Turned off my headphones again to hear the cacophony of geese, American robins, crows, deer, and crinkling grass—plus polyurethane, of course.
There has been an awkwardness to my skating the past few days. I seem to be at the precipice of a moment, a crux, a change in my experience.
At this point, the ollie is a pronounced necessity, and my lip tricks (performed on banks) feel incomplete without coping. The foundational skills I’ve been working on now admit openings to more advanced tricks, whether or not I’m ready for them.
Oh, rock’n roll to fakie calls to me. Ollie to manual mocks me. Crooked grinds look flirty but cruel.
Despite the possibilities, I hardly frontside kick turn beyond 45 degrees without windmill clunkiness. And though I might voluntarily proclaim, “I can ollie,” 90% land awkward.
But there is time. There is time to explore the possibilities, to learn to fall all over again, to get sketchy within known limits, and, of course, there is time to boardslide.
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