 | | | | | | | | | | | With a jolt in the line, my fantasy collapses around me. I think back to the words on the graveyard. The real world isn't like that. The marble ledges are all a bust, it's always wet, and slams still hurt like hell.
But maybe that's it. In the midst of all this reality, there is a little escapism after all. Death is simply a reality of life; afinite reminder of our own mortality. Deep down, I know this, and as the tram slips back into its rhythmic sway, my mind returns to the subject.
I think about the pain of the slam. The way it hits you and takes over your mind before your body. I think about the adrenalin, holding agony at the cusp, and fighting back. It makes me feel alive. To be aware of the pain is to connect with something primal, some vivid sensation that reminds us we're still here. It reminds us our time is not up yet.
Ever wondered what makes skaters different? The obeisance to something which causes us pain will never be understood by those looking in. Without the risk of pain upon miscalculation, the exhilaration of success would never be so defined.
It is in the balance between these two extremes that most people live out their lives. In those moments of reflection, as they remember the loss of a loved one, or the crush of defeat, perhaps they gain a momentary awareness. "Well, that puts things in perspective", they say. The rhythm of life continues, and they slip back into their old ways, and forget.
We are lucky. We feel that connection with life every time we step on the board. Every time adrenalin lifts me from my pain, my first thought is nailing the trick that put me there. I never complain about it, as the pain of defeat and the euphoria of success are the inextricable essence of the other.
I exhale slowly as a smile settles across my face. I feel different - apart from those around me. One hundred or ten thousand makes little difference. I am in touch with my own life, my own centre, and I understand the drive that puts me back at the top of that halfpipe when my joints are pleading for a quiet life and a round of golf before tea.
The more I think about death, the more I realise I am alive. I step off the tram to be greeted by a twinge of pain in my ankle, and smile once more.
Mark Thomson
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