Concrete.
Unforgiving, uncaring, undying.
Immovable, unstoppable.
Power overwhelming.

I gaze solemnly at the cold hard slop
Of artificial stone.
I look down at my legs,
Or lack thereof.
The steel wheels below,
My life giving supports.
My wheelchair.

I look back up at the ramp,
Then the onlooking crowd,
Then myself.
Someone whispers in my ear.
One minute ‘till showtime.

My throat tightens.
I’ve failed so many times before,
And now they expect me to ride up that concrete ramp,
And do a flip off of it?
It’s like someone tied a noose around my neck,
And then shoved me off a cliff.

My breathing is heavy.
My muscles tense and relax,
Over and over and over.
I can’t do this.
I’ll fail again.
Deep breaths.
In. Out. In. Out.
My heartbeat slows, and my breathing relaxes.
A little bit.
I can do this.
My friends and family
Are in that crowd.

But that concrete.
That cold, cold concrete.
A mental and physical road block.

No!
I’m doubting myself.
I can do this,
I have to do this.

A gunshot.
I hear someone yell, “GO!”.
My wheels start turning.
Faster, faster, faster.
That concrete ramp won’t stop me.

I can do this.
I have to do this.
I will do this.
I won’t ever give up.