I was up on rock shelf, 6 feet above the ground (below the leopard) -- a rock jumping off of which a few weeks ago I had injured my heel, causing me to limp till almost now, since then.
I looked down. I knew I could do it. I also knew that I was afraid. Very afraid. Limping until only a few days ago, memories of my last jump from there were still very fresh. I knew that I could step down onto the portion 4 feet above the ground and take practice jumps, but I wanted to do it in one shot -- for I knew that in life I might come across situations in which I will just have to make a calculated jump, based on past experience, rather than have the luxury of a quick warm up. More importantly, I knew that I plan, just for fun, on situations in life where I simply have to rely on my training -- with no scope for training from lower, nor higher -- knowing that a properly executed procedure will ensure fun and safety. So, there I stood. 6 feet higher than the road, and 2 feet away from it.
I visualized my move. I imagined that I would have to launch myself, then reposition my feet in mid air, then land, so as to do a reverse block to send my body forward, and then tuck into a roll. I imagined myself slowly moving through the air, relaxing my legs, preparing to coil them like a spring the moment the ground touched my feet.
And yet, in silence, I stood. I was afraid. Between bouts of when there were lots of passers by I practiced going through my motions with my legs, but my legs felt like they were made of lead, and I hardly got any fluidity out of them. Two cute girls lying on the grass, across the street, were cheering me on, and the passers by were giving me smiles. It was all very nice, really -- both, the young ones, who expected a visual treat, as well as the ones who looked like they had sons my age, and were thinking "I know what you're up to -- I've got boys, myself." Yeah, I loved that knowing look on the latter's faces -- perhaps because the looks on their faces betrayed an air that what I was doing was safe, whereas the looks on the younger women were simply almost alluring and inviting, as if saying "If you survive, you'll get a warm hug to melt you in comfort."
Even some the guys there looked up, like they knew they would like what they would see. I felt like I was entertaining the passing crowd. It was amazing. It was the 10th anniversary of 11th September, and everyone was happy to anticipate a cool looking stunt -- no one showed even a bit of animosity to this fully bearded guy. While I stood there, tensed, and afraid, I was truly joyous at how people felt.
I stood there for what seemed like forever, despite my having gone through phases where I felt ready to jump, and barely stopped short of it, and phases where I simply wondered to myself: "WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING?!" There were periods when I was calm and collected, and despite feeling my heartbeat, and despite breathing heavily from anxiety, I went through the motions in my mind, trying to ingrain them within myself; and there were periods when I was barely short of freaking out, my heart beating like a powerful hammer against the inside of my chest, my temples beating like the drums of muscles on strike (or the strike at the nearby boat house was getting to me, haha), and the veins around my eyeballs pulsing, so I could tell when my heart beat my when my vision turned blurry (I know, dehydration is a bitch!).
I knew that I could climb down at any moment. I knew that I could simply climb up, then walk around the statue of the leopard, and down the hill, but I stayed. In fact, a guy who was there with the two girls resting across the street talked to my friend, who was waiting for me to finish with my little adrenaline fix, came to me, concerned, and told me about the walk around the hill that I had already scouted. Of course, I told him that I wanted to jump simply because I wanted to. It was very nice, really, that the girls whom he was with were cheering me on.
Of course, these things come down to very personal decisions. The guy who had just come to tell me about the walk around path went back, telling me "Break a leg." He was simply giving me a friendly warning about what could happen. Of course, I knew what I was doing, so I replied "You can take me to the hospital", to which his two female friends, and the passing my ladies and gentlemen started laughing. I knew, of course, from the get-go, that a go or a no-go was entirely my own, and that no amount of sincere well wishing cautions from those not in the know of how to perform these activities, and no amount of cheering from even the most sincere well wisher should be allowed to overturn one's personal decision as to whether or not to go ahead with the 'trick' (for lack of a better word), for it is one's own well being that one is dealing with, and weighing the risk of getting hurt versus the reward for pulling it off is a very personal decision, and only the one committing the act can know how well he/she can perform the act, and how much he/she has himself/herself under control. In moments like this, it all comes down to feelings -- how well does one feel about the jump? If one feels well, then he might be able to control himself through the motions, keeping his head cool, and his self safe. If one is hesitant, then he might do something wrong, as part of a reflex, and severely jeopardize his well being. Superstitious as this may all seem, one's thoughts govern one's subtle actions, and hence, one's well being.
At one point the girls across the street even brought out a camera, and that made it very tempting to jump, but I eventually got a hold of myself, for I was still having muscle hesitations right as soon as I placed my center of gravity near the brink.
I made many, many attempts to smoothly, and willfully, clear the brink, but each time I failed, and had to take a rest while letting passers underneath go by. Eventually, I made eye contact with a lady who seemed wilder than me. She was on a bike, with a friend (who was also on a bicycle), and she had a wild look in her eyes, like she was excited at the prospect of what she was expecting to see, while her face showed an expression more akin to "I've seen my own sons do stuff like this, young man; now, let's see if you can be charming with what you can do." It was almost as if she would have a smirk on her face if I failed, for she despite the approving smile I could see a hint of a challenge in her face. For her, I truly wanted to jump, but even then my better judgement held, and I refrained, and she paddled on.
Right after she had passed, of course, I went through my motions, again, visualizing exactly what i would do at each point, and then I jumped; by then, she had turned around to backtrack on her friend, who had fallen behind. I knew that she had watched me as soon as I saw her approaching bicycle, approaching from a slight distance, as I came out of my tuck and roll while hearing a joyous shriek. It had not been my best landing, given that I had almost hit that tarmac with my right knee (I actually felt a slight touch, and almost panicked), but I had not hit any part of myself hard, certainly not my heels. At that point I was far happier that I had made her happy with my jump than I was at having entertained two very pretty girls lying comfortably in the grass -- for I think that for that one moment I had the attention of a like minded individual.
After this, of course, my friend and I headed to my favorite 'rock face' in Central Park (New York, New York) -- the back wall of Belvedere Castle. I had only planned on traversing the rock, from side to side, but somehow I managed to reach (with my hand) the semicircular looking barrier-like artifact, perhaps 12 feet off the ground. Of course, I did try to traverse, but eventually got exhausted, and had to abandon my effort when my right hand cramped up and gave out. By then, I had learned to keep my waist close to the rock wall, looking over my shoulder for find footholds for my down climb; I had started re-learning (from my trips to an indoor rock-climbing gym) techniques of pseudo stemming with my hands, which is very useful in places without a satisfactory ledge to hang from, with the finger tips; I learned that an untrained spotter (my friend) had to be told to request people to not walk right underneath me -- and I learned that a spotter with no experience in things like this also needs to be told to stay out of the possible paths that I would take if I fell, and needed to land into a roll; I learned that I did not yet have the stamina to free solo into high places, and I was seriously thinking about the importance of climbing with a rope, in case I fell, and I was also considering doing the 'hangdog'; I learned that while climbing I was relying too much on my fingers, and too little on my legs, and that that needs to be corrected, for that is becoming a severe handicap; I became acquainted with the terror of the intimate and present danger of slipping off the rock, and falling too far to do a safe landing, given my free running skills; I thus learned the importance of turning back before exhaustion (and I was breathing very heavily to keep my arms going -- hoping that I would be providing my arms a boost in blood oxygen levels as the lactic acid levels built up and started 'burning' through my forearms) compounded the risk of calling, and thus, of serious injury -- for falling while dazed and unprepared would hardly leave a tired me in a position to reorient my body for even an attempt at a proper landing; I learned how to coaxingly caress the rocks, hoping that they would provide some new place to hold with my hands, so that I could grab hold, while still keeping my limbs moving, so as to not get cramps; and I learned the meaning of exhausted anxiety while still on an adrenaline and endorphin high, up on a high. I slowly came down, and not finding too many good hand holds and foot holds, I jumped off when my feet were 4 feet off the ground -- this landing was pretty smooth, too; though it was much more flawed than the one from earlier today, but it felt good in the sense that I was able to walk away without the slightest injury.
Even now, 9 hours after the climbs and the falls (jumps) I can still see in my mind's eye what I saw as I went through the air during both my dismounts. I can see the world floating by, underneath, then getting closer and closer, and then myself blanking out, only remembering a slight touch on my right knee (almost as soft as a Mother's loving touch) as I went into the roll, and hearing the joyful, wild lady's scream as I came out of it. For the roll at Belvedere Castle, I can remember the ground getting closer, and closer, until I rolled to a side -- now that think about it, the roll's lack of smoothness might have been due to the fact that I had neither decided beforehand, nor pre-ingrained in myself whether I would be using a variation of the forward roll, or the back ward roll, and the staccato nature of my roll might even have been due to my perhaps trying both ways at the same time (at this point, of course, I can no longer really be sure).
These activities did not leave me exhilarated, nor does the thought of doing these things get me excited -- any more. I just happen to enjoy them when I am in the midst of doing them. To create a very crude, and tasteless, analogy, it is almost as bad as doing research work like it was mindless sex (but not quite), not even due to liking it (yeah, I know, what would I know, right? Haha), and not really expecting to enjoy it, but rather, only being grateful on the few occasions when one just happens to enjoy it (yes, you guessed it: I feel that studying physical phenomenon from text books is akin to mental masturbation).
So, perhaps life is more than just a bunch of administrative hurdles, punctuated with bouts of pre-planned pleasure -- perhaps life has more to taking the time to enjoy things by doing them, rather than simply expecting a quick high out of them. Just a thought.
