Fear 2.0

“Hey wife, I was contemplating excursions for our trip. We have plenty of nature activities, but I think our girls need a challenge. They’re getting soft.”

“Mean,” she says. “But fine. What do you suggest?”

“I think we need to take them ziplining…”

We give each other confident looks that retreat slightly in the moments that pass. We ponder individually if maybe we are the ones who are getting soft.

Should we conquer our fears? Young Chappy would have given a resounding “Hell Yeah!” to that question, right before jumping on a street luge and bombing a hill at 60mph. In peak testosterone days, I was indeed a little extreme. Without a fully developed dude brain, not even a fear of heights could stop me from skydiving, bungee jumping or cliff diving. In the time since, much has changed.

Blame the kids. They had to grow up and be awesome. Nowadays, death by extremeness feels a bit selfish. Just think of all the high quality parenting my children would be missing out on. Who’s going to remind them on every car ride to always brake in a straight line? If I’m not there to correct the comedic timing of their jokes, then who will?

We decided to take the girls ziplining in Costa Rica because, in our experience, growth isn’t exactly linear. We find ourselves at seasonal inflection points where a nudge is required. My rationalization being that they should do these things now, while their bodies are still compact, pliable, and quick to heal. 

After a casual day one in La Fortuna, observing local wildlife from a safe distance, we could all feel the energy change at breakfast. This was dubbed ‘extreme day’ after all. The vibe as I joined felt slightly tense. Mom was in the middle of delivering a pep talk to the little ladies. 

“Daddy, are you nervous about ziplining?” The younger child inquired.

“I think it will be a little scary, but we’ll all be fine. I’ve done this back in Birmingham a few times and it was very safe.”

“Here’s what I think we should do” chimed in the wife. “We’re gonna take our fear and put it in a box while we are on this ziplining adventure.’ She mimes fear removal from her own person, followed by placement into a small imaginary box.

“What does that even mean?” I replied.

“Hush. Ignore Daddy everyone and let’s put our fear in a box today. Put the box on the shelf and keep it in there until we are finished today...”

The drive to our ziplining excursion was like every other car ride in the mountains of Costa Rica, meaning we were already a bit wobbly upon arrival. 

A well-oiled process outfitted us in seemingly appropriate safety gear. I volunteered to wear the special GoPro-equipped helmet since my head is both physically and metaphorically the largest of the group. Snug in our harnesses and surrounded by a host of other Americans in less-than-peak physical condition, I felt somewhat reassured. Surely, if they process this many folks each day, it must be a pretty tight operation. 

Before boarding a gondola for our ascension to the starting point, those of us in line were given a live performance of the safety video. After Bluetoothing his phone to a portable speaker, a fit young local affixed himself to a short stretch of cable before us and acted along with the voiceover. We were given a visual of how to slow ourselves down when instructed to do so. I wonder aloud why we would need to be entrusted to do that ourselves.

Merely reaching the start proved to be a hair raising adventure. I’ve never enjoyed the visual of dangling from a single overhead cable. My youngest shares this sentiment. Once she looked up, the physics of how we dangled scrambled her brain. ‘I don’t like this at all!’ she squealed. 

Disembarkment should have brought relief, but I was immediately unsettled by the visual of how unbelievably high up we now were. Directly ahead was a huge crumbling plaster hand extending out beyond the edge. This registered from an online photo from the day before. Upon seeing this, my immediate thought had been “Wow. You will never get me out on something like that.”

Yet here I was. Nightmare scenario brought to life. The girls were initially hesitant, but ‘Come on, Dad, think of the photos!’ had me shuffling out onto this danger hand with the utmost caution. Despite some early optimism, I was beginning to have trust issues with Costa Rica’s version of OSHA. 

Zipline number one was, thankfully, a bit of a gimme. We went through the clip-in routine on stable ground before easy solo zips to the first elevated platform. There was little joy in completing this, however, because we had a full view of zipline number two. Billed as the fastest on the mountain, this length of cable was so unreal, my only thought was “what in the world have we gotten ourselves into?” 

An intrepid soul zipped away, immediately dropping out of view before reappearing to glide hundreds of feet above jungle tree tops. After an uncomfortably long time, they clear our valley and disappear through the next canopy at a ripping pace

While the ride certainly looks terrifying, what really starts to raise my blood pressure is the haphazard arrangement of tubes and boards we are standing on. Though everything is spraypainted a pleasing jungle green, there isn’t a trustworthy railing or lifeline anywhere to be found. It looked like the fort you and your buddies lashed together over a few days one summer. There was only one cable on this entire platform - the one which sends you screaming across that valley. 

In every previous experience, riders were shuffling carabiners from one lifeline to the next as we progressed along a series of railed zipline towers. You would never be unclipped. Today, there would be no such reassurance. 

If I wasn’t already panicking, the loading zone finally put me over the edge. Because that’s exactly where we would end up with one simple mistake. Anyone failing to achieve success on a tricky loading stool would fall victim to the downward slope of the platform. No safety net meant your momentum would take hold. The only question was whether a tiny untethered Costa Rican man would be sliding off the death plank with you.

There was absolutely zero chance of putting these feelings in my wife’s fear box. I’ve been scared much in life, but this reached a level unparalleled. It wasn’t just my stupid ass in a tight spot this time. I had a whole family up on this thing. The zipline only goes one direction. 

As we were summoned into the loading area, my youngest daughter, overladen with her one-size-fits-all accessories, stumbled  ever-so-slightly toward this immediate danger. She corrects herself without intervention, but a tsunami of anxiety has already upended my bloodstream. I am pegged. For the next hour, the only thing that mattered was the four of us surviving this ordeal. There will be no fun. Only the utmost caution.

When it came time, some unexplainable math paired my oldest and me together. As I tried playing it cool while repeatedly hitting my stupid goPro on the cable above, our brave sweet child recalled a cherished early moment where she, on her first-ever roller coaster, had asked us permission to scream with delight. A nervous laugh was shared before we were pushed into the great beyond.

I’m sure the view was great. I did not care to look. Once we really got going, my next concern was how the heck we were going to stop. In a fullhearted attempt to follow instructions, I was finding that my monkey arms wouldn’t allow me to assume the ideal geometry for flight. Until I saw the station ahead, I didn’t know if we were going too fast or too slow. Once we came out of the clearing, I tried a “manual brake” which was turning the handlebars sideways - using old fashioned steel on steel friction. This barely made a dent in our velocity. I put my legs out in a V-shape to airbrake, urging my partner to do the same. Still, we hit the station with enough force to take the air from us. A zipper behind arrives in such haste that her watch registers a car accident. 

Our next temporary home in a terrifyingly high place is no better. If the last one is known for speed, this has a reputation for stranding the occasional rider. We’ve been taught that all you have to do in these scenarios is spin around backwards, lean uncomfortably in the wrong direction and pull yourself along the cable. As my solo ride leaves this mountain-side canopy, once again crossing a stomach-dropping valley, I am met with full force crosswinds. My progress slows considerably as I point the wrong direction. I make it to the next station, but only just. In the wholly unsafe time before departing yet again, all three more compact family members pass along helpful tips on my form. 

As we continue to survive each section without incident, their collective confidence builds. Hoops and hollers reverberate off of the valley below. I see smiles, yet the casual nature only raises my alarm. We are still way up here with no seeming end in sight.

On the second to last run, we landed on what seemed like an old radio tower. Still over a hundred feet off the ground, our charge was to descend a spiral staircase down to the last clip-in station. The entire structure swayed to and fro as we patiently awaited our chance to zip down to terra firma.

They were all smiles after we finally landed and were able to shed our gear. 

“Y’all, I was absolutely terrified the entire time. Didn’t want to say anything, but that was a miserable two hours for your father.” 

“The GoPro footage should be fun though, right?” said the wife.

“Well, unfortunately sentimental footage was de-prioritized once I looked down the first time. I failed us all today as camera person.” We walked right past happy families pointing at screens and yelling “woah” as they played back their sweet ziplining footage.

I was fortunate to have a much needed massage scheduled after our return. A lady with magic hands got after it so well that I was a different man upon re-entering the spa’s relaxing man lounge. My wife had encouraged me to take my time while the three of them lounged in one of our resort’s many thermal springs. There in my robe, I was easing back into vacation mode with thoughts of a quick steam. 

Sipping on pineapple tea while taking in the spectacular view, I enjoyed a different perspective than the one on offer from our room. It’s a perfectly clear afternoon, so I have a rare unobstructed look at Arenal Volcano, which takes up the entire floor-to-ceiling window. I enjoyed a deep breath while beholding nature’s majesty. Thinking about what it must have been like sixteen years ago during the last eruption, I am stirred by movement on the western side of the rim. Steam slowly begins to rise up in great puffs from inside the volcano, spilling over and down the sides.

Whimsical Peruvian pipes do nothing to stem the rushing tide of anxiety that ruins every last bit of chill. I quickly unburden myself of the tiny tea cup, then ditch the robe. Within moments, I’m jogging away from the spa in search of my family.