Stretch first. Bend down, touch toes.
Stand up. Lean backward. He’s a few years past being able to go straight from toe-touches to a full backbend.
He takes the rope from his friend, puts his full weight on it. It holds. He takes a few steps back and runs forward.
He leaps past the flagpole, off the small drop. It can’t be more than three feet sloped, but it’s enough.
He swings out over the open space, arcing around the pole. He shouts with joy and understands the appeal of Tarzan, stripped of its colonialism, based on physics and the wind and that moment at the end of the swing where he’s suspended in midair.