Bungee Jumping

Some years ago I read about a bungee jumper who died because the organizers forgot to tie him onto the bungee cords. Not surprisingly, jumping off a bridge with just an elastic rope tied to my legs lost its appeal for me until years later when I felt the need to prove myself.

I was struggling to make a go of a craft business. Lack of funds and chronic inexperience were feeding self-doubts. All I could see were life's missed opportunities: the failure to excel at school, pitiful performances on the sporting field, a series of bad career moves. I would use bungee jumping to leap away from all the negative factors in my fife and into a new, confident, creative "me".

The idea of bungee jumping brought mixed responses from family and friends, from exhilaration at successful bungee, to "No way, never." I was repeatedly warned about possible damage to my back or eyes. But my mind was firm.

At a weekend gathering of women in Taupe, New Zealand, I found nine others who agreed to jump with me from the bungee platform over the Waikato River. We decided to do it that Saturday afternoon; I felt scared.

Somehow, on arrival, I was the first on the platform. The river was a long way down—47 meters to be precise—and my fear rose to terror. I was already crying as they tied the cords round my ankles. But, as the organizer of the jumping party—and another 15 women who'd come along to cheer us on—turning back was not an option I'd take.

I stood on the edge terrified, but sure that once I jumped it would be OK.

"1—2—3 bungee," the team called, and I jumped. What a mistake!

The sensation of falling headfirst through the air was horrific. I would have given anything to stop. My hands shot up to cover my eyes as I screamed like a banshee.