Swing Jumping and Monkey-Bar Fighting
Monkey-bar fighting is a little bit different from regular bar fighting. Both involve their fair share of slugs and jostles, but usually one has less pool cue bashing and beer mug projectiles.
The other night I couldn’t sleep. It was partially because I seem to have mild insomnia, but also I couldn’t stop thinking about my childhood for some reason. I have no idea how I can remember some of this stuff or why it suddenly came to mind.
When I was in the second grade we used to monkey-bar fight at recess. Just like members of any other social structure, second graders have to earn their honor. At my school, being the last one hanging upside-down from the jungle gym, with your opponent lying tattered on the ground, was one way to do so. It sounds like little kids could really get hurt roughhousing until one of them falls from the top of the jungle gym, but the pebble gravel on our playground was possibly the most amazing material man has ever produced. You couldn’t get hurt on it no matter how high you fell from, regardless of whether or not you landed on your head.
An equally exhilarating recess pastime was swing jumping, although it was less violent and spectator-like. Swing jumping is a competitive sport in which the contenders leap from their swings at the peak of their ascent. The contender that soars the furthest though the air is the winner, although style points can be awarded for exceptionally impressive dismounts or landings. Again, the pebble gravel usually kept us from killing ourselves. To read more about this, check out my comment on The Art of Swing Jumping.
On a day that seemed like any other day, Scott Schoegger and I were walking though the play ground just shooting the breeze. He was one of my good buddies and we had been that way since we started grade school. As we walked by the swing set someone called out to me. It was Brandon Edwards. Rick Thurston was there as well. They were two more of the guys I hung out with.
“Hey Drew,” shouted Brandon (That is what they called me), “See if you can jump further than me today!”
“I doubt you’ve gotten any better since yesterday,” I yelled back. “Common Scott, let’s go jump.”
“Nah, I don’t really feel like it.”
“Common, we do this all the time.”
“Yeah, but I don’t think I really fit in with those guys.”
“What do you mean?”
“We’re just different.”
“What do you mean, common, I’m gonna go jump.”
“Nah, you go ahead. I think I want to be alone right now anyway.”
So I went.
To me nothing about Scott ever seemed to be particularly odd. All kids look funny in the second grade. I mean everybody’s head is so freakin big. I don’t know. Maybe it was in the way he walked. Maybe it was in the way he talked. But neither of these mannerisms seemed strange to me. I didn’t see any reason why they couldn’t all get along. I didn’t understand.
Bandon and Rick were my friends just like Scott was my friend. Why should I have had to stop hanging out with certain friends just because one didn’t get along with the others? And besides, I was the reigning champion swing jumper. What would they have thought if I denied their challenge? What would people have said? I had to go, right? That was what I was thinking.
After that day things between Scott and I were never really the same. We still said ‘Hi’ when we walked past each other, but having a conversation just became awkward. Throughout the rest of our careers as elementary school students we talked less and less, and after the fifth grade I never saw him again.
Today, I can’t help but wonder if that decision that I made in the second grade ultimately determined who I am today. Did I choose who I am? Does every trivial intermediary process I go through determine what kind of man I will be tomorrow, and in turn what kind of man I will be thirty years from tomorrow? And if I mess up is there no going back? It seems irrational to say that my identity is independent of the decisions I make. Such metaphysics would require a defined set of consequences to occur regardless of the preceding actions. Maybe I am not actually capable of making decisions at all. My identity makes my decisions. Then I cannot change unless it changes me.
A scorpion and a frog sit near a stream.
The scorpion asks the frog, “Would you give me a ride across the stream?”
The frog replies, “I can’t trust you! You’re a scorpion.”
“Sure you can,” says the scorpion.
The frog lets the scorpion jump on its back, and they set off to cross the stream. About halfway across, the scorpion stings the frog.
“Why’d you do that?” asks the frog. “Now we’re both gonna die.”
The scorpion answers, “I can’t help it, I’m a scorpion.”
The other night I couldn’t sleep. It was partially because I seem to have mild insomnia, but also I couldn’t stop thinking about my childhood for some reason. I have no idea how I can remember some of this stuff or why it suddenly came to mind.
When I was in the second grade we used to monkey-bar fight at recess. Just like members of any other social structure, second graders have to earn their honor. At my school, being the last one hanging upside-down from the jungle gym, with your opponent lying tattered on the ground, was one way to do so. It sounds like little kids could really get hurt roughhousing until one of them falls from the top of the jungle gym, but the pebble gravel on our playground was possibly the most amazing material man has ever produced. You couldn’t get hurt on it no matter how high you fell from, regardless of whether or not you landed on your head.
An equally exhilarating recess pastime was swing jumping, although it was less violent and spectator-like. Swing jumping is a competitive sport in which the contenders leap from their swings at the peak of their ascent. The contender that soars the furthest though the air is the winner, although style points can be awarded for exceptionally impressive dismounts or landings. Again, the pebble gravel usually kept us from killing ourselves. To read more about this, check out my comment on The Art of Swing Jumping.
On a day that seemed like any other day, Scott Schoegger and I were walking though the play ground just shooting the breeze. He was one of my good buddies and we had been that way since we started grade school. As we walked by the swing set someone called out to me. It was Brandon Edwards. Rick Thurston was there as well. They were two more of the guys I hung out with.
“Hey Drew,” shouted Brandon (That is what they called me), “See if you can jump further than me today!”
“I doubt you’ve gotten any better since yesterday,” I yelled back. “Common Scott, let’s go jump.”
“Nah, I don’t really feel like it.”
“Common, we do this all the time.”
“Yeah, but I don’t think I really fit in with those guys.”
“What do you mean?”
“We’re just different.”
“What do you mean, common, I’m gonna go jump.”
“Nah, you go ahead. I think I want to be alone right now anyway.”
So I went.
To me nothing about Scott ever seemed to be particularly odd. All kids look funny in the second grade. I mean everybody’s head is so freakin big. I don’t know. Maybe it was in the way he walked. Maybe it was in the way he talked. But neither of these mannerisms seemed strange to me. I didn’t see any reason why they couldn’t all get along. I didn’t understand.
Bandon and Rick were my friends just like Scott was my friend. Why should I have had to stop hanging out with certain friends just because one didn’t get along with the others? And besides, I was the reigning champion swing jumper. What would they have thought if I denied their challenge? What would people have said? I had to go, right? That was what I was thinking.
After that day things between Scott and I were never really the same. We still said ‘Hi’ when we walked past each other, but having a conversation just became awkward. Throughout the rest of our careers as elementary school students we talked less and less, and after the fifth grade I never saw him again.
Today, I can’t help but wonder if that decision that I made in the second grade ultimately determined who I am today. Did I choose who I am? Does every trivial intermediary process I go through determine what kind of man I will be tomorrow, and in turn what kind of man I will be thirty years from tomorrow? And if I mess up is there no going back? It seems irrational to say that my identity is independent of the decisions I make. Such metaphysics would require a defined set of consequences to occur regardless of the preceding actions. Maybe I am not actually capable of making decisions at all. My identity makes my decisions. Then I cannot change unless it changes me.
A scorpion and a frog sit near a stream.
The scorpion asks the frog, “Would you give me a ride across the stream?”
The frog replies, “I can’t trust you! You’re a scorpion.”
“Sure you can,” says the scorpion.
The frog lets the scorpion jump on its back, and they set off to cross the stream. About halfway across, the scorpion stings the frog.
“Why’d you do that?” asks the frog. “Now we’re both gonna die.”
The scorpion answers, “I can’t help it, I’m a scorpion.”
posted by brien at
10/04/2004 09:27:00 AM
3 Comments:
Finding a proper setting is the first and most important task for the aspiring swing jumper. Obviously you need a swing of some sort. Any swing will do really, although the longer distance from swing to the girder of the swing set, the more potential there is for distance. Like I mentioned, pebble gravel is the best surface, but soft sand works almost equally well. It seems like most surfaces these days are either mulch or rubber; both of these can be dangerous.
Working on technique is the next step. According to the laws of physics maximum projectile distance can be obtained from achieving a forty-five degree angle from the ground. So this is when you let go of the chains during your upward motion (We just found this out by trial and error in the second grade). Even though you let go at only forty-five degrees it’s important to get swinging much higher than this before you jump, that way you have built up speed. Be careful not to swing too high though. When the chains lose their slack the result is a powerful jerk and in extreme cases can result in flipping over backwards.
The easiest part is the landing. If it’s a sand or gravel surface just land on your feet with your legs slightly bent. Make sure your knees aren’t locked. On really high jumps you can get hurt pretty bad this way and possibly paralyzed. If the surface is something else, land on your toes then do a tuck and roll maneuver. Be careful with this one and practice it before you jump. Good luck.
By
brien, at 7:44 PM
Are you saying you are the scorpion?
By
Anonymous, at 1:13 PM
I am the frog because I have trusted others who have betrayed me. I am the scorpion because I am human, and in hurting others I have hurt myself. I think you will find there is a frog and a scorpion in all of us and our stream is time.
By
brien, at 12:51 AM
Post a Comment
<< Home