I’m not there to prove anything – I’m nearly fifty years old. I’ve got arthritis and a dud shoulder. But I can still maintain a bit of style. I slide down the long green walls into the bay to feel what I started out with, what I lost so quickly and for so long: the sweet momentum, the turning force underfoot, and those brief, rare moments of grace. I’m dancing, the way I saw blokes dance down the line forty years ago.
