Physical Limitations
Prologue
It’s something I had heard all too often in my chosen profession. Two words used to describe a lack of progress. Normal ponies use it as an excuse for their inferior abilities. Physical limitations are in fact very real, but most will never truly reach them. Only the most skilled fliers know true limitation, and we constantly strive to overcome it. Many dismiss our abilities as natural talent, but normal ponies often overlook the hard work and sacrifice we put into our chosen path.
Growing up as a pegasus, my dream was to one day join the Wonderbolts. I had no idea at the time what a commitment that would turn out to be. Rigorous training schedule, constant travel, no personal time, and the inherent risk involved with aerial performances. I had been offered a position on their backup roster, but it would take years of perfecting certain moves before I could make it onto the real team. Needless to say, I gave up on my foalhood dream to join the prestigious flying team because I had found something I had more passion for. It also helped that I was immediately good at it.
High-speed proximity flying was the new flying style sweeping Equestria. Participants would fly within inches of objects, such as mountains and cliffs, at speeds easily exceeding 500 miles per hour. The control needed was almost immeasurable, as one mall mistake could mean certain death. The true experts of this new style could perform flips and rolls while coming insanely close to their intended targets. Their precision was earned through practice and experience, and it was definitely not earned easily.
Death was a very common occurrence in our line of work. You would be hard-pressed to find somepony in our sport that hadn’t had a brush with death. I have had plenty of ‘pucker moments’ in my three years of high-speed proximity flying, but I have become a better and more confident flier because of it. My most recent accident was a fairly minor one; it only resulted in four broken ribs and a severe concussion. The reality was that I was lucky to still be alive.
The high injury rate of our sport prompted so called flying ‘purists’ to dub our sport a gross bastardization of winged sport. Buck them, all they do is sit around all day on their clouds and argue about who is the best Wonderbolt. They probably even clop to pictures of Spitfire in the new Equestrian Illustrated swimsuit edition. Our talents are overlooked because our sport isn’t dubbed ‘mainstream’ but we still have an extremely loyal fan-base.
Some prominent fans of high-speed proximity flying include DJ Pon3, Fleetfoot, and princess Luna. Thousands turn out for large prox flying competitions, and every year, the national championship almost doubles in size. Many of the professionals in our sport have made a good living off of sponsorships and endorsement deals, but rookies to the sport struggle to make ends meet. It took me a whole year before I could even think about doing prox flying as a primary means of income.
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My childhood was filled with competition, whether it was in sanctioned sport or everyday situation. I was picked for every sports team, and would tend to win in individual events, as long as it didn’t require me to be the fastest. My large size also set me apart from the other Pegasi. I was easily half a head taller and 50 pounds heavier than the average pegasus, and it made me valuable in many team sports. I also loved to fly, but so did every other pony with wings and a flight-related cutie mark.
A problem I discovered early on was that my flying speed seemed limited by my larger size. My wings were actually proportionally smaller than that of most pegasi, and I even had to throw myself into aerial maneuvers much harder than everypony else to rotate at a comparable speed. My parents and coaches expressed skepticism and concern over my ‘physical limitations’, but I refused to accept it. Hard work, practice and dedication allowed me to mostly overcome my shortcomings, and actually helped me surpass all but the best pegasi in flying ability.
My first real job was right out of college, and required me to fly a minimum of 100 miles a day. 100 miles a day isn’t much if you aren’t carrying anything, but I was a courier tasked with delivering the oversized items the average mail ponies couldn’t carry. Even the lightest of loads could weigh a good 40 pounds, and would test my ability to navigate the skies in a somewhat smooth and safe manner.
The job was great, and paid me well, but I wanted to do something more exciting. I always had loved speed, but carrying heavy loads prevented me from really hauling flank on my deliveries. I requested a transfer to the first-class mail pony department, but they said I was more suited for ‘slower situations’. This really put me off, and I immediately started searching for a replacement profession.
Wonderbolts tryouts were actually my friend Cloud Kicker’s idea. It happened to be on one of my days off, so I decided to show up. The first thing that happened when I signed in was a certain ass of a pony tried to talk me out of trying out. He said I was too large to make it, and couldn’t possibly hope to keep up with the other prospects. I told him good luck and simply walked away, before my easily ignited temper flared up and forced itself upon his face in the form of a left hook.
Tryouts were fun, but not as fun as beating the asshole from before in a race. The look on his face was the most amazing thing I had ever seen. The only pony faster than myself was a mare by the name of Rainbow Dash, but she was also a shoe-in for the Wonderbolts, and everypony knew her presence at the tryout was simply a formality. Acrobatics were also her thing. I couldn’t say the same about myself. Flips and twists took a huge amount of effort on my part, but to give myself credit, I did perform a new trick they asked me to do on the first try.
A list was posted outside for secondary tryouts, which basically were interviews and background checks. To my delight, my name was third on the list, behind Rainbow Dash and the ass-clown from before. The interviews would be conducted the next day, so I headed home to go clean myself up and relax. On the way back, ass mcgee flew alongside me and waved. He was trying to get across the point that he thought I was simply wasting time beforehand. He wasn’t just a dick. He was also a tool. Thankfully he flew off, but not before uttering his name. He was Tom Foolington the 3rd.
The interviews went well, as most of the panel consisted of the Wonderbolts themselves. Many expressed a sort of wonder as to how I had made it so far, and it ended in a long discussion on physical limitations. My theory was that limitations tend to be mental, and many just quickly write their lack of success off as poor genetics, or something happening out of their control. I stopped before boring Soarin to death, and they told me I would be contacted shortly with their decision.
A couple days later, I received a letter detailing their excitement for my acceptance into their organization. I was to show up in two and a half weeks time for basic training and orientation. My dream had become a reality, but for some reason this didn’t excite me. I don’t want to sound ungrateful, but I didn’t think it was so great now that it happened for real. I guess I romanticized about it and built up expectations that couldn’t be matched by reality.
I didn’t mind working in a team, but I preferred individuality. I would always inadvertently find myself in the center of attention due to my size, so I naturally wanted to avoid angering any teammates. The best way to do this was to not be on a team. That is why prox flying was so appealing to me. I first heard of prox flying at ‘Bolts practice, as we called it. Two of my teammates were talking about a dangerous new form of flying, and it suddenly piqued my interest. Speed? Check. Danger? Check. Individuality? Check.
I resigned from the Wonderbolts that same week, and started training for my new dream.