Thrills

          Yesterday I did the zip line across Swamp Creek--over on one scary line and back on a scarier line.  It was bold.  It was daring.  When I reached the platform for the trip back across the creek (after a harrowing climb up a pole like a trapeze artist would ascend), I immediately sat down.  Brandon, the zip line king assisting zippers at the top told me to walk to the edge.
          "Oh, no!"  I said, firmly planted on my bottom.  "I can scoot to the edge of this platform, but there is no way I can summon the courage to walk out there."  So, as I had on my way over (where the platform was much more accessible and much more stable and much less scary), I sat for one final gulp of air before tightly closing my eyes and zipping into a fall that pitched my full weight onto a cable strung across the murky water.
          Today adults and kids alike are asking me if it was fun.  I tell them, "No.  It was not fun by my definition of fun, but it was a very important event for me."  I am afraid of heights, speed, murky water--plus, I'm elderly and everyone would have understood if I had declined this adventure.  So, why, you may ask, did I do this?
          Here's why.  Sometimes on TV I catch a glimpse of someone on a zip line (this is usually just long enough for me to change channels, but I always think, "Hmmmm, that looks like fun.  I think I'd like to do that someday.").  I guess I picured the zip alone, not the take off or the landing.  Just like with flying an airplane, these are the treacherous times.  But the deciding factor was I knew that forever after when I saw someone zipping on TV or I heard someone talking about their experience, I'd regret that I didn't really know what it felt like to soar that way.  Now I know..