High Anxiety

I'm afraid to admit this in such a public forum, but I'm scared of heights. And mice. And needles.

The latter two have little negative effect; if anything, I benefit from them. Being afraid of rodents forces this bachelor to check beneath the couch for old pizza crusts, while my fear of needles guarantees I'll never become a heroin addict.

But it wasn't until recently that I made any strides regarding my anxiety near railings. Jumping off a 150-foot bridge will do that for you.

When I arrived in Queenstown, New Zealand in March of 2004, I had no intentions of defying death. But then my brother started running his mouth. Younger by eight years, Pat spent a year in New Zealand, continuing an enviable life of leisure.

During my ten-day visit we reminisced about typical sibling memories, i.e. who went to the better college, who had more friends, who was the better athlete (me, me, and me). We were having a lot of fun until Pat went and got all competitive, bragging how he had completed two of the highest bungee jumps in the country. You know, Pat, you were always better looking!

Thankfully, he kept smirking. My brother gets a look on his face that would prompt Mother Teresa to punch him in the nose within seconds of meeting him. I saw that smirk and I knew I'd be plunging to my death within 24 hours. But it'd be worth it.

How many bad decisions have been made due to misplaced machismo?

To say Pat was stunned would be like suggesting Senator Joe Lieberman has recently disappointed a few Democratic leaders. "Seriously?" my brother croaked.

"Oh, sure," I said casually, as if my lunch was not going through spin cycle in my stomach. "I mean, who comes to New Zealand and doesn't bungee?" On the flight over I'd read that AJ Hackett, the father of bungee jumping, is a Kiwi.

Pat's eyes got big. "Okay..." My chest swelled. That's right, li'l guy, your big brother's still got it.

As we stood on land at the edge of K-Bridge, a.k.a. Kawarau Bridge, a steel span 142 feet above a river and the world's first bungee site, the pride that had so recently expanded my chest vanished, replaced by a terror that crushed my lungs. My gonads retracted inside my body. We had to walk thirty yards to the middle of the bridge; I staggered forward on legs as sturdy as a newborn colt's.

For some reason, my brother and I had asked for extra long bungee cords so we could get our heads dunked in the freezing river below. Seemed like a good idea when the cute Kiwi girl was signing us up, but looking down from the bridge the thought of extra long did not act as mental Valium.

Pat went before me, his smirk, I was relieved to see, scared off his face. As he disappeared off the ledge it occurred to me that if he died during this stunt, our mom would blame me. Big brothers always get screwed like that.

He survived. I watched from the ledge as the employees in the boat down below reeled him in. I pumped my fist at him, as proud as I would have been had he just won gold at the Olympics. A tap on my leg shattered my Reidy reverie. "You're up, mate!"

In one last sick twist, the jumper, whose legs and feet are tightly bound, must hop to the very edge of the platform. Despite the conscious realization that I put myself in this position specifically for the purpose of jumping off the bridge, I could not make my body move accordingly; my brain instinctively sensed the awkward maneuver would send me plunging over the edge. At this point, I needed a hug from my mommy, not a shove in the back from a bungee employee. Unable to lift my feet off the ground, I managed to wiggle my way toward the platform extending a meter out from the bridge.

At the count of three I tried to leap, soar majestically into the endless blue before arcing gracefully toward the river. In my mind, anyway, I succeeded. Unfortunately, the videotape shows a guy who looks a lot like me falling pitifully like an old drunk off a curbside.

The rush is better than anyone can ever express; I know now why heroin addicts try futilely to recapture that initial surge. Plunging toward the water is entrancing, like staring at a campfire. The icy water shocked me from my daze. Not only had I survived, I was alive.

From the bank, I heard my brother cheering. I felt like I had just won a gold medal. "Wanna do it again?" he asked with a sincere smile.

I shook my head.

Let's get a beer and go find me some badass, needle-toting mice.

 

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