At a BBQ last night I told my friends about a recent trip to the fun fare. Last week I took all my co-workers to the fun fare after a meal at a Mongolian restaurant. You know, one of those “team building” evenings…
…It was a lovely evening. The food was delicious, the games at the fun fare fab and then I decided (I am the boss after all!) that we should go on the newest merry-go-round. It’s inspired by the Harry Potter movies, and hence gives you the feeling of flying on a broom stick.
We all boarded the ride. I giggled but had a strange feeling in my stomach. As the ride took off I remembered what it was. I’m scared of heights!!! And I ALWAYS forget!
So there I sat, strapped into a stupid piece of plastic, knowing I was about to die, telling myself to keep breathing and just prayed for the ride to end.
I got off and promised myself NEVER to go on a ride like it again.
The thing is though, as I told my friends at the BBQ last night, I do this over and over again. Forget that I will be scared, think it will just give me some butterflies in the stomach, and then nearly have a heart attack and cry.
The same happened whilst in Morocco recently. My friend and I went up the Atlas Mountains in a 4x4 wheel drive. I shat my pants. Nearly cried and forgot to breath. Yet I’ve done those kind of mountain trips soooo many times.
So the question arose last night: Why do I do it? Again and again?
My brother is convinced it’s because I have a severe death wish. Some of the others agreed. But I don’t. I really, really don’t. I think I’m just a very naïve person who wants to experience lots of different things in life. Come on people – you all know me… Why do I do it???
