So, springs are finally loosening, you haven’t fallen in a while and as soon as you get the hang of the two footed jumps you'll be back flipping in no time. The sun is out, people are staring in awe and your in the clouds, literally.
As you slowly start to jog, testing the spring, waiting for that extra push. You feel the fibres start to take you as having the bocks on slowly starts to feel natural. You pick up speed as the wind brushes your shirt, you feel like Schumacher hasn't experienced speed. Your pads are left strewn across the floor, you have no need for safety when you are an expert.
The spring stops bending as you feel the force pushing through your leg, your hoof slowly begins to leave the ground and it isn't about to go back down soon as the nine foot stride target seems to be closer than ever. Then you have the moment, that nanosecond of space. You don't know if your going to drop or just stay there, suspended in your own atmosphere, you pay no attention to the toddler, his object of fascination for the next week found. You slowly lower your leg as the moment has gone, a chrystal memory, that split second where you have nothing on your mind, you just enjoy.
And from this high, brings a low. The landing. You have been so absorbed with your run that looking down has not occurred to you and the stench of the rotting leaves has evaded your senses. The hoof, unable to find grip, scrabbles’ around, desperately trying to find a hold on the mass of the green-brown trap. As you start to register a problem the bock slips forward, the shin pressing up and the thigh down. You feel intense pressure then a sudden release. You are ok, until the pain hits, you cannot move, colour drained as you stay frozen. A break.
