Ziplining through downtown,
Facing your fears could be the antidote against the doldrums of desk work. One writer finds a balance between routine and adventure by taking calculated risks and getting in touch with her inner daredevil
I didn’t intentionally set out to be a daredevil. I thrive sitting down, slumped in front of a computer, immersed in my freelance writing work. But, after too many days spent grounded in reality, I crave equilibrium. And nothing quite quenches that like taking to the sky.
That’s how I found myself soaring engineless on a sailplane (also known as a glider) over the sunny Great Lakes Gliding Club in Tottenham, Ont. — home of the world’s first sustained bird-like flight. I have special affinity to this little piece of aviation history. In 2010, a manned pedalpowered aircraft with flapping wings called an ornithopter launched laboriously right here in this airfield like an awkward, gaunt pterodactyl, or a balsa wood bird.
Like Todd Reichert who co-engineered and piloted this record-breaking airplane, I have a love of heights that I nourish on a much smaller scale.
I’ve nurtured this height habit for years — from hot air ballooning in an exotic terrain to joining an adult aerial circus for a day. As a freelancer, my life can be thoroughly unpredictable and physically soaring to new heights and taking calculated risks like bungee jumping is a way for me to simulate a sense of control over my fears of uncertainty.
“You have control,” said David Donaldson, my gliding instructor, as I steered our engineless aircraft at 1,500 metres.
It gave me a sense of joy to learn that he also instructed Reichert, the engineless aviation pioneer himself.
“I have control,” I answered back as per the communication protocol and took over that thermal column of air that was giving us lift, making our sailplane soar like we weren’t gravity’s business.
Back on the ground, I saw a tagteam of aviators take an aircraft like this apart, peeling off what looked like clear tape from the wing and fuselage. Next, off came the safety pins. The man leading the disassembly sensed my horror: I just flew in an unpowered aircraft held together by tape and safety pins.
“These are just to seal the gaps,” he said, assuring me, as another sailplane snuck up and landed behind us, rolling to a halt in our periphery. In its slick, single-wheeled way, it kissed the grass, sounding like crisp linen being smoothed down. While these gliders are safe and sturdy, their construction, mechanics and lightness give a thrilling impression of risk.
While it may seem that I’m fleeing that desk-bound writing life by going on these adventures, I’m actually fuelling it. Flying is a way for me to experience magic in my everyday life — and without an engine in a glider, even more so.
A small crowd chanted ‘Do it’ or ‘Jump’ — orders easy to shout while safely on ground level
Two weeks later, I would again find myself bird-like in Toronto’s Harbourfront, zipping down on a wire strung up in the air over the temporary Pan Am Celebration Centre. The 200-metre zipline landed me on a six-storey scaffolding. I was given the option of walking back down like a sucker or doing a 18-metre adrenalin jump: a quick free-fall that decelerates as the belay harness lowers you to the ground.
A small crowd that had gathered below began chanting “Do it” or “Jump” or other orders that are so easy to shout while safely at ground level. While I have jumped the highest bungee point in the world before (Macau Tower in China), this measly six-storey drop had strangely gripped me with fear. From that short a height, it felt like there would be no time to calm down and brace for landing. So, I did one of the braver things I’ve done in my daredevil life: admitted my fear and asked the Tree Trekking staff to push me.
“No,” was the matter-of-fact answer and “no” was what I needed to hear. In all the crazy adventures I’ve done in the past, fear had never needed an invitation and I’ve always had to push myself. That 18-metre plunge, like soaring 1,500 metres in the air, was just another invitation to take control. I looked down and pictured myself falling, the harness like a ballast keeping me steady and delivering the equilibrium I crave.
We face tough decisions frequently. Despite my fears, I chose the struggle of the freelance life and the quiet of a day job. Standing from the scaffolding, it was decision time again and I’ve learned from past choices that it’s OK to have fears, that it may be best to swallow them and just scream all the way down. And so I did.