Fear on the Zip LineI have an outdoorsy husband and two children between the ages of 9 and 12. I want to be as cool as possible, of course, so I try to engage in lots of outdoor sports with them. But I come from the concrete jungle of Manhattan and, although I love spending time in nature, I wouldn’t consider myself the daring type. So why, in a moment of vacation-planning insanity, did I sign us up for the zip line on our recent vacation?

So why, in a moment of vacation-planning insanity, did I sign us up for the zip line on our recent vacation?

Several times a year we ski together in Colorado. We’d never been to that area in summertime, but we recently had an opportunity to take advantage of its warm-weather offerings. I signed us up for rafting, canoeing, fly fishing, and, yes, zip lining. I usually make sure that my adventures stay pretty tame, plus I developed a fear of heights after 9/11. (I still find it difficult walking out onto my 22nd-floor balcony.) So I really don’t know what I was thinking when I imagined that I would engage in an activity made up of cables, pulleys, and harnesses sending me flying alone over a vast canyon.

I look down at the 250-foot drop (the next five runs will be progressively higher, much higher) into cliffs and a stream. Under other circumstances, it would have been a beautiful scene in nature. To me in this moment, it looks like imminent death.

Let me start by saying that all the other activities wound up being great fun for my family and me. Then it came time to travel with a little group in an all-terrain vehicle through the mountainous roads to what turns out to be the first—the first!—of the zip line adventures. One of our guides travels down the line first. I watch him, panic rising in my throat. He descends, flips upside down, connected only by his harness, no hands. My fearless daughter is next, imitating the guide—flipping and turning as the canyon swims below her, hands flying loose in the air. My son displays a bit more caution: He also flips upside down, but holds onto the rope the whole way across.

I watch as five more kids, another adult, and then my husband each take a turn. Next and last is me. My heart beats with such force that I’m afraid it might burst through my chest. My palms are slick with sweat. How will I even be able to hold onto the rope? I look down at the 250-foot drop (the next five runs will be progressively higher, much higher) into cliffs and a stream. Under other circumstances, it would have been a beautiful scene in nature. To me in this moment, it looks like imminent death.

The guide hooks my clips up to the cable, then barely grazes the lock with his thumb to seal it. Like that’s going to make me feel more secure. All I can think about is the cable snapping, leaving my children motherless and my husband a widower. After 9/11 I learned to associate heights with death, an issue I try to work on when I have the chance, but do I really have to do it right now? I look wild-eyed at my guide and ask, “Is this safe?” A question I really should have asked before my children went across, don’t you think?

“I don’t think I can do this,” I say. Too late. My guide is holding me in starting position. We are in the middle of the mountains, and there’s nowhere to go but zipping like a madwoman across the canyon to the next canyon and then the next….

I had a choice that day: to cling to the fear or to have the courage to step away from it.

I look out at the horizon, take a deep breath, then look across at everyone else who has already made it safely across. “Well,” I say to myself, “they did it; so will I!” I keep up a little mantra in my head: I’m safe, it’s fun, I’m not going to freak out. Suddenly I realize I have let go of my guide and set sail across the canyon. I manage to glance down for a split second at the beautiful plush greenery below, and it feels okay. I even like it!

I am here to tell you that I made it across all six zip lines in the course!!

What sticks in my mind now is the mechanism of my fear, a paralyzing fear that took over my entire body. I’m pretty sure I was the only one of the group who felt so scared. Looking across the canyon at those who did not share the same experience helped me realize that I was allowing my fear to take the lead in this situation. I had a choice that day: to cling to the fear or to have the courage to step away from it. I stepped away from it, and I hope I’ve made it that much easier to do the same thing the next time I’m confronted with a similar fear.

Oh, and if you have a chance to go zip lining, do it!

Rose
Rose Caiola
Inspired. Rewired.

4 Comments

  • Chris
    Posted July 30, 2013 10:41 am 0Likes

    This past week I did the same in New Hampshire. When I was ‘paralyzed’ with fear but I took a true leap of faith and descended! I was sure it was impossible but after all I M POSSIBLE!
    Thanks for sharing! I surely related.

  • Holly Scott
    Posted August 1, 2013 9:52 am 0Likes

    Your article resonates with me on a couple levels – the conquering fear and the family experience.
    Now that our children are a little old for the group family vacations (22 and 17), we struggle to find things that will be not only fun for all of us, but will also provide a bonding experience.
    We went recently went zip lining in Whistler, BC. Just the 4 of us and our guide for about 4 hours. Unbelievable! We were able to share feelings of fear, excitement, and triumph with each other at the intermediary platforms. It was a wonderful day for all ages.

  • Michele Roberts
    Posted August 7, 2013 7:18 pm 0Likes

    Amazing!!! Your article has totally motivated me in so many ways. I’m ready to let go of my fears and take that step out onto the zip line. My boys have been trying to get me to go since June. I think my biggest fear is just letting go and not being in total control!

    I feel ready.

  • Fran
    Posted September 8, 2014 8:05 pm 0Likes

    I recently did the same but could not conquer my fear. I didn’t go and beat myself up for a week. I was stricken by my partner saying we would do it together…leaving me sitting there paralyzed!

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