. I love learning and I never cease to challenge myself to fullest educationally. I realize that if I can both physically and mentally endure years of these brutal hockey seasons, I can surely endure the mental strains of a few extra hours of studying each night. </p>
<p>[Please let me know what you think and critique it all you want. It is currently 648 words. I will be applying to some nearly Ivy level schools so the more help the better. Specifically help me out with the ending if you could! Thanks!]</p>