REDBULL CLIFF DIVING WORLD SERIES

I arrive early, but the Boston Harbor is already abuzz with action. Cables streak through the docks; Red Bull employees load their energy-drink-shaped backpacks with Red Bull cans to hand out. The athletes warm up indoors, their managers typing furiously on laptops in the shade of the ICA’s overhang. Steaming coffee cups are brought out to warm hands in the first truly crisp morning after summer. I grab a spot at the dock before the crowd begins to pour in.

As the sun rises, the divers walk out to the diving boards to warm up. They’re tiny from my vantage point. The first one readies herself at the edge of the board, toes gripping empty space. She raises her arms and turns to stone, every muscle etched as she quiets her mind and body. The crowd hushes with her. Upturned faces squint. Seconds pass - then she leaps, twisting and flipping about a gyroscopic axis. Some gasp, but the silence holds until she slices through the water, leaving behind a splash of water that seems much too small. Whoops and expletives muttered in awe immediately follow.

Then the competition kicks into full flow. In Red Bull fashion, announcers and DJs keep the energy wired as divers hurl themselves off the building. Judges hold up their scores and the athletes overtake each other on the scoreboard, the crowd roaring in response. They compete through three rounds before the winner is crowned on the podium and champagne bottles sprayed.