Wednesday, April 28, 2010

Let's Metaphor

I'm a daredevil.

Didn't I tell you?

I've been a daredevil for oh, about 10 years now..huh...didn't realize how long it's been. But yes, I am a daredevil. There been some really great moments in my ten-year career. Great heights I've reached, always daring to raise the bar the next try. Bigger risks, bigger pains. But hell, what's the point without the thrill of falling?

My first amateur attempt for the thrill was when I was 13. I was naive in many ways and got my research from the media. Taking notes of my favorite techniques and methods. Trail by error. The jump was Lawrence (named change for the sake of well-not completely calling someone out in cyber-space for my need to tell this blog). So jump no. 1 obstacle 254: one big long ramp leading up to a big horseshoe dip. For this, it was all about the speed. I needed to pick up my bike and drive the hell out of it if I was ever going to make it to the other side of that horseshoe. So I rode. Fast.

Lawrence was brooding and dark. Quiet and so romantically mysterious to my 13-year old self. The less he said the more I was convinced he was a god, which ironically was quite blasphemous as most of the time I sat worshipping him was at church. Thinking back, I'm really surprised I left every Sunday unharmed for a solid 7 months. No lightning. No thunder. No massive finger pointing out my drooling eyes and lovesick sigh. I was speeding alright.

When I got to the first dip the sensation was unreal: Lawrence hugged me-it was trying to ride up to the other side that I began to fall backwards. It was all wrong and my footing was nowhere near where it should have been. I fell, off the bike, without a helmet and got my first concussion.

Jump 2, Obstacle 612: Wilson. This was a course. Like full-on twists and bends and loopy-loops. I found myself at the beginning, with helmet this time, and I just went for it. I really didn't even know the course was a course till half-way through. Never realized how long I would be on it but I was having one hell of a time breezing through it. I stayed in one piece for most of it, which gave less and less fear to the daredevil laughing triumphantly inside of me. He was feeling like top dog and, of course, wanted to dare to do more.

So more it was.

I caught some major air with Wilson: I said I love you. That was the first time I got the wind knocked out of me, wheezed for a few days trying to recuperate the couple of ribs I hit. This was one tough course I couldn't stop riding. I swear I was flying most of the time. My shimmery cape ruffling through the winds. Sun setting around my figure, glowing in my courageous glory.

And then there was the last ramp I needed to get over: mammoth. The Grand Canyon would have shriveled up in its presence, it was that big. I just couldn't get myself to do it. What a puss. But not for long, no sooner had I said "I'm finished!" than I strapped on my helmet and leaped. But it was too late. And luck was not on my side. I broke almost every bone in my body. Full-body cast for two years: it was my worse recovery.

When I finally healed I retired my daredevil years and sought after a nice, calm, quiet life of just me. Me and my pals. I lived quietly for a good number of months before I started to itch for the thrill. I got mad at myself, at first. Lectured to an audience of one-me- till the wee hours of the morning. But I knew there was no use: I would have to dare once again.

And dare, I did.


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