I skate around the seawall, first by the lagoon, then out along the harbour. I am flying. It’s effortless, and I can’t help but smile.

People say hi to me, and I have a series of funny little conversations. Mostly men, single men. All men, I guess. They’re nice men too, not the tanned torsos. Dads.

I come around under the bridge to where the harbour opens up to broader ocean. The sun is an orange ellipse, about to dip behind the mountains.

I stop and sit on a bench and remove my rollerblades. Walk out across the sand. Strip off my shorts down to my bathing suit. Walk out into the warm ocean. I swim.

After, I put back on my rollerblades and complete the lap, my hair dripping down my back.

Where did this confidence come from? I used to be so shy, so unsure of myself. I thought that I was mousey, too muscled, not feminine enough. For whom was I not enough? Why did I care so much?

I sit on a bench in front of my apartment, taking in the landscape. Orange sky, groups of friends laughing together on the lawn, couples kayaking back towards the shore. I will never take this for granted.

My phone buzzes with a text.

It’s Peter.

Care to go for a run sometime?

“Why is he messaging me, two plus years later?”

“Shannon, it’s not really about going for a run. You’re the one that got away.”