men’s column
Jump off the ten once
© moodboard / Adobe Stock
Once in a lifetime you have to jump off the ten, the man thinks. Our author has climbed the ladder for the second time – and is now thinking one step further.
Standing on the brink of madness. Scrape my toes around the edge, breathing heavily. Below my idea felt right. Wrong on the last one, two, three rungs up in the sky. And up here: right wrong. If I have to choose between climbing down and jumping, do I descend now or later?
Was standing here before, that was 30 years ago. In the provinces it was still the days of shoulder pads, Walkman days, lick shell days. The bathing establishment rules then as now: don’t run, don’t look over the edge of the changing room and, above all, never, ever leave the 10-meter tower the same way you entered it. What can I say… an embarrassment worse than an erection in swim shorts. Coward they called me, the frivolous teenagers who had no idea about gravity. At this rate of fall, it is not a matter of course that you will still be wearing your shorts or skin on your bones when you reach the bottom. At 50 kilometers per hour when diving, the water surface turns to concrete, shotcrete, so to speak. One belly flop and you’re carrying your innards like a pile of laundry. Legs spread too wide and it’s the end of the penis. It’s not clear to everyone. but me. That’s why I miss the eggs before that.
will and ability
After all, I jumped from the seven and a half. Two and a half meters of courage are still missing. Feel the power of hope between rattling ribs. Want to jump, let go, give in to free fall. But wanting and being able are two plateaus separated by a deep crater.
The spectators below crane their necks. Upstairs, a teenager yells “Gasse!” and divides the multitude as Moses divided the sea. Then he starts running, the kid, he takes a run-up from the very back and sprints past his mind, past my doubts, only to bend the physics a second later with uncontrolled pirouettes. Short silence, long applause. Even the water splashes.
I’m on my way too. Feel a draft in your face, clenching like a clenched fist. Memories pass by on the way down. Moments of triumph in which I outgrew myself. What is courage, I ask myself as I appear below and feel the looks. I never thought I’d jump off the ten. And I was right.
Bjorn Krause doesn’t need a parachute on the way down. Hoodie and sunglasses would be good