I am an old, broken, skateboarder. My balance is not what it once was. I don’t react as fast as I used to. I don’t heal as quickly as before. Every year skateboarding becomes harder. Every year I become more susceptible to injury. I like my pads a hell of a lot more than I used to. These are hard facts of biology, time, age, and life.
Recently Tony Hawk posted about his recent struggles doing a 720. A trick he invented long ago. He said he could not spin them as fast anymore. He said previous attempts ended badly and did not inspire confidence. He said they were much harder now. He battled it for awhile, pulled one, and said he may never do it again. Albeit vastly different scales, these battles are ones many of us already know quite well. I certainly do. They are also battles EVERY skateboarder WILL know, provided they stick with it long enough. There is no escape.
It’s not often someone in skateboarding, especially someone at Hawk’s level, openly talks about (and shows) the impact of aging. It’s almost unimaginable to hear TONY HAWK talk about battles with CONFIDENCE. Hearing and seeing his own battles with declining skill and ability certainly make our own battles with the same that much more universal and...humanizing.
Much respect for making that 720, Tony. But even more respect for the honest vulnerability. Every session is a gift. It won’t last forever...and even Tony Hawk knows that.
We diminish. We fade. We wither. And that, at least to me, is a gift. The impermanence of it all is what makes it so special. It’s what makes it so hard to take anything for granted, and what reveals how profound the simple really is (and I’m not talking about just skateboarding here). As I knowingly roll into my own twilight, I do so with a gratitude brighter than a thousand Suns.
|Hawk, battling to land a 720, one last time.|