Motocross Flash

Motocross.

         Black, moist soil lies in loamy heaps over what was once grass.  Blades of green advance in armies against the borders of the raw dirt and are ripped into the air by the claws of the beast beneath me.

Breathing is hard. 
         
         The air is moving by too fast; I can barely inhale before it is 100 yards behind me.  My arms burn.  My mind is reveling in adrenaline-inspired madness.  My eardrums vibrate with the roar of the race-tuned engine below me.  It snarls as we slide around another corner and sprays dirt twenty feet in the air behind us.
         
Nothing matters now. 
         
         Half an hour ago, everything mattered.  I had an uncertain future. I had a girlfriend who was confused and recanting her love for me.  I had a shitty job with shitty pay and too many expenses.  I had problems half an hour ago.
         
Now the problems are tangible.

         How fast do I go for the next leap, but I’m over it and touching down.  How hard to I brake for the corner, too late.  I’m through it and down the next straight.  I am practical, focused, decisive, supremely assured.  I am everything I wasn’t a half an hour ago. 
         
I can do things that humans can’t do.

I am faster, stronger, bolder. 

I defy gravity. 

I defy pain. 

I defy limits.
         
         I am carving a deeper wound into the ground every time I make another lap.  I am conquering.  I am floating, falling, smashing, straining, panting, sweating, alive.

More alive than life itself.