We do this thing we do. It occupies our thinking. It is drug-like in its persistence. Responsibilities gnaw at us like a festering wound. We carry these on slumped shoulders. Shoulders that carry a long tortured road of hurt. Broken words, friendships and promises. To us and from us. It goes both ways. Shoulders attached to backs of worn muscle and degenerating bone and cartilage. Joints that have been bent and broken. Our future will remain unchanged. We couldn’t turn it all around if we wanted to. We are skateboarders.
I stood at the Combi contest a year or two ago and noted how old we are getting. Collectively. Gray beards, thick waists, slumped shoulders… We walk slowly and some limp. I saw a certain legendary pro skater amble in. He looked as if he’d have a hard time finding a seat in the bleachers, let alone, ride a skateboard. Yet, once he rolled into the huge Combi bowl, he moved like one born to it. Flow and grace. Savage fucking beauty man… He skates better than he walks.
I know that some of these guys are one in two billion. They were special when they were young and they remain so. Their bodies can barely contain their unique abilities… and so it goes. The joints inflame, the muscles ache and we won’t change. Why should we? We know something and own something others completely missed out on. I’m glad they did. Skateboarding is ours and it is us. Thank you to Joe Hammeke for the images. Skate – Ozzie