Un-cook Yourself by Nat's What I Reckon

Author:Nat's What I Reckon [Nat’s What I Reckon]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781760145415
Publisher: Penguin Random House Australia

SOMETIMES YOU STACK IT WHEN YOU’RE TRYING TO FIX IT

Some of my efforts to look after myself haven’t always gone to plan. I’m going to let it rip with a story about my motorbike. I used to hate going to the beach in my twenties, I dunno what it was, it seemed stressful and cold and altogether a huge punish. One day my girlfriend at the time suggested that we go to the beach. I was like, ‘Fuck that. I don’t wanna go to the beach’ – didn’t help that I’d put on shitloads of weight and didn’t feel like taking my clothes off in front of everyone. Still, I followed her to Clovelly.

When I jumped in the water, it felt like I’d discovered some kind of sunken city or something that no one else could see. It was fucken absolutely increds. I felt like all the bullshit I was dealing with had vanished for a second. I got out and was like, ‘Can we do that shit again?’ My girlfriend laughed at me, saying, ‘You’re a dickhead, I’ve been trying to get you to the beach for like five years!’ Thanks, Sage, you were right the whole time.

I became so obsessed with how good the ocean felt that I would go there on my motorcycle regardless of the weather, and while it was usually a happy routine, I of course found a way to fuck that up too. One particular day I decided to take a risk and wear no safety gear except a helmet, a pair of shorts and a singlet. Yeah, you know where I’m going with this, don’t ya?

I overtook someone when I was belting my way down the hill to the beach but as I was passing them, they fucken slammed into the side of me. I came flying off my motorcycle and slid down Clovelly Road on my fucken skin. Fuck, that hurt A LOT. I managed to push my Honda away from my body as the car hit me, so I wouldn’t end up getting squashed by my own bike, and I did a kind of baseball slide into the gutter at 60 kph, luckily without banging my bonce.

I got up off the hot road, covered in gravel and shit, and walked over to the bloke who had hit me. In shock, I tried to shake his hand and apologise, but he wouldn’t shake my hand – he just kept looking at the scrape on his door and his front bumper that had come loose.

As for me, I’d say the damage was a bit more serious. My bike was lying down in the gutter spilling oil everywhere, the gearshift had torn my running shoe in half, stabbed me through the foot and pulled some of my tendons out, which I could see hanging from the wound. Pretty gnarly. My leg and stomach hadn’t started to bleed yet but I could see a shitload of skin had come off and I remember thinking it had fucked some of my tatts up.

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