I went to Costa Rica with no plans of zip lining even though my coworkers and friends painted it to be unicorns and rainbows. But my fear of falling drove my decision.
When I was little, I lived in a one-bedroom apartment with my family. I had recurring nightmares where I'd lean on the railing to look down and the fence would fall off, thus sending me on a two-story drop. Besides being terrified of hitting the floor and dying, I could not stand that feeling of weakness and breathlessness in my chest as I took the plunge. As with any nightmare, I always woke up before slamming onto the ground, gasping for air as my eyelids opened in the darkness.
That sensation in my chest has deterred me from participating in normal (roller coasters) and extreme (sky diving) activities. I can handle speed, like Space Mountain in Disneyland, but not Splash Mountain ever again. Zip lining is right up there with the no-no recreational pastimes for me. It's just that in order for a person to be able to swing from one standing post to another, there has to be some sort of kinetic energy (Wow, I just boggled myself for having used this term, a word I never thought I'd utter again after high school physics with Mr. Andersen. Proper usage of such vocabulary is besides the point here). I assumed that body weight and very high altitude created the speed needed to get across the wire. Thus my problem with zip lining. I could not fathom the idea of tolerating that free-falling sensation in my chest, that crazy need to fill my lungs with air, that desperation for control to stop the motion before hitting a tree.
But after I saw almost everyone's name on the sign-up sheet, fear of regret began to take over. First of all, I worried that I'd be the lame-o sitting around the lobby while everyone else lived. I'd never forgive myself when I saw how happy and satisfied everyone else would be when they returned. I could not put myself through that again. I had experienced disappointment in my own decisions one too many times, like not buying the over-priced shoes or clothes or sunglasses only to later hate myself for it. So I took the plunge (hehe) and jotted my name under "Zip lining" where backing out was not an option-- legal tender always motivates me to max out my money's worth.
 |
| Group pic. |
I was so nervous when we climbed up to the first line. To make matters worse, I was almost the last one. My plan had been to be number three but somehow or another, I ended up in the end. I paid close attention to the directions of the guides: hold on to the rope holding me up with my left, right index finger to thumb around the wire for quick access to the brakes, arm slightly behind me, ankles crossed, knees up. With my guts practicing a gymnastics routine inside my stomach, I stepped off the first platform.
 |
| I was not supposed to be coming in sideways. |
I did feel a little bit of that awful sensation in my chest through the first line but it wasn't as bad as I had anticipated. What was scarier was that I zipped sideways, something the guide had told us to avoid. I could not straighten out as much as I repositioned my body or pulled my legs up. But then, I could care less about coming in head-on. All I focused on was the tree ahead of me. I started braking but I did not seem to slow down. So I pressed my palm, where the braking pad was, firmer on the line but that glove was harder to control than a 3,000 pound vehicle. Unbeknownst to me, there was a large cylinder on the line above the platform that stopped us from crashing into the tree. I came to rest with a heavy thud and a guide pulled me in to safety. 1 down, 12 to go.
By the third line, I had started to enjoy the activity. I tried being mindful of the scenery, the forest below, and made it my goal to spot a monkey. But then my group got held back to accommodate a family who had a flight in a few hours. Having them cut ahead took at least fifteen minutes of waiting around 700 to 2,000 feet in the air on a platform held together by more wires drilled into the tree that swayed with the light wind. I expressed my loss of adrenaline to my peers and they felt the same way. Our fun had been interrupted.
Once we got going, I smiled again. Fear had dissipated for the most part and I even giggled when one of the guides started flirting with me. He asked my name and I provided it as I told him I was too old for him. He assured me he wasn't as I reassured him I was. So he said I could not be over 20, 22 max, and had I had a dollar on me, I would've handed it to him. At the next line, he asked me how old I thought he was and I said 15 or 16 but when he guaranteed he was legal, I changed my answer to 18. He claimed to recently have entered adulthood and that it was his first day on the job. Then he sent me off swinging.
I knew he was full of shit and only trying to scare me. Nevertheless, I enjoyed the rest of the lines until the clouds settled in at number 13, obscuring the 3,000 foot line way before the halfway point. Jackie and I were last, so a guide rode with each one of us 1) to create more weight to better the chances of getting across, and 2) so we wouldn't get stuck in the middle by ourselves. It was the craziest thing! We were told to lay back and wrap our legs around theirs. That meant we were looking up at the sky. Midway, the air was so thick I could see droplets floating like those you see from a plane when it's cutting through a cloud. It was then that I realized I was zipping through clouds! All I saw was white at that point and my eyelashes felt like they had snowflakes at the tips. My guide and I reached the landing first and Jackie and her partner got stuck feet from reaching the platform. Her partner pulled them in and that's how my first zip lining experience concluded.
As soon as we were done, I was ready to get back up again. Because I knew what it felt like, I wanted to fully enjoy the experience by giving into it completely with my five senses. I guess I'll have return.
