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Published: October 30th 2007
Hollows, Sweeps, Catches, Returns, Grips, Chalks, Pointed Toes. Most importantly: Heps.
What I thought was bystander vocabulary, crept from vicarious to vivacious last week as I took a giant leap forward (literally) to share in my love’s passion. A surprise present to him. Not expecting to impress, just not to embarrass.
And after the albeit enjoyable ordeal, I now - in addition to how coffee addicts operate - am also starting to understand how women go on to birth second children when they’ve experienced the pain of the first. There’s a name for that phenomenon that escapes me. But I’m getting how it works. For after my first fly, there was no question I was climbing that ladder again. Neck condition or no neck condition.
I was shaking terribly on my first climb up: bare feet on October Vermont ground or sheer fright? Who’s to say? I like to deal with the what-if worst case scenario to calm the nerves: the most frightful that could happen in my mind was peeing in my pants. I decided that I was among friends, so who cared and up I continued.
Moments earlier on the ground, I had kinesthetically and
calisthenically prepared my body for flight, checked and rechecked directions with my wonderful coaches Arli & Kiki - and tried to casually walk over to the ladder and begin my climb - something no one ever prepped me for. A sensation and hurdle in and of itself that I hadn’t thought about.
Halfway up, I started second-guessing the entire thing. I crawled into the cool blue sky: treetops disappearing. The sun got stronger as my body emerged from the coniferous and deciduous canopy. I kept going, hand over hand, stubby toes gripping cold metal bars. Aware that my ladder form was no 6.0.
Then came the other thing no one talked to me about: getting from the ladder out onto the board. While hovering in mid-air, you need to take a daring one-footed step. I felt like Indiana Jones - if only I could have stopped shaking enough to conjure up that thematic music to pump my blood, but my teeth chattering had their own rhythm.
Honestly, once up there, I don’t remember much physically or mentally aside from badgering John, the guy who was helping me on the board, with tons of clarifying questions. I can
remember thinking before my first take-off: Julien better be appreciating this down there on the ground! I could only hear my coach’s voice, and could only picture Julien’s face - as I wasn’t about to look down. Nor was I about to back down; I was suddenly ready for this personal challenge.
Upon hearing the “Hep”, off I jumped. Feet together, pointed. Shoulders engaged. Pretty composed for a first swing if I may say so myself (it’s what the coaches said, anyways).
I do remember smiling, broadly, on my first swing. And on my second, having a moment of worry as I couldn’t make the knee-hang and the stalled momentum crooked my neck. And on my third swing, floating and arching upside-down - feeling almost weightless and tremendously good, and accomplished.
One needs things like this once in a while, an ultimate challenge, especially something over the past 10 years I would have never thought myself capable of given my muscular struggles.
The confidence surfaced the next morning, when I took Abu commandingly alongside me like a Best In Show. I’m pretty certain my camel strut came from my hot stuff on the trapeze. I won’t
"into position"
second, successful attempt at getting into the first position for the knee-hangproselytize - but people, everyone can try once.
I write this two days later, and I’ll admit, the level of soreness is not exactly acute. Once is enough: it’s just not worth the risk or the pain. I doubt I’ll do it again. Ever. Not until next week, anyways.
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