Everything
Mia
Ian’s standing at the edge of the ramp, ready to drop in, and I can see just how much the blood’s drained from his face, even from where I’m standing.
“Don’t be scared,” I mutter, my voice easily drowned out among the cheering crowd. “Just take it as it comes. Don’t be scared.”
The countdown timer comes up on the board, signaling that Ian can start whenever he’s ready, and he doesn’t waste any time. His front foot is on the board and he’s leaning in.
My heart is in my throat as he comes down the ramp and everything seems to be moving in slow motion as he comes to the bottom.
He’s looking good as he goes into the curve to the flat, but his head jerks quickly to one side and a moment later, he’s running out of it and my heart sinks.
“Oh, no,” I mutter.
It’s best two out of three, but I don’t know if he’s going to be able to get past running out on his first drop in of the competition. This could go very bad, very quick.
People are laughing, pointing. They may not know yet that he’s had trouble with this, but if he can’t get it together, they’re going to find out really quick.
I’m actually pretty tempted to leave after having endured him after a loss and not really being willing to put myself through such treatment again, but I can’t go. This is such a big thing for him.
It’s not until after Ian’s getting back up to the top of the ramp that I even realize Mike Onomato is here. It didn’t even click that he’s in this thing, though his absence wouldn’t make much sense.
I get a bit of a rush with the realization, but it’s no longer that school girl crush. Now, it’s more like how I felt when I saw Ryan Sheckler in Dunkin’ Donuts. That was crazy.
The rest of the first round seems to take hours, though it can’t be any more than fifteen minutes before Ian’s back up there, ready to try for a second run.
“You can do this, Ian,” I mutter, only now the crowd isn’t overpowering my voice.
I don’t care if anyone can hear me.
“Come on, Ian!” I shout. “You’ve got this!”
He’s still pale.
This isn’t good, but there is absolutely nothing I can do. It’s all up to him, and I know he’s not just going to quit before the last run is over.
He can’t.
I’m certain he’s going to stick with it, but when the countdown timer comes up, Ian hesitates. I don’t know how long he’s there with his board on the lip, but it’s long enough that I’m starting to push my way through the crowd, ready to meet up with him and get him out of here if he comes down the ramp the wrong way.
I don’t make it five feet though, before I see the front of Ian’s board angling downward and I stop to watch.
Seeing everyone else take their turn on the vert, the drop-in seems so inconsequential, but as Ian’s rolling down to start his second run, I’m holding my breath as every muscle in my body tenses.
He comes to the bottom and he stays with it.
I let out a quick cheer, but cut it short as people turn to look at me, wondering why I’m cheering for such a thing.
He comes up the other side with a 720 Japan air, and he lands it easily.
This is going to be big.
On the other side, he pulls a 540 semi flip to nosebone and I’m not entirely sure how, but he manages to revert the landing, keeping enough speed to 50-50 the other side.
Ten seconds left and Ian does a double kickflip sex change, just barely getting his hand on the board to position it before he lands, but it’s clean.
Now, with time for one, maybe two more ups, he busts out a 540 rodeo flip and lands with just enough time to make it up the other side and finish strong with a frontside noseblunt slide, and as he comes down, the buzzer sounds and the crowd goes absolutely crazy.
Me? I’m letting out my held breath, but this isn’t over. With his first vert run bringing him a zero, to stay in this, he’s going to have to make his final run just as solid, if not better than his second.
The score pops up and, as far as single runs go, he’s in the lead, but the zero score on his first run still has him sitting at the bottom of the pack.
Things get even more interesting when Mike Onomato takes his second run and just edges out Ian’s score.
He can’t just hit it hard; he’s going to have to give it everything.
“Hey,” someone says, tapping me on the shoulder.
I turn around to find Rob standing behind me, his gaze directed toward the ramp.
“He can take this thing,” Rob says, still not looking at me.
We’re about to find out.
Ian comes up and the countdown timer is barely up when he drops in without hassle to start his final run.
Right out of the chute, he’s pulling a 720 method air. He lands and comes up the other side with another 720, this time a stalefish, which he reverts on the landing.
“Watch this,” Rob says close to my ear.
Ian comes up the far side of the ramp, stalling in a blunt and kickflipping out of it. When he lands, I have to cover my ears.
He’s up the other side, but I don’t see what he pulls as Rob leans forward and says, “I taught him that on a halfpipe. Never thought the fucker would actually be crazy enough to try it on a vert ramp, especially being as green as he is.”
Yeah, it’s fascinating, sure, but I’m not here to listen to Rob brag.
I turn back in time to see the clock pass eight seconds, seven…
Ian hits the lip with a one-foot nose slide and I can hardly believe this is the same guy that kept falling on his face at the park back home.
Time runs out, but Ian manages to squeeze in a backside 180, 360 dolphin flip, and when his wheels hit the ramp and he skates out, his hands, my hands, and about two hundred other hands are in the air.
I missed one trick, but even without that, I can’t see Mike Onomato beating that score. The question’s going to be whether the average is going to be enough, and Ian’s got the whole field to skate before we’ll know if he’s won.
Ian’s score comes up and he takes the lead, but Mike Onomato is still right on his heels. There are a couple of other guys that might be a threat if they start pulling out 900s, but short of that, I think Ian’s only real competition is the man rolling in right now.
I hardly believe it when it happens, but it happens nonetheless: As Mike’s coming to the bottom of the drop-in, his board wavers beneath him and, finally going sideways entirely, Mike Onomato comes off the board.
There’s still the rest of the field to skate, but nobody’s a credible threat to Ian anymore and he knows it.
He climbs down the side of the ramp and I push my way through the crowd to meet him, though as I’m coming close, people crowd in around him.
Ian’s not having any of that, though, and he makes his way through to me.
“You did it!” I exclaim, putting my arms around him and kissing him on the lips. “Where did you learn to do all of that in the last two days?”
He throws his head back, laughing. “I didn’t,” he says. “I’ve done all that stuff in the park, just never on a full vert ramp. Once I got comfortable dropping in, the rest got a lot easier.”
“I’m just so proud of you,” I tell him.
“It’s not over yet,” he says, and he puts an arm around me as we watch the rest of the field take their turns, but nobody comes up to Ian’s score.
I’m beyond ecstatic; I can only imagine what Ian must be feeling right now.
It feels so weird that it’s already over, but that’s it. Ian’s got his sponsorship.
At least, that’s what we think.
The woman comes over the loudspeaker, and I pull Ian close as we wait for her to announce him as the winner, but she doesn’t.
“That was just a spectacular round on the vert ramp, ladies and gentlemen. Next up on the vert ramp, we’ve got the best trick competition,” the woman says and my blood turns cold.
“I forgot about best trick,” I tell Ian. “Tell me you’ve got something prepared.”
He doesn’t answer.
“It doesn’t matter,” I tell him. “You’re doing great out there. Just throw something down.”
“Yeah,” he says blankly.
“I mean, you get three tries, right?” I ask. “You just need one of them to—”
“One,” he says before kissing me on the forehead and heading back toward the ramp.
One?
Ian’s going to be the first to go, but the organizers are taking their sweet time calling a start to the trick competition.
I turn around and look for Rob. He’s back about where I was standing before I came forward to meet Ian, and I make my way back to Rob.
“What’s he going to do?” I ask.
“I totally forgot about the one-trick competition,” Rob says. “All I’ve been going over with him is vert shit.”
On his last two runs, Ian pulled at least a few tricks that would bring him a high score, but he can’t use any of them. He’s already done them in competition today and they always take off points for repeats.
There’s no timer this time.
Ian drops in successfully, so there’s a big chunk of worry out of the way, but he doesn’t look too confident coming up to the other side of the ramp.
Ian uses his launch to get more speed, and he comes back fast. One more speed/height launch and this next one is going to be it, whatever “it” is going to be.
He’s got great momentum coming to the jump and his wheels leave the ramp and he’s doing… I don’t know what he’s doing.
As soon as he’s airborne, Ian’s spinning and going for what looks like the beginnings of a nuclear grab, but the board comes away from his feet before his hand can replace it.
Although he’s in full spin, he manages to snatch his board out of the air, his back hand on his front truck and the spin slows drastically as he brings the board back to his feet, completing his second full rotation.
Now, all he has to do is land.
So much happens in the time it takes Ian to go that last couple of feet before he reaches the ramp.
His wheels come down hard on the downslope of the vert ramp and his knees bend as he goes from the vertical slope to the horizontal flat, clean.
This time, covering my ears doesn’t make the slightest perceptible difference.