Upside Down in Costa Rica
She exhibited zero hesitation. Walking confidently up to our guide, she followed his instructions and placed her gloved hands on the cable and lifted herself up as much as she could. She’s eight, and required a boost from the guide, but he got her clipped in. And just as fast, she was upside down, legs bent and ankles crossed, like an inverted floating guru.
“Uno! Dos! Tres!” the guide shouted, and then he pushed her off the platform. Her shriek was the sound of pure, uninhibited delight mixed with surprise, and she glided through Costa Rica’s rich jungle canopy. Her flight caused the cable to sing through the trees like the electric buzz of live power lines, but deeper.
As she made her way to the next platform, she released her grip from the ropes between her legs, dangling her arms over her head, fingertips reaching down to the jungle floor far below. Her face was plastered in ultimate joy, mouth open in a gaping smile, holding nothing back, in the way that kids do. My 8-year-old daughter was absolutely crushing it, and I was surprised by her verve, she is usually one to sit back and assess situations before going all out. This was a new H I hadn’t really seen yet.
Personally, I was terrified to do the zip line upside down. Not because I’m afraid of heights, but due to a fear of getting dizzy. I’m middle-aged now, and my body doesn’t work the way it used to. Standing in line, I was conflicted — do I just do it? I watched the tourists in front of me; literally everyone was choosing to ride upside down.
As I reeled in this absurd inner conflict, I remembered that time I took H swimming and wanted to show her how cool I was. “Watch me do this underwater somersault!” I said this to her like I was a kid again, excited about my gymnastics abilities. I dunked my head and began my spin. Midway through, it felt like an anvil had replaced my head, making it heavy and bulky, and I couldn’t tell which way was up. In a small panic, I whipped myself around, surfaced, and felt my brain swimming like I had just inhaled a whippet.
“Are you ok?” H asked, worried.
I stared down at the water, which was also swimming and not helping me clear this vertigo. Was I going to pass out? I thought. I didn’t. “Whoa! I’m fine, I just got a little dizzy. Last time I do that!” I said, hopefully sounding cheery.
The guide broke my reverie; I was next up. “Upside down?” he said in his Spanish accent, beaming at me. I smiled hesitantly, and pulled myself up on the cable with two gloved hands, just as instructed. Ugh — don’t pass out, don’t pass out, I kept chanting to myself.
I did the zip line upside down. I did not pass out.
“That was fun!” I shouted down to H as I was unclipped from the cable and got my footing on the platform. She beamed up at me, validating my choice to just go for it. And in that tiny moment, a spark of pride ignited between us — she was proud that her mom did something exciting and seemingly dangerous; I was proud that she encouraged it out of me.
