In less than a second, all the confidence I had vanished.
I’m about two steps from the railing, one step from needing to leap, and the voice in my head picks now, of all times, to ask “hey, wait; are you sure you got this?”
Um, WHAT??
With the guardrail of the bridge right in front of my face, I find the wherewithal to mute that voice. I’d started second-guessing this front flip off the bridge and into the water below, but the milliseconds before swan-diving over the railing is not when rethinking is helpful. Those have actually been the moments in life when things have gone terribly wrong.
As I’m approaching my takeoff, I blatantly ignore the thoughts trying to run through a safety check since it’s far too late... what foot am I planting before jumping? Should I touch my hands on the railing and push myself over? Thinking about things like that, at times like these, are the kinds of distractions that lead to tripping, smacking your face on the edge while gliding past, or over-rotating and belly-flopping from far-too high to walk away uninjured.
Nope.
Nope, nope, nope.
I remember one summer at my grandparents house, I’d decided I was going to teach myself to flip into the pool. I ate so much shit. My cousin, Chris, was going to learn with me, but after seeing how many belly/back-flops I’d endured and how red my skin was because of it, he decided against it. A year or so later, I did the same thing with learning how to do “gainers” off the diving board at summer camp. Running off the board facing forward, but doing a backflip into the water, was hard as hell to get used to. But it was the funnest thing I’d ever figured out how to do, even if my crashes resulted in a couple hundred kids chanting “belly flop!” every time I’d climb back up on the board in the hopes I’d indulge their requests and intentionally splat myself onto the surface of the water.
At least I’m dry right now; my chances of slipping are much lower compared with that diving board...
And we’ve already been through this, amigo.
I checked—counted out the paces, visualized which foot to plant (and where), and decided not to touch the railing to minimize anything from fucking with the rotation. So, already mid-stride across the double-yellow lines on the bridge, I tell myself I’m “clear.” That’s a habit I picked up cliff-jumping as a teenager at the quarries in Massachusetts when I’d damn near shit my pants getting ready to jump from 80 feet.
Next thing I know, I’m watching the railing float by beneath me. I see the lake and hold my arms out above my head, waiting.
Not yet.
I feel the familiar momentum of falling through the air, slowly tipping forward with every inch.
Not yet.
The weightlessness feels sooo good. I really missed it. It’s been a while since jumping from height—either into water or snow—and I’m always blown away at how my heart stops thundering right before taking off. Floating like this feels familiar.
NOW.
I crack a smile and start to tuck my head to my chest. I feel my feet lift above where my head was and look to spot the treeline as I come around. Untucking to slow myself down, I have enough time to hear that same voice in my head that’d been worried up on the bridge go “Heyyy, alright. Not bad!“ just as my feet slide into place below me.
Then I hit the water, exactly as planned.
Our Daily MAP Year Prompt
329/365
What do you do when you second-guess your muscle-memory?
onward.
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