...That I'm Really Glad I Got THAT Out of My System

This morning, at the office.

I'd just opened my browser so I could log in to our web-based contact database when I saw the following headline: "Snapped bungee plunges tourist into African river!!!!" (exclamations mine, because that's how I heard it in my head -- blaring like some siren)

My stomach dropped. I knew immediately that the "river" in question was the Zambezi, those glorious churning rapids that split Zambia from its southern neighbor Zimbabwe and spill into the wonderous Victoria Falls.

I clicked on the link to the story and learned that a thrill-seeking Australian woman had taken a dive off the Victoria Falls bridge and -- to her horror (and the horror of everyone watching) -- plunged head first into the crocodile-infested waters of the Zambezi when the bungee cord to which she was tethered snapped. Thankfully -- and miraculously -- she survived with only minor injuries (a broken collerbone and some scrapes and bruises).

If you want to see the video, click here:

 

When I watched it, I seriously almost sh*t my pants. And then thanked my lucky freakin' stars that it wasn't me. Because it could have been.

Some of you may remember that I performed that selfsame jump a few years ago. Twice. Once in '07 and again in '08.

Here's some photographic evidence (from the '07 jump):

I've thought about this all day -- thought about how, the first time I jumped, I was too naive to be scared, and I leapt of that ledge like it was nothing more than the high-dive at Casey Swimming Pool (less, even -- I was always more scared jumping off the high-dive at Casey). And I thought about how it wasn't until afterwards that I started to shake.

I thought about how, the second time I jumped, I was shaking even before we got to the bridge, because the second time, I knew what there was to be afraid of. I thought about how, on the platform, they made me take off my shoes, and how, without them, it felt like the ground had given way before I'd even jumped and I was already falling. I thought about those awful tourists yelling at me, jabbing at the air with their fingers, as if they wanted some part in sending me off. I thought about how I gripped the railing, white-knuckled, and leaned back, thinking "I don't have to do this. I don't have to do this. I could just turn around right now."

And then I thought about how I did it anyway -- with infinitely less grace and exponentially more flailing than the first time around. But I did it. And I didn't die or even hurt myself.

I thought about how "it's not brave if you're not scared" (thank you, Don Roos), and that there's something to be said for hanging yourself out there in your stocking feet and just ... falling.

And then I thought about how I'm really, really, REALLY glad that I don't ever have to do it again.

:o)