learning to fly

What have you done for yourself?

I have fallen. But this time, intentionally.

My feet strike the beam as my hands push off. I raise my head, flick the fingers, move to the next skill as my heart gasps in relief.

5, 6, 7, 8. Wait, lift, twist. Okay. I stand above them, look at the wall and imagine it’s a crowd, know that I am as strong as the hands that clasp my ankles, know that although I do not know them well, I do not want to let them down.

“Ready?”

I reach my hands to the sky. I look up. And I let myself fall.

I feel air, I twist, I land on my back. The way I was never supposed to when I walked into this room for another sport.

“YOU DID IT!”

I'd begun thinking this year that just once, I'd like to know how it would feel to twist twice in the air. But I didn't know how that would happen, how the knee and limbs would be protected.

Nearly three years to learn a full from a full run, and now, ten minutes to twist a double from their hands.

I left last night and thought that I no longer need you to push me. I don’t know why I have allowed you to have that power: One hand in my hand and the other around my neck.

This is not your time.

I am busy battling someone else; I choose when to confront gravity and when to accept it. But always with a twist. I know you live, Gravity. But so do I.