Author – Trainr
It was a hot summer day and I was sitting on the roof of my apartment building with my mate, just relaxing and enjoying the sun and a few beers. The patio area was deserted apart from us two. My mate asked me how much money I had in my pocket. I rooted around in there, counted the change and told him that I had a grand total of 27p. He told me he had £1, suggested we pool our money and challenged me to a competition. The person who could kick their trainer and land it closest to the edge of the roof would win the whole pot. Sure, why not? There was a barrier around the edge of the roof to stop people falling off. It was made up from horizontal bars, but that should be enough to save my trainers. My mate went first. He was wearing some trashed Etnies Czar like a proper skater boy. He stood up from his chair, slid his foot slightly out from his trainer, reached his leg back and launched his trainer forwards. It would have been generous to have called his attempt pathetic. He got it about half way and gave a very justified embarrassed look as I laughed at him. He put it down do too much beer. My turn next. I was wearing my brand new white Nike TNs. I stood, put the toes of my right trainer on the heel of my left to help slide my foot out, then launched the TN across the patio. It was very near perfect shot and the trainer landed about 10cm from the edge. Feeling that I had won the competition, I wordlessly sat, smiled at my mate and beckoned him to take his next turn, looking forward to commiserating him on his failure. He stood up and composed himself. Standing with one socked foot, one foot with his trashed Czar. He looked at his target, licked his lips, slowly slid his foot from his trainer and launched it with some force. The Czar curved through the air, spinning as it did, then had a miraculous landing. It was perfect – the heel of the trainer on the floor, the toe on the lowest bar. One lace was curled up on the roof, then other dangling over the edge. He gave a bow, sat down and told me that I could at least hope for a draw. My competitive spirit rose in me. I stood, took off my TN and gave it a good luck kiss. My mate called me a weirdo, but I just flashed him a grin. I slid my TN back onto toes, lined myself up and launched it forwards. Time slowed as I watched my trainer spinning in the air, willing it to land as perfectly as my mate’s did. I couldn’t lose my honour to him. It felt like an eternity. I felt the tension in all my muscles. I don’t think I’ll ever know how I managed to get it so perfectly through the bars of the barrier. I’ll also never know what the lads on the ground thought when it started raining TNs from heaven because by the time I got to the barrier to look down they were running off and playing catch with it. My mate took the pot of money, gave me some entirely unconvincing words of sympathy and passed me a beer. And that is the story of how I lost a single Nike TN and 27p.