I see young boys sporting fun, blazing on skateboards.
I look down sporting misery on a broken ankle replaying the record.
Has it not happened to them yet?
Is there a thought about breaking a fall or a near journey to regret?
About a plate and a surgeon drilling screws?
And how the cold will come on certain days and remain stuck in the hardware? Knowing this, would they have pursued?
This was my freak of nature, a happy accident.
I listen as the longboard wheels taunt me on the street as if money was well spent.
I watch every skater tumble down in my head
Without control — I feel their bone shift from a hidden force warning red.
I can hear the break like a lonely branch being stepped on.
I feel the lost of life due to a split second – and months of a thousand recovery songs.
But I want to believe I’m fine.
I’m not a snowboarder.
And I didn’t attempt a 50-50 grind like some type of adrenaline junkie explorer.
Now I can’t wait, yet I’m waiting.
I put 70% of killer pain on my foot for 5 minutes straight – devastatingly.
Two months and the physical therapists have me in a sneaker – functional training!
And is it crazy?
How all the sad parts and all the bad parts still make these moments breathtaking.