I would smash my watch, and make time stop.
It's a picture perfect scene. I hug my knees and lay down my head. I breathe in the salty smell of the sea and smile. A breeze in my hair. Nature keeps going, but you are frozen.
We are alone on the beach, under a dark sky of stars. The lonely moon has never seemed bigger and all I can hear is the crashing of the waves.
I take a look at you. You're staring out at the sea. Relaxed, content. You have the softest eyes I've ever seen. Even in moments like these, when you know the outcome can't be good, you seem to take it all in stride. It's disconcerting, the fact that I don't know how to provoke a reaction.
You've asked a question I don't want to answer.
And I know I'm a coward. I know I've been holding on to something that can't continue. And I know that no matter the answer I give, you're going to smile, and you're going to be okay with it. Be a comfort. But there comes a point when comfort isn't so comfortable anymore.
I can't deal with it, and so I'm going to run away from it.
I stand up, take one last look at you, still frozen in time. I turn my back and walk away. I have an overwhelming sense of loss and sadness, but it's better than the alternative.
Tuesday, February 22, 2011
Wednesday, February 16, 2011
Rider
It seems to me that there are few athletes that aren't at least a little superstitious. You read about it in autobiographies, you hear stories- there is at least a little OCD involved. I think that's hardly surprising, as the preparation leading up to the sport is a ritual in itself. No matter what it is you do, you have a routine to get yourself ready. You get your kit on, you do your warm up. The care you put into your specialized outfit, because you know how important it is to your performance, creates a certain connection. Just the amount of effort required to keep everything in shape, whether they are pointe shoes that need breaking in, to ice-skating boots with the sharpening of the blade, even football boots- knowing full well that soon, these very things you hold in your hands will cause you pain. Blood, sores, bruises- they all part of the process of a sport we love and give ourselves to.
For me, back in Dubai about 3 years ago, Fridays meant horse-riding. And horse-riding meant a long, long drive to the place where I would do it, which was in the middle of the desert. Back then I still didn't have my license, and my mum would be doing the driving. Thinking about Dubai inevitably leads to thinking about long, open, 7-lane highways, surrounded by sand. I would be the one in charge of the music, and I remember that Echoes and Shine On You Crazy Diamond by Pink Floyd were the two I played the most. They suited the mood.
The place I went really was like a little oasis. It was a patch of green- albeit quite a large patch- but it was still quite far away from the city and so just inside the sandlands. I did horse-riding for a while, I think it was 3 years. But there's a certain period that sticks out most in my memory, which involved a series of lessons with a specific horse.
Usually I'd do group lessons, and I almost never got the same horse more than twice in a row. The reason is that they wanted us to be able to experience all sorts of horses with different abilities and personalities. And believe me, they have personalities. After a while, you'd know which horse is good at what, which gets nervous when, and basically how to handle each one in its own unique way, to get the best out of it.
For some reason that seems to escape my mind, I did a bunch of private lessons. I also kept getting the same horse- an old, ambling guy by the name of Jasper. Jasper's HUGE- which means he isn't very nimble and not so smooth. The timing of the class was such that sunset would occur right near the end of it. The field next to us, at that time, was usually empty too- which meant that in a massive expanse of sand, it was just me, Jasper and my trainer at the time, Jason.
It was near enough damned perfect. Like something out of movie.
Jasper and I worked hard. You never know how difficult a sport is until you try it, and these professionals you see on TV really do make it look easy. I've done a lot of different sports in my life, and I can honestly say- nothing was as physically demanding as horse-riding. Every single muscle- the legs, the inner thighs, the back, the arms- they all get used. Not to mention it's a lot of cardio.
As I mentioned before, Jasper wasn't exactly the most graceful horse in the stable. He wasn't clumsy, of course- but he needed refinement. Jason had me working on getting him to do certain steps that specific horses are trained for that are considered “dance”. Ours was really simple- I had to get him to move sideways by crossing his legs as opposed to physically just going in that direction.
It was difficult, because Jasper wasn't the right kind of horse for these kind of exercises. We did laps and laps of shapes, circles, weaving in and out- going wider, narrower, round and round my trainer. Week after week, something noticeably changed.
You will hear every rider say this- but eventually you start developing a relationship with the horse. You start feeling the subtleties, start being able to know what to expect. It wasn't just that I was learning to control him; he could tell what I needed as well. For a short, rare period of time, it was like we were in sync and every tiny movement I made was being fully interpreted, and so on. I didn't work him; we worked together.
One thing I never stopped appreciating over the whole time I did horse-riding was the fact that I was basically sitting on a beast; an animal that was by far stronger than me. If it wanted to, it could basically kill me. That feeling and that realization is absolutely exhilarating, and few other sports can compare, because few other sports involve animals. The fact that you have a living, breathing and absolutely gorgeous creature responding to subtle movements in your hands and legs is really quite something. And there are times when you really feel the dangers- at some point or another, no matter how good they are, every rider will experience some sort of accident. I've had my experiences, and I have yet to feel that kind of powerful adrenalin rush elsewhere.
Sometimes our lessons involved going out in the open, as opposed to practicing within a confined space. That was much more dangerous as obviously the horses could go as far as they wanted if you lost control. Again, it was just me and my coach. This time it was a woman, and she wanted me to try a gallop for the first time.
The various speeds we trained at were a simple walk, a slightly faster trot, a canter, and the fastest being a gallop. Each speed has it's own command and you don't have to go through them all. For example, one of the toughest exercises was to get the horse from a walk right into a canter. The reason I'd never tried a gallop before was that the closed spaces were far too small for that.
I remember feeling scared, and not knowing what to expect. That has never stopped me before; I'd done jumps that absolutely terrified me and not all ended well. But I knew I had to do it. And I did- and it was the most surreal experiences. The word “fast” doesn't really describe it; it was just a whirl. All I remember is everything around passing by in a blur, but the amazing thing was how smooth it all felt, how effortless.
I miss these experiences; I even miss the long drive there and back. What it was my mum and I discussed on the way there and back I can't imagine. It was good times though; the sun, the sand, the friends, even that specific smell- it's irreplaceable.
For me, back in Dubai about 3 years ago, Fridays meant horse-riding. And horse-riding meant a long, long drive to the place where I would do it, which was in the middle of the desert. Back then I still didn't have my license, and my mum would be doing the driving. Thinking about Dubai inevitably leads to thinking about long, open, 7-lane highways, surrounded by sand. I would be the one in charge of the music, and I remember that Echoes and Shine On You Crazy Diamond by Pink Floyd were the two I played the most. They suited the mood.
The place I went really was like a little oasis. It was a patch of green- albeit quite a large patch- but it was still quite far away from the city and so just inside the sandlands. I did horse-riding for a while, I think it was 3 years. But there's a certain period that sticks out most in my memory, which involved a series of lessons with a specific horse.
Usually I'd do group lessons, and I almost never got the same horse more than twice in a row. The reason is that they wanted us to be able to experience all sorts of horses with different abilities and personalities. And believe me, they have personalities. After a while, you'd know which horse is good at what, which gets nervous when, and basically how to handle each one in its own unique way, to get the best out of it.
For some reason that seems to escape my mind, I did a bunch of private lessons. I also kept getting the same horse- an old, ambling guy by the name of Jasper. Jasper's HUGE- which means he isn't very nimble and not so smooth. The timing of the class was such that sunset would occur right near the end of it. The field next to us, at that time, was usually empty too- which meant that in a massive expanse of sand, it was just me, Jasper and my trainer at the time, Jason.
It was near enough damned perfect. Like something out of movie.
Jasper and I worked hard. You never know how difficult a sport is until you try it, and these professionals you see on TV really do make it look easy. I've done a lot of different sports in my life, and I can honestly say- nothing was as physically demanding as horse-riding. Every single muscle- the legs, the inner thighs, the back, the arms- they all get used. Not to mention it's a lot of cardio.
As I mentioned before, Jasper wasn't exactly the most graceful horse in the stable. He wasn't clumsy, of course- but he needed refinement. Jason had me working on getting him to do certain steps that specific horses are trained for that are considered “dance”. Ours was really simple- I had to get him to move sideways by crossing his legs as opposed to physically just going in that direction.
It was difficult, because Jasper wasn't the right kind of horse for these kind of exercises. We did laps and laps of shapes, circles, weaving in and out- going wider, narrower, round and round my trainer. Week after week, something noticeably changed.
You will hear every rider say this- but eventually you start developing a relationship with the horse. You start feeling the subtleties, start being able to know what to expect. It wasn't just that I was learning to control him; he could tell what I needed as well. For a short, rare period of time, it was like we were in sync and every tiny movement I made was being fully interpreted, and so on. I didn't work him; we worked together.
One thing I never stopped appreciating over the whole time I did horse-riding was the fact that I was basically sitting on a beast; an animal that was by far stronger than me. If it wanted to, it could basically kill me. That feeling and that realization is absolutely exhilarating, and few other sports can compare, because few other sports involve animals. The fact that you have a living, breathing and absolutely gorgeous creature responding to subtle movements in your hands and legs is really quite something. And there are times when you really feel the dangers- at some point or another, no matter how good they are, every rider will experience some sort of accident. I've had my experiences, and I have yet to feel that kind of powerful adrenalin rush elsewhere.
Sometimes our lessons involved going out in the open, as opposed to practicing within a confined space. That was much more dangerous as obviously the horses could go as far as they wanted if you lost control. Again, it was just me and my coach. This time it was a woman, and she wanted me to try a gallop for the first time.
The various speeds we trained at were a simple walk, a slightly faster trot, a canter, and the fastest being a gallop. Each speed has it's own command and you don't have to go through them all. For example, one of the toughest exercises was to get the horse from a walk right into a canter. The reason I'd never tried a gallop before was that the closed spaces were far too small for that.
I remember feeling scared, and not knowing what to expect. That has never stopped me before; I'd done jumps that absolutely terrified me and not all ended well. But I knew I had to do it. And I did- and it was the most surreal experiences. The word “fast” doesn't really describe it; it was just a whirl. All I remember is everything around passing by in a blur, but the amazing thing was how smooth it all felt, how effortless.
I miss these experiences; I even miss the long drive there and back. What it was my mum and I discussed on the way there and back I can't imagine. It was good times though; the sun, the sand, the friends, even that specific smell- it's irreplaceable.
Friday, February 11, 2011
Lifeline
I'm reaching out, about to catch you. The room is hot, filled with people. The music is loud and sweaty bodies are jumping in unison around me. I'm pushed and pulled from one side to the other. Where are you? I see you out of the corner of my eye, but as I turn, you're gone. God, it's so hot. But there's no-one else here I know. The flashing lights, the grabbing hands. It's becoming too much. I need you...
--
I wake up in a burning hot room. I throw off my duvet and shakily try to get myself together. I'm sweating.
I switch on a dim bulb and throw open the window. In the bathroom, the cool water is my only source of comfort. My reflection is not. I hate the person I've become. I used to be strong. I used to know who I am. But I'm pathetic.
And I'm a liar, a first-class liar.
I'm trapped. The closer I get to admitting it, day by day, the more suffocated I feel. The walls seem to be edging together. A wave of nausea takes over and I know it- that's it. Something has to change.
I pick up my phone. I go through the list of the names... I know these people. But they are not my people. I'm starting to panic. There has to be someone...
--
You're waiting for me. We barely know each other at all.
Smoke curls out of your cigarette as you let out your breath. Your eyes have a hint of amber in them. There's something we have in common.
You listen to me as I talk. About superficial things at first. Shaky, trying to find my ground. You know that's not why I'm here, or why you are either.
As the story finally unwinds, your stony exterior softens- but only slightly. I've made you uncomfortable. But now I know you care, and as you open your mouth for the first time to tell me what you think, I know that I will do as you say. You are going to pull me through.
--
Sometimes it feels like the decisions we make, the ones that affect the rest of our lives, aren't really choices. Sometimes it feels like every tiny detail of our past is what led up to them. In that case, do we really have control over anything?
I've become a floater. The anchor that kept me grounded is gone. Anchor, shackles- is there a difference? I don't know.
I throw down my smoke into the grass and step on it. Look up at the sky and smile. So blue, I have never seen it like this. A few puffy clouds and the sun in beating down on me.
I start to run through the park. I start off slow, but soon I gain momentum. Faster and faster, the trees racing past me, the lawns greener than green. I see the music and take off...
I run along the clouds, and they belong to me.
--
I wake up in a burning hot room. I throw off my duvet and shakily try to get myself together. I'm sweating.
I switch on a dim bulb and throw open the window. In the bathroom, the cool water is my only source of comfort. My reflection is not. I hate the person I've become. I used to be strong. I used to know who I am. But I'm pathetic.
And I'm a liar, a first-class liar.
I'm trapped. The closer I get to admitting it, day by day, the more suffocated I feel. The walls seem to be edging together. A wave of nausea takes over and I know it- that's it. Something has to change.
I pick up my phone. I go through the list of the names... I know these people. But they are not my people. I'm starting to panic. There has to be someone...
--
You're waiting for me. We barely know each other at all.
Smoke curls out of your cigarette as you let out your breath. Your eyes have a hint of amber in them. There's something we have in common.
You listen to me as I talk. About superficial things at first. Shaky, trying to find my ground. You know that's not why I'm here, or why you are either.
As the story finally unwinds, your stony exterior softens- but only slightly. I've made you uncomfortable. But now I know you care, and as you open your mouth for the first time to tell me what you think, I know that I will do as you say. You are going to pull me through.
--
Sometimes it feels like the decisions we make, the ones that affect the rest of our lives, aren't really choices. Sometimes it feels like every tiny detail of our past is what led up to them. In that case, do we really have control over anything?
I've become a floater. The anchor that kept me grounded is gone. Anchor, shackles- is there a difference? I don't know.
I throw down my smoke into the grass and step on it. Look up at the sky and smile. So blue, I have never seen it like this. A few puffy clouds and the sun in beating down on me.
I start to run through the park. I start off slow, but soon I gain momentum. Faster and faster, the trees racing past me, the lawns greener than green. I see the music and take off...
I run along the clouds, and they belong to me.
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