(Reading time: 2 mins)
I am what the title says I am, if I wasn’t then why would I say I am, in the paper, the news, everyday I am, I don’t know, it’s just the way I am.
Shoutout 90’s kids!
But yeah, the title. What can I say. It’s been a crazy 24 hours of quarantine, I’ll tell you that much. It started off quite lighthearted and giggley. It was funny, and we laughed a lot, but we had just jumped on. We were ascending. The cart was on the incline and we were ticking.
After a few calm razor strokes, Niamh then realized what she had actually been signed up for. I wasn’t offering my usual advice, looking in the mirror or checking the length. I was on board, she had willingly followed me, and the slow ticking had suddenly stopped. The only thing left to do was check that we were strapped in.
We hit that first bend hard with the 3-Guide, roughly 1cm in length, and I just wasn’t feeling it. It was less of a bend, and more a slight turn in the tracks. It didn’t do it for me. It was a little underwhelming, and just wasn’t living up to the expectations.
We started picking up some good speed after attaching the 2-Guide, about 6mm in length. We shot into a few sharp bends, an upside down loop surprised me and I could feel the hairs on my neck standing. There was a strange churning in my stomach. This was it. This was what we had signed up for.
The screaming, laughter, and razor strokes came crashing to a halt as the speed died. Hearts beating fast and panting, we tried to catch our breath and turned to each other still strapped tightly in our cart.
“I think that’s enough,” she whispered. My ears still buzzing from the razor and eyes stinging from the falling debris, I told her to stay calm. I grabbed her hand and squeezed the 1-Guide tight in her sweaty palm. There was still track ahead of us, and we were ascending again.
The initial sugar rush of excitement was leaving Niamh fast. She thought we had tackled the worst of it. But this time, the ticking was long and slow. The cart was heavy. The razor was deafening.
The energy Niamh entered the cart with had been replaced and warped by countless loopdeloops, barrel rolls, an ill-timed free-fall, and of course, G-force trauma to my head. (G for Guide – a layered joke for all you cool cats and kittens!)
We came through the last few corners at vomit-gurgling speeds. It seemed we were only a hair or two away from certain death at one stage. But the jig was up and we had over-stayed our welcome. You can have too much of a good thing, and we did.
The cart screeched up to the finish line with the final few juts shaking us back to reality. Niamh stepped off first, rubbing her eyes and taking deep calming breaths. “I’m fine,” she reassured herself, “I really am.” She headed towards the exit.
I swallowed hard against my weak stomach and it’s contents, and followed her.
As I emerged from the bathroom and turned the corner into the next room, I could see Niamh sitting low at the kitchen table. She raised her head from her trembling hands.
The weight of what had just happened painted clearly across her face, and t-shirt. Short spiky ginger hairs clung to her every tremor. She looked me dead in the eyes…
“Well that was an emotional rollercoaster, wasn’t it.”
obsession for progression 