The Leap of Faith
I was shaking, paralyzed in fear. The pole was damp, the ground was miles away,
and the bell was far. I forgot about the bell and only thought of the hard
ground.
It was late July of 2016. I was at
Camp Cormorant with Nick, Karson, Cade, Bennett, and Stevie. We all had signed
up for the ropes course. The first four days we did things like tight-rope
walking, zip-lining, and rock wall climbing. But this day, our last day, we were
to climb up a 40-foot pole and jump trying to hit a bell several feet away. That
day there was fog and moisture from the previous day of constant rain. The
mosquitoes were terrible, like every day, not leaving anyone with a second of
peace. It seemed pretty easy from the ground when we started to put our
harnesses on. That all changed when a counselor in the camp, who never had done
it before, was the first person to go. She started to slow down as she climbed
the staples on the pole. She then stopped at the last step, and started to
panic. After two minutes of her panic and our instructor talking her through it
on the ground, she began to get her balance. She got both of her feet on top of
the pole and then, unexpectedly, she began to cuss up a storm. After a minute of
her second panic attack, our counselor finally convinced her to jump. When she
returned to the tent to take her harness off, she looked like she just walked
away safe from a freak accident.
As more people tried, most had the same reaction. Few didn’t freak out when
they got to the top. One after another, they returned to the tent fazed; then,
it was finally my turn. I felt confident climbing up, but that confidence was
wearing away as I got higher. The wooden pole was full of moisture from all of
the rain the day before. When I reached the top step, I froze. I was consumed
with fear.
This part was the hardest of the climb. This was because: first, there was a
large distance between the last staple and the top of the pole where I had to
stretch my leg to get; second, the pole’s diameter was only large enough to
barely fit my two feet together; last, the pole was so high up that the top felt
like it was constantly shaking. Our ropes course counselor, Jeff, talked me
through it from the ground, saying, “Pick one spot on the ground to focus on and
stare it down while lifting your leg.” I followed his instructions and finally
got my balance on top of the pole. Jeff then said, ”Count to three and jump.” I
got to three and jumped, not even close to the bell (only one person got it). I
was flying, though, and I loved it. The rope didn’t catch until I was halfway
down with all the slack it had. I didn’t walk back to the tent fazed like most;
instead, I walked back with a strut in my step. I felt alive and cured of my
fear of heights.
I will always remember “The Leap of
Faith” because, before the pole, I was scared to death of heights. Today, I’m no
longer fazed by the sight of the ground from a high height. I now have nerves of
steel when it comes to heights.