Over the Edge

We have a 12-foot deep skate bowl in Torquay. A giant polished concrete crater in the ground.

At 35 years young, I felt it was time to learn how to skate bowls. Together with a good friend, we kitted ourselves out in all the safety gear, new, bowl-worthy skateboards and embarked on the gnarly path to become concrete shred lords.

I had ridden a skateboard as a kid, but there were very few skateparks around in the 90s. At the time skateparks were considered hangouts for drug-addled degenerates. Mothers groups didn't meet at the skatepark for a picnic while their 3-year-olds cut laps on their scooters. Because of their scarcity and bad reputation I wasn't allowed to go to skateparks until I was in my late teens and I never developed the skills and confidence to ride big bowls.

As an adult, you don't bounce like you did when you were a kid, so progress is slower. I had to build the muscle memory and skill to drop in and carve almost from scratch, starting on the smallest ramps we could find.

As I stuck with the practice, over the course of about a year a few elements conspired to support my progress. In particular was meeting an ex-professional vert skateboarder who took me under his wing and helped me to skate with a bit of style, correct form and most importantly a safe approach to climbing increasingly large concrete walls.

With support and guidance, I was encouraged to consistently confront the edge of my comfort zone. Dropping into larger bowls, riding higher, beginning to carve the coping in bowls I had previously written off as impossible.

Each time I found myself at the edge of a new challenge, I learnt to feel the fear, then systematically work through a process of familiarising myself with the new terrain. I practised bailing out safely to my knees. I learnt to incrementally develop familiarity with the bowl by gradually building speed and height.

Before I reached my goal of dropping into the 12-foot deep end I had a series of mountain bike accidents, broken bones that seriously delayed my progress. But I had already exceeded what I previously believed I was capable of on a skateboard. Dropping into 8ft ramps, carving to within inches of the coping on the 12 footer.

While not exactly a concrete shred lord, I felt competent.

I'm grateful for my middle-aged skateboarding sojourn. I'm grateful for the people who supported the journey. Most of all I am grateful for the gift of learning to push myself over the edge in the face of fear, continually expanding my window of tolerance in the pursuit of what I love.