Aplausos

Bullfighting is a metaphor for life. Its in the struggle, the beauty, the torment and excellence before the inevitable. On the yellow yellow sand of the bullring the torero only sees the bull, the beautiful creature he will do the dance of death with. He doesn't see or hear the crowd, doesn't absorb the adulation or jeers. He only thinks of the domain of the bull and the domain of the bullfighter. Like life, the outcome isn't pretty but sometimes the living of it is a thing to behold.#################################### Yesterday was one of those days. I wasn't ever gonna be a bullfighter. I was always gonna be ordinary. Yet yesterday, for an hour, everything was sublime. I wasn't hoisted on the shoulders of the crowd and whisked out the main gate, flowers and hats floating past on the breeze...but I won a race after being in the wilderness for such a long time. To be surrounded by such a welcoming team of friendly faces and fierce team-workers made it special. And the cuadrilla at home...friends and mentors and my coach seemed a huge part of it too.############################### Yesterday we clipped in and sped away into the domain of the bull. Moving ever closer to the creature that could make us or slay us. And it was beautiful, symmetric, controlled. Mick and Albert contained everyone's effort inside an infernal metronomic pace that became the creature's undoing. The bull charged and stood, charged and stood and in doing so wore itself out. Us toreros pressed home our advantage. A sublime day where everything went right.################### The last few movements played out quickly. Pressing on, the late last surge, an energy emptying effort from the beast behind and it was over. I planted my feet in the sand, dug in for grip and for less than a second myself and the beast were one as the sword went in and the creature went down. I had finished what everyone around me had begun, getting to the line first, getting the kill for the first time in six years. It felt beautiful covering my gold and purple cape in the sweat of effort, the dust of the ring. And better still the handshakes and messages from good people who'd stuck with me during the poor times.