Fear of Flying

I don’t know how or from where I got it, but I’ve had this mad desire to go bungee jumping for the past week. There is a spot close to San Jose – on a bridge 265 feet over a river – that is a world famous spot for bungee jumping. I made up my mind to go there this weekend and try my luck.

We reached the spot around 11 am, just in time to see a guy get strapped and stand on the narrow platform. He turned back and gave me a nervous smile, and I smiled back encouragingly. He stood for two minutes at the edge, shook his head, came back and sat down. All the while, his two friends (who were gonna jump next) were encouraging him in Spanish. I wandered around and took in the breathtaking view – lush green foliage all around, plunging into a narrow river strewn with huge boulders. Suddenly, I heard a shriek – the guy had jumped. We watched in amazement as he almost touched the river, shouting like mad all the while, and gently swayed below the bridge….there he’d be on one side, and then I’d run over to the other side of the bridge to catch a sight of him. When he came back, he was grinning like a Cheshire cat, all pumped up.

I was excited. What did that guy think as he stood on the platform, and how did he make the leap? I wanted to do this, I was gonna do this!

The second guy was cucumber kool. He’s gonna go down in a flash, without a sound – I thought. I was wrong. The moment he stood up, he started shaking his head, and after a few minutes of to-and-fro, he was back on the bridge, unstrapping his gear.

If you think too long, you’ll never jump ­– I told my companion knowledgeably, as if I’d done this all my life. I’d been chatting with the third guy, and he told me they were from Portugal. You jump? – he asked. I think so, though I’ll be shit scared – I answered. Im very scared too…the toughest part is getting yourself to make the jump. I’ve jumped from a parachute, but there was someone else who made the actual jump – I just followed him. Getting myself to jump will be tough. I nodded, mentally mapping out how I’d make the leap.

In the end, the third guy, the one who’d jumped from a parachute and who’d dragged his friends to do the bungee, couldn’t jump either.

I was next. I was cool, calm and confident, as I asked Charlie the instructor to repeat the instructions and tested out the clasp for the rope that I’d have to grasp for the return to the platform. I’d pumped myself up, and my strategy was clear – I wouldn’t look down. I’d look into the trees, stretch out my arms, and imagine that I was Jonathan Livingstone Seagull. Charlie says the women are better at this, remarked my Portuguese friend. I smiled back confidently – I wasn’t gonna prove Charlie wrong.

The moment I stood up on the platform, more than 250 feet above the river, I started blabbering, just as I’d seen the other guys do. I have to be crazy to be doing this, why am I doing this, etc. Initially, my knees were shaking, but after a few moments, I was steady. Move forward, your toes should be slightly outside the platform, commanded Charlie. Gingerly, holding the support to my left, I made my way forward. To gain confidence, I let go of the support and stretched out my arms horizontally. After a couple of minutes of nervousness, I managed to let go of the support, with my toes slightly outside the platform, and my arms stretched out. I was in position for the jump.

You’re good, now jump, said Charlie. I tried….but I just couldn’t. I closed my eyes, I thought all kinds of things to myself, I imagined myself dancing to music, but I just could not jump. I just couldn’t understand it. I was prepared for this, I had wanted to do it, I had thought about how I would do it, I wasn’t scared of death (the worst possible outcome) But the left side of my brain had sensed danger and completely taken over, and my feet appeared to be locked and glued to the spot. All the advice I had doled out to my predecessors was forgotten in a trice. I can’t do this, but I soo badly want to do this, can you push me Charlie? I asked in desperation. He wasn’t allowed to push me, but he stood behind me and gave me a countdown. Jump at zero, and he began, but the moment he’d reach two I’d ask him to start all over again.

I still believed I was gonna do it, but I think the Portuguese guys sensed otherwise. Adios, one of them called out to me, if you stand there too long you don’t make it, shouted another, echoing my thoughts of ten minutes ago.

In the end, I did not jump. As I stood there, my brain convinced me that it was not worth doing, that it was beautiful just standing on the platform with my arms stretched out (it was), what more joy could I get from jumping…the works. I still can’t believe it, for I had looked with a bit of contempt at the last two guys who did not jump. I will do it, I had told myself – I want to do it and I can do it.

But when you stand on the platform, you undergo a transformation. What I felt then can best be described as preparing to commit suicide – for that is what the 265-feet jump appears to be as you stand on the 18 inch strip of metal, the protective ropes notwithstanding. Had I been blindfolded, not known what I was going in for, I think I would have done it. Or if someone had pushed me, or if it was a situation of desperation, a last resort. But having had enough time to see what I was in for, my brain just did not let me release my defenses.

I had looked forward to the jump as a symbolic way of letting go of my fears and defenses. I tried ... but in the end, I didn’t have enough guts to leap out of my secure armor.

I still haven't given up though.