Off A Bridge

I never had any desire to bungee jump.  Not once in my life.  Apart from the illogicality of jumping into midair suspended by what amounts to a bunch of hairbands, it looked painful, a hellish chiropractic adjustment of sorts.  Not for me, nope.  As I edged my way down the coast of South Africa though, I landed in Natures Valley, home of the world’s highest bungee bridge and mecca for daredevils from all over the world.  I heard their chatter, saw their photos, even watched their videos.  But still, huh-uh.  Didn’t even occur to me that it may be something I’d enjoy.  Until that is, I met a young Austrian named Selena.

Selena and I got to know one other when we did a day hike through Tsitsikamma National Park.  I came to know her a little and respect her a lot.  She is creative and intuitive, and was refreshing company.  She was also a big fan of bungee, and was the first to crack my armor against such risky shenanigans.  It was when I woke up wide-eyed in the middle of the night that I realized for the first time I was actually beginning to consider this ridiculous prospect.  We agreed not to make a plan or even talk about it, but to decide spontaneously when and if the time felt right.

Then suddenly the time felt right.  Terrifying, but right.  The weather was perfectly sunny and hot, and I could hardly eat.  It was as if my body knew before the rest of me that I was going to do this, despite my better judgment.  I think on some level I wanted a reset, to rattle my perspective, to see what I was capable of.  Over coffee with another friend Nienke, it was somehow understood that today was the day, and I suddenly found myself arranging transportation and booking our jumps.  This was happening.

The drive there was blessedly brief and super beautiful: I couldn’t have chosen a more picturesque place to leap to my destiny.  We brought snacks and some water, subtle assurance that we’d live to eat again.  After signing the waiver releasing the company of any responsibility for our lives, our weights were tattooed on our hands in big fat permanent marker.  In the company of my cellulite-less European friends, I felt emboldened: if I could flaunt that I could do anything.  We donned our safety harnesses and headed towards our fates. 

When we arrived to the platform, I was as astonished as my friends when my excitement suddenly trumped my nerves; prior to arriving, I was the least certain among us, the most wound up.  A DJ blasted bust-a-move music while the staff danced, a delightful choreography of ropes and pulleys and carabiners.  I found myself dancing along, cheering for those who went before me, encouraging my brave girls who first encouraged me to be there in the first place.  Before I knew it, I was up.

It’s a strange feeling to have your ankles tied together by strangers hundreds of meters above the earth as Rhianna blasts your eardrums and your self respect.  I kept my frontal lobe and her perfectly sound reasoning skills in a tight vice: this was not the time for logic.  I’d like to say I spent a few moments taking it all in, considering eternity, saying prayers, or anything even a little profound.  But the truth is, I spent a hot second dangling my American toes over the edge, chirped some expletives, and then put these big ol’ legs to use and took a flying leap.  

I soared.  For a few of those last seconds of free fall I felt abject terror: my poor brain didn’t know what hit her when she came back online, and I can see it in my video: my arms suddenly flail, desperate for something to hold onto.  I recovered as soon as I hit the bounce, basking in my unusually inverted view and the sheer joy of being fully alive.  It was elation, and relief, and an endorphin high unlike any I’ve ever felt.  I was hauled up by a cheeky fellow called Superman, equally endowed with moxy, rope skills, and shiny gold teeth.  Our reunion was sweet as the girls and I celebrated our courage and our survival.  Feeling quite full of myself, my ears perked up a few minutes later when someone mentioned a naked bungee in New Zealand.  I may just have to cross that bridge when I come to it.