ABOUT ME

I would do anything to get into the water, the snow, a rock face. It could be pelting hail, zero degrees, 70 knot wind. Sometimes storms or funnel clouds threatened, but it was always “relax, its far yet”. Sometimes we’d drive 6 hours for flat swells or snowless descents. My father and I missed big events; weddings, birthdays, exams. We’d wait 5 hours in murky water for 12 seconds of bliss. Cramped half-sleeping in the car, waiting for sunrise. You become consumed entirely. Submerged.

You’re sore, aching, everything hurts. Your extremities are numb, your ribs are bruised, you’ve inhaled lungful after lungful of sea water or snow. You’re afraid a set will come that’s too powerful to handle, afraid a current will pull you out, afraid of sharks, of hitting your head, of not gathering up your aching bones and coming in at the end of the day. You wake up to nerves, to a pounding head. Maybe your car is snowed-in, you can’t open the door and you’re engulfed by your own frosty clouds of breath. Your neck barely moves, your stomach is a pit. But you go back out, again and again and again. There’s something about it that’s addicting, it swallows you.

Other sports slowly took over. Free climbing. Sheer faces of rock, no rope, clinging on with careful footwork, shaky breath, a bit of chalk. Backcountry skiing. Biting windstorms, flurries, more grimy ice and crud than powder. Climbing up covered in heavy, pinching gear. No feeling in your toes, eyes wind burnt, trudging upwards for hours just for a 2 minute ride down. Hiking for days for a view that might be entirely clouded over, sleeping on rocky outcrops with only some peanut butter and crackers. Stunt flying, rolling little planes for a split second of thrill, jumping out, running off cliffs with a crinkly bit of parachute. Diving to see creatures you could easily see in a magazine, no oxygen, testing yourself. All of it is incredibly high risk. It’s your life on the line. It isn’t always pretty, you don’t take photos to show your friends, you don’t vlog it or post it in National Geographic. It’s a sliver of reward for heaps and heaps of work, risky work. You’re challenged to the very edge of your abilities. I know why I do it, but I wanted to discover why other people do. Life is delicate. I want to know how and why people get so submerged in a sport that it puts their life on the line for a handful of dopamine.