Trekking up the iron steps,

Waiting in the queue,

My turn.

Heart beating against my chest,

Crouched on the brink,

Hands clenched tightly, knuckles white.

Knees knocking terribly,

Sat on the cold metal,

Calling out ‘are you watching?’

Leaning forwards,

Scrunching up the last bit of courage,

Pushing off.

Flying down,

Everything a blur of colour,

Slowing to a stop at the end.

Picking myself up and turning around,

Elated I gazed up,

Looking at the thing I had conquered.