Desperate not to peer down at the 100-foot drop to the gorge below, I focused instead on the blue sky and open space surrounding me. Suspended in midair at the end of a metal thing called a carabiner, safety harness pinching my thighs, I spun gently in the warm early summer breeze. This wasn't what I imagined turning 40 would feel like.
It all started out with wanting to do something completely different for my birthday. This was a significant year, one that made me want to shout from the rooftops that I was ready for anything as I entered what I hoped would be my most confident decade yet. With my friend Joanne, I ran through a list of ideas ranging from spa days to dinner at a chichi restaurant to clay painting, yet none of them embodied the "ready to take on the world" vibe I was going for.
Then I remembered something I'd seen on TV. It was called ziplining.
What is ziplining?
Participants, attached to cables, flew through the air along a guide wire high above a river. They had to make a thrilling jump off a tall platform, but they arrived on the other side in one piece thanks to a network of safety lines. It was as close to flying as you could get without hang gliding or jumping out of a plane.
Despite my overwhelming fear of heights, ziplining was the first idea that excited me. Heck, it also terrified me. It was a perfect way to celebrate turning 40. I'd be able to run and scream and fly like a superhero -- just like any kid would want to do. And this kid hadn't been spending a lot of time in the playground lately.
Fueled by friends
Not that I wasn't happy. It was just that I was spending most of my life at my desk, staring at a computer screen. I considered shopping an aerobic activity. And the last time I tried something new it was because I had had a coupon for it.
Decision made, and not wanting to face this challenge alone, I invited more friends and family along. Eight of us signed up, and only two were males: Aden, my husband, and Dylan, one friend's 14-year-old son.
Extreme ziplining, like spies on a secret mission
When we arrived at Ontario's Elora Gorge I discovered that we had all signed up for an extreme zipline adventure: one that featured a 100-foot midair rappel down from the zipline. "Oh, but we just want to go across," I said. "We're in the wrong park for that," one of our guides replied. "Don't worry, we'll show you the ropes."
Instead of simply flying across the gorge in typical zipline fashion, we would stop halfway across and lower ourselves down from the guide wires on a single little rope -- all by ourselves -- like spies on a secret mission. Once down, the only way to do it again was by hiking all the way back up the cliff. Our team of guides assured us that after our training we'd be rappelling and ziplining pros, and ready to take on this solo task.
After you. And you. And you too.
Most of my so-called friends welcomed this apparently death-defying twist. After taking the crash course in rappelling, Dylan the teenager and his mother, Annie, were first to race across, hooting and hollering with excitement.
After I'd let lots of people -- including ones who weren't even in my group -- go ahead of me, I couldn't put my turn off any longer. "Launch off here," said Kevin, one of our guides, tapping his foot on a patch of earth that was next to a wide-open space.
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