Kick, Push

My feet are glued to the deck and I'm an unstoppable force. There's nothing graceful about it though- at least, not the way I do it. It's gritty, fast and clumsy. I look at the videos, try to imitate their style, but it never quite seems right. And then I realise it's not about the way they do it, it's about the way I do it. The way my front foot is never far forward enough, and my back foot hugs the tail, so much so that I risk flipping myself off the board. And the way my arms hang aimlessly, feeling left out, you can't imitate that.

I stop to take in the view. It's such a contrast, the pureness of the mountains and the fields, and then the ugly mess that we've created. And then it begins to rain, and it's just what I expect. It feels good against my skin, cold from sweat. My arms glisten and the road becomes slick and dangerous, but the ride is smoother and faster. I enjoy the rain but yearn for the sunset, which is the thing I really came for. The view from here can only be described as magnificent, it makes me feel small, but in a good way. The rain has clouded over my sunset and I miss the pink and orange stains in the sky. The gold, that seeps through the cracks. The kind of gold that can't be manufactured.

My music filters out the world while I ride, makes me feel invincible. I'm listening to Incubus, because it's angsty but full of hopefulness, I guess that's how you'd describe me. The tingle in my feet that I get when I step off the board reminds me that I'm alive, that I'm feeling again. And even that small inch of fear that creeps in when I start to go too fast down a winding road, that disappears eventually too. Not because I am foolish, but because I'm flying, and nothing else matters in that moment.