The Crash Reel is a documentary about [former] pro snowboarder Kevin Pearce, who suffered a massive brain injury after an accident whilst training as an Olympic hopeful. It's a hugely emotional film about the journey up to and after the accident with accounts from his peers, fans, friends and family; but it's struck a cord with me on more than one level.
I'm an extreme sports fan. My primary hobbies are snowboarding and taekwon-do. I've taken my fair share of big hits in both and I'm aware that they're far from risk free activities. Some of the injuries I've suffered in my taekwon-do training have led me to seriously question whether or not it was sensible for me to continue. Same goes for snowboarding. But I love what I do and inevitably, I've found myself back into both TKD and snowboarding after every recovery period.
The bit that hit hardest about Kevin Pearce's story was that all throughout his long and arduous recovery, his primary concern was getting back on the board again. Shredding with his buddies was what he lived for, and he couldn't picture his life without it. To quote many an internet meme: "I know that feel, bro." Sadly, it hasn't worked out as Kevin had hoped. His brain injury has rendered him almost incapable of snowboarding - at least far, far from the level he used to ride at. Feel free to cry here folks. I definitely did.
My own breaks and bruises are completely inconsequential next to a traumatic brain injury, but that drive to keep doing what you love in spite of a far greater risk to yourself is a difficult subject to address. At one point in the film, Kevin's own father says that it sounds like he's talking about snowboarding as though it were an "addiction." As though his own son were incapable of realizing the seriousness of the situation.
I have a brother who is one of the best martial artists in the country. He frequently competes at a national and international level and will be competing in the World Championships this coming year. He loves what he does and it is utterly essential to him. He's a man at the top of his game.
This documentary made me think - what if it were my brother in the same situation as Kevin Pearce? One big hit and bam! no more competitions, no more sparring and no ability to train anymore. It's one thing to worry about my own safety when throwing myself down a slope, or stepping into the ring against a IVth Dan black belt, but what the hell would I say to my own brother if injury rendered him unable to train again? How would it make my family feel if it were him or myself in a situation where we could no longer do what we loved? I do know that I'd be a difficult guy to be around for sometime if it were either one of us, or any one of my friends who enjoy risk-heavy activities.
This raises the question then; why do it? You know the risks going in and yet you persist. The reason? I agree with Papa Pearce - it is an addiction. I would not be the person I am today were it not for my experiences with TKD and snowboarding. The feeling you get- poetry in motion, that perfect run, the bluebird skies and mountain air - that total focus that can only come from combat, training your body to perform incredible feats... the effect is narcotic. The more I ride and the more I train, the more I want to do it. And when you find those rare people who really get what you mean when you say that snowboarding is the path to nirvana, or why you think martial arts are absolutely fundamental, it's just so rewarding.
Popular opinion and the media label extreme sports practitioners as 'adrenaline junkies.' Truth be told, adrenaline is the last thing I'm looking for. Adrenaline makes it super-hard to focus and damned near impossible to get a grip on what it is I'm trying to achieve. I'm looking for those moments of utter focus. That feeling when time seems to slow down and everything just falls together. Flawless execution, perfect technique -- this is what it's all about. Thinking about it now has my heart racing, but when you find that feeling, it's a kind of calmness that nothing else can bring. Life in a single moment. And the complete explosion of joy and satisfaction upon achieving something new, testing your limits and then tearing through them... It's fucking incredible. Words really don't do it justice enough. You have to know it to understand it.
As a snowboard instructor, I see that feeling in people almost every day. 'Testing your limits' isn't just reserved for the guys throwing 1080s and double-corks, it can be managing to get down a hill on a snowboard without falling over. It's those little successes that build up to something so much more. It's inspirational for me to see, and I thrive on that moment when it clicks for someone!
Yes there are risks - but the chances of something going so drastically wrong are tiny. Your journey to success will be littered with trials - numbing repetition of the same trick or movements over and over and over again. You'll fall. You'll get hurt. But those aren't failures. Every second spent practicing is just a piece of the puzzle to your eventual glory.
Because trust me, when that moment comes around and you realise just why you put some much time and effort into that moment, it truly is glorious.
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