“She’s so hot,” I thought as I watched Kiki ride up to the quarter-pipe and land another backflip on her rollerblades. “How can I impress her?” My skate tricks were limited to street skating, and unfortunately, the park was all ramps.
But I had balls, and jumping off of shit was my forte. I could drop off of 5-foot ledges and big stair gaps. At 17 years old, my balls were bigger than my brains.
I climbed the ladder to the half-pipe and stood at the stop, trying to stop trembling. It was taller than anything I’d ever jumped off of.
I glanced at Kiki to make sure she was watching. Then I leaped, holding the board from the side. My friends and I called this trick a “suicide,” but I am still unsure of the correct term.
The plan was for my feet to land on the board, but my right knee took most of the impact instead. Everything went white and strength drained from my body.
Kiki was not impressed.
To my surprise, an X-ray revealed that nothing was broken, but my knee never fully healed. Doctors called my condition “Osgood-Schlatter’s Disease” in which my tibial tubercle, (the bony area just below the knee), is constantly inflamed.
I used to think that all injuries healed, but the 20-year-old wound proved otherwise. Since that day, my knee has been hyper-sensitive to pain upon the slightest touch, forcing me to wear pads when I skateboard, roller skate, ice skate, or snowboard.