let the women on the course for a practice session in the afternoon, the burning only gets stronger. I’m not about to practice in front of an audience. If I try the 720, it will be a surprise to everyone, even Beck. I want to be the only one putting expectations on myself. No matter how many times I land a trick like that in practice, there’s always a chance it won’t come together at the moment I need it to.
When I wake up Saturday morning and make my way to the park, that fire inside of me hasn’t diminished. I want so badly to try a 720 at this competition, even if my rationale is flawed. Beck thought I should practice the trick at other parks besides Jay Beach, get comfortable with it before considering giving it a shot at a contest. He has faith I’ll be ready by the X Games, but now I don’t want that to be my first time revealing it to the world. Or attempting to reveal it. There will be enough pressure on me there as it is. And by then, if I do practice at other parks like Beck suggests, there could be buzz about it. I don’t want buzz. I want to shock myself and land this thing in front of an audience. And I want to shock the audience too.
For the first time in my life, I don’t want to be an unknown. I want to be a skateboarder people respect and look up to, and I want to deserve it on my own merits, not because I’m Beckett Steele’s girlfriend. I want to do something gutsy and maybe a little crazy.
As it turns out, it doesn’t really end up being a decision at all. It just kind of happens. Okay fine, 720s don’t kind of “just happen” by accident, but that deep burn to do it overcomes me to the point my body obeys whether my mind okays it or not.
One minute I’m doing my run as planned, and the next I see the vert in front of me and I’m going for a 720. It plays out quickly in my mind, and I know I must have been dreaming about it all night. Crouching low, I swoop up until I’m horizontal to the ground. My hand grasps my board as my body launches above the coping and into the air. There’s no opportunity for my mind to second-guess what the hell is going on because my body is operating of its own accord, spinning in the air. The movements are tight and confident, and before I know it, I’ve completed two cycles and gravity is pulling me back down.
There’s a brief flash of alarm – this is really happening – but I surrender. My head and its doubts and anxieties snap off and let my body control the next few seconds. The landing is smooth – the most solid of the handful of 720s I’ve stuck thus far – and the rest of my run is a haze. I nearly miss hearing the buzzer sound the end of the session. That could be because the crowd is cheering so loudly, but more likely it’s because I’m in a vacuum, all functions above my shoulders and neck checked out as I rely exclusively on the rest of my body to carry me through.
There aren’t any of my closest friends to high-five or hug when I dismount. However, the moment finally comes into focus when a few of the women I hung out with last night congratulate me in the way my friends would. It’s not quite the same, but I sense their excitement and wonder. A girl has landed a new trick at a competition for the first time. I’m not the first female to do a 720 but it’s never been completed in this particular setting, and there’s something special about that, even if it’s not necessarily making history.
My vision clears and my brain turns back on, acknowledging the electric buzz in the air. The charge hums through my veins, forcing me to accept that the energy from the people around me is a result of what I just did.
Well, I didn’t want to be an unknown anymore in the skateboarding world, and, as I let my eyes wander, it’s clear I’ve shattered that goal. This is exactly what I want to be recognized for, my skateboarding feats. A deep sense of pride washes over me. I’ve forced