I love extreme sports. Always have and always will. I think it started when I was a child, when my family used to go to the waterpark. My big brother was always too scared to go on the waterslide, which I thought was just pathetic. I would have shown him how lame he was being, except that I was too short to ride the slide. We went back every month, and I would always hope that I’d grown tall enough to try it. Then, one day I was wearing a set of boxers with rubber ducks on them, which I called my lucky boxers. That day, it turned out I had grown just tall enough to ride. I had the absolute time of my life, while my brother watched on wondering how I could possibly be brave enough for it.
I’ve been doing all sorts of extreme activities ever since. Bungee jumping, skydiving, deep-ocean scuba diving. You name it, and I’ve either done it already or am planning on doing so. Lately, I’ve been going to an MMA gym around Brisbane, so I can learn to fight because that’s pretty extreme. Meanwhile, my brother is just reading books and doing other boring, non-dangerous stuff. Eventually, I’d like to work my way up to something even more extreme than MMA. I’m thinking that I’ll try to find a Muay Thai boxing gym in the Brisbane area. I’m open to other suggestions, though, if you know of anything even more extreme.
Mum is always worrying about me, saying these activities are far too dangerous. Of course, she wants to wrap me in cotton wool, just like Danny. Mum, I’m sixteen years old. I think I can take care of myself. I’ve only suffered 16 broken bones so far. What’s a few more? So, I think I’m going to stick with the extreme activities. They’re fun and give me a real thrill. And I know that I’ll be safe, so long as I wear my lucky boxers.