O'Brien Skate Park: I Love You, but My Muscles Don't

Like most males who came of age at the height of X-Games madness and Tony Hawk Pro Skater, I had a bit of a skateboarding phase.

But unlike most of them, I've only gotten serious about it in the last few years.

Despite the hours I spent throwing myself off of homemade ramps in my friends' driveways as a youth, I never visited an actual skatepark until I was well out of high school.

My wife and I bought a house in 2012. In the process of moving, I had rediscovered my skateboard.

I hopped on and tried to tap back into my muscle memory. I ollied a few times, popped some bonelesses. Tried a few shove-its. They were rusty, but they were there.

Then, I tried to tackle the trick that had always eluded me: the heelflip.

(Disclaimer: I never said I was very good)

A few attempts in, I decided that I wouldn't leave my garage until I landed one. It took an hour or so, but I finally got it.

That heelflip rekindled a fire in me. The next few weeks, I skated nearly everyday. I set up obstacles in my backyard. I practiced flip tricks on my patio. I drove through alleys and docking bays looking for great street spots.

Eventually, I was reminded that our city has a free skatepark: O'Brien.

After coaxing some friends to relive their misspent youth (and relieve my shyness), I made it out to the park.

Having never skated on any sort of bank or transition before, there was a serious learning curve. Everything I thought I knew about the physical laws that governed the universe were useless.

By the end of the first week, I had succeeded in dropping...on the smallest ramp in the park. Over the next few weeks, I was popping 180 bonelesses off of the top of the banks and slappy grinding on funboxes.

But my eyes were fixed on bigger things: the clover bowl.

As much as I loved watching the technical flip tricks that everyone loved in the early 2000s, my heart had always belonged to an older school of skateboarding. Namely, the Z-Boys and Bones Brigade.

Back in those days, skating wasn't about how many complete spins you could get out of your skateboard. It was about the freedom that came from riding your board up the side of a pool, and the steeze you could throw into it.

I might have been able to drop into the six-foot quarterpipe on the end of the park, but for whatever reason, the five-foot drop into the pool terrified me. I tried a few times—and promptly ate concrete.

It's said that skating is 99% mental. And that proved to be the case. The taste of the concrete was stronger than my desire to rip for a while.

I was completely psyched out. Winter came. I hadn't been able to overcome my fear of the bowl.

Over the long winter, I slaked my appetite with skate videos and THPS play throughs.

But it wasn't enough.

That spring, before the snow had even melted, I climbed the fence (punk rock!) with a snow shovel. I hopped into the bowl and cleared as much of the ice as I could. I familiarized myself with the feel of the bowl at low speed.

I'd take a running start from the flat of the five-foot section and roll up the eight-foot. I spend days just pumping back and forth, getting my body used to the angles.

And spoiler alert: my body was not used to it. If I was a younger man, I may have bounced back a little sooner. But as a twenty-seven year old, my two-hour sessions would end with as hot a bath as I could coax out of my water heater.

Ads for magnesium flakes and epsom salt started popping up on my Facebook ads. And I'd actually click for more.

But I persisted: chipping away at the ice and skating whatever free paths I could.

By the time the snow completely receded, I was ready.

I set my tail at the edge of the ramp. I stared down at the steep drop below me. If I stepped too far forward, I'd roll over my nose and eat the concrete. Too far back, and I'd land on my ass—or bash my crown against the ramp.

I took a deep breath and leaned forward.

I lived.

Even more, I kept going. Up the walls, around the corners, into the pockets. After a couple weeks, I had found a line that would allow me to cruise through the bowl as long as my endurance would allow me.

Three years later, I may not have progressed very much past carving figure-8s through the bowl. But honestly, that's all I've ever wanted. And having skated some other parks, both in town and overseas, O'Brien definitely has my heart.

Just keep the Magnesium flakes coming.