Top of the world

I was laughing. Giggling really. Begging someone to take a picture ... to record this moment. But I had the camera in my back pocket, and I had retained the sense to leave it there even as I had let one inhibition slide.

Surely this wasn't the top of the world, but it might as well have been.

Maybe the air was thinner up here? No. Couldn’t be.

I must not have been thinking clearly.

My only excuse.

That had to be at the root of my current predicament. My brain had somehow detached from all of the synapses that should have kept me tethered to reality, or at least allowed my body to remain planted, cross-legged, in a comfortable chair, sipping lukewarm coffee, as I waited for the fun to be over.

This is, after all, in line with the established bylaws my constitution, which have been in place since the moment a person wearing a mask and latex held a pruny bundle of joy in front of my face and declared: “It’s a girl!”

It took me a while to snap out of it.

When I did return to my so-called self, I turned my head and realized I was maybe 40 feet taller than everyone around me. 

And the mantra I’ve repeated since birth in memoriam, MOMS DON’T PLAY — words that have kept me from literally following my children up jungle gyms and down slides — had failed me.

I shook my head hoping to clear it.

I had the sharp recollection of climbing hand over hand up the rock wall, carefully trying to stay as close to it as possible. Spreading out my weight in the hopes of cheating gravity.

Honestly, I didn’t think I’d make it half way; I had absolutely no inkling I’d climb right up to the bell-ringing tip-top.

But there I was, peering out over the pinnacle edges of engineered rock, slapping my hand silently at the rope’s anchor trying to make a celebratory sound.

Then I looked down ... and immediately realized the reasons why the professionals tell the amateurs to avoid that very thing:

Rapid heart rate? Check.

Vertigo? Check.

An overwhelming sense of terror? Check.

Inability to move any part of my body even a fraction of an inch? Check.

I was frozen in place, 40 feet up, waiting for someone in my entourage to capture this moment for posterity.

Which, with a shrug and a you-should-probably-come-down-now, my-neck-is-getting-tired, wasn’t going to happen.

Eventually, my senses returned, and I shifted the weight that needed to change to start my descent.

Slowly and steadily returning to the ground with a whisper-soft landing.

Oddly, that moment of realized safety was when the adrenaline finally surged and left me shaking.

I know why they call it "a rush."

In my case, it’s also knowing full and well that my kids, having not seen for themselves, would not believe that I had literally climbed a wall.

I’d have to do it again.