somewhere in the barrage of DIY aphorisms I scrolled through waiting to board, there was something about stretching yourself. stretch! the word stuck in my head as I hunched, rocked and tapped my feet trying to get to vacation from my little coach seat. on the first day, i forgot the word. i rested. but, eager to not let another day go by without doing something really cool, i signed up for a canyoning tour the next day.
after being forced to drive myself on the highway about 20 minutes following a speeding van driven by the canyoning guides, i found myself with a small group of other tourists at the edge of the woods. we were putting on wetsuits, helmets, and whatever the name is of the belts you wear for rock climbing. the guides asked if we had questions, and when i saw the outfits, i really wanted to ask what canyoning was. but i didn't want them to be exhausted of me before we even started, so i held back.
they made us go up some long, steep stairs to get to the trail, whatever right. i tried to show off my training - like do you know sometimes i walked up the stairs at broadway junction just to show off? - but broke a sweat by the end and was a little embarassed. at the top we stopped to rest, and i was thinking this would be for sure a pseudo-adventure. like an activity heavily marketed as adventurous, but that anyone with a pulse and 35 euros could slag through for the instagram.
but what is canyoning?
a little bit after we rested, we continued to a bridge where the guides sat us down and starting explaining stuff about carabiners and asking if we had rappelled before. I wanted so badly to make a joke about girl scouts (that was actually 100% true) but I was the only american and i knew it wouldn't be cute to anyone if i had to follow up with an explanation of the proud tradition of girl scouting.
I started thinking about the soggy emergency contact form I filled out before and how I never gave anyone that detailed itinerary I promised...
"You look serious" the guides caught me in the middle of that thought.
Let's go! I thought. Ready as ever to defy mounting expectations and not be a crybaby.
We powered through some slippery terrain in our sneakers, and I used the side of my feet to edge down the steepest parts.
we got to a place where the river cut the rock face, making about a 20-foot drop off from the trail into the water.
Who wants to jump first? They explained.
Let's go - I thought. One other person volunteered first.
I'll go next! I said.
Then I looked down and my legs shook and I started asking a million questions about how deep the water is and how you can aim your arms and legs and head to not hit the surrounding rock. I wanted to badly to not be the loser, but my brain said stepping off a steep drop will kill you and no understanding of what it would be like to drop in a half second, plunk in deep water and float to the top could get through.
I imagined my stomach dropping as I was suspended midair for a terrifying minute full of regrets before hitting the water.
One by one I watched every other person in the group make the jump, one girl whose foot even appeared to slip of the ledge.
I was still terrified in a calm way, where I could stand right on the edge and pretend to jump without really pulling the trigger. I felt a fear I didn't know I had, that reminded me of nightmares and surprised me.
Only when they started fiddling with the ropes and threatened to make rappel down did I make the jump. setting up all that stuff would be super inefficient if I could get from point A to point B in one small step.
I heard myself hit the water and sink like stone I would try to skip across the surface of the lake as a child.
chit-chatting with another woman in the group at the edge of the woods, i heard myself say out loud, well that's what's fun about traveling, you always get new opportunities to stretch yourself you wouldn't have in your regular routine.