I wasn’t afraid of heights when I was a kid; it’s a condition that I seemed to have developed as I aged.
I remember a friend and I would paint houses to make some extra money when we were in our early 20s, and we would set up scaffolding towers that were sometimes as high as three storeys like we were monkeys.
We’d take each scaffold section in one hand and begin climbing the tower with the other and then, when we reached the top, we would put the sections in place and then brace them with crossbars before placing ladders horizontally along the scaffolding that we would stand in while painting.
We’d jump from section to section on the scaffolding with little or no fear of falling until we finished one side of the house, and then we’d dismantle the tower and set it up again on another side of the house.
I think many of us think we’re immortal somehow when we’re young and figure that getting seriously hurt or even dying only happens to other people.
But life experience brings changes in people’s attitudes and perceptions and, somewhere along the line, a fear of heights has become part of my psyche.
That became crystal clear to me some time ago when I was working with the daily newspaper in Nanaimo and my editor assigned me to cover the annual Naked Bungy for Mental Health fundraiser at WildPlay Nanaimo, located close to Nanaimo Airport.
It was considered a plum and fun assignment and I figured my editor was rewarding me for a series of in-depth stories that I had I written regarding some aspect of municipal politics that I can’t recall at this time.
I was delighted to spend a few hours outdoors on a nice day taking pictures of people taking it all off and bungy jumping to raise money to help people with mental-health issues.
My plan was to go to the top of the 150-foot high bridge from where the bungy jumpers leap and take some shots as they quickly descended and then sprung most of the way back up again.
But I knew there was a problem as I approached the steps to take me up to the top platform.
I was OK until I got about a third of the way up and then, looking around at my surroundings and the height I was at, I felt my legs start to give out from beneath me.
The people behind me thought I had developed a cramp or something, and I moved to the side to get my bearings so they could pass.
I managed to get up another 20 steps before my legs gave out again.
The top of the platform was still a long way off and the thought of reaching it and then walking along a fairly narrow platform that seemed to me to be miles in the air frightened me to the core.
I ended up crawling my way back down the steps and then had to call my editor to report, with a great deal of embarrassment I might add, what had happened.
Another (much younger) reporter was sent out and it was frustrating to see him run up the stairs to the top platform without any fear or discomfort at all.
Needless to say, I took a bit of needling from my colleagues when I got back to the newsroom.
The next time I went to WildPlay’s bungy zone was when a visiting nephew said he wanted to try it out and attempted to persuade me to do it with him.
I assured him there was no way I was going to jump, but I’d take him there so he could.
WildPlay makes videos of each jump that the customers can buy as a souvenir and when my nephew and I got home, we took a look at the video.
The most striking thing was the loud and panicked screaming that was taking place while he jumped and I laughed at him about it until it became clear that the screaming was actually unconsciously coming from me as I watched him jump while standing safely on the ground.
My nephew thought it was hilarious.
I guess my house-painting days are over.
