I swore I’d never do it. Ever. Under any amount of pressure.
It’s not the first time I’ve been wrong, and certainly won’t be the last.
When I said I wouldn’t ride Goliath at Six Flags, I meant it with every ounce of my being. But there I was, standing with my two kids, a close friend, and her two children in line for the coaster that holds THREE Guinness World records for speed, length and steepness of drop.
My friend’s soon-to-be six year old was having severe second thoughts the closer we drew to the loading dock.
“You know,” I offered, really selling my compassion, “I don’t mind taking him back down the stairs if you’d like.”
Nope. He wiped a lonely tear from his cheek and verbally confirmed his dedication to the ride.
Gulp.
We tried our best to get all six of us on the same train, but a single rider thwarted our calculations. Therefore, my friend and her son climbed into the third-row seat of coaster ahead of us. The moment his lap bar was lowered into place, all of his stored up bravery melted into full-blown, terrified tears.
“I can take him back down!” I hollered to my friend in desperation. But my offer was swallowed in the noisy announcer’s instructions to buckle in tightly and remain seated throughout the entire ride. My friend and her son were released by the attendant, and they made their way toward the exit line.
Ugh. The best I could hope for was that my own dear son would have a last minute change of heart.
Have I mentioned lately how ridiculously determined and brave my son is?!
And so I reverted back to Lamaze style breathing exercises as we ascended the massive climb.
Click. Click. Click. Click.
Breath in through the nooooooooooooose. Exhale slooooooooowly.
Click. Click. Click. Click.
“I am a strong, confident woman. I am a strong, confident woman.”
Click. Click. Click. Click.
“This is fun. I’m having fun.”
Click. Click. Click. Click.
I will NOT freak out. I will not freak out. I will not freak out.”
Click. Click. Click. Click.
“Lord, my life is in your hands.”
Click. Click. Click. Click. Silence…..
Drop.
Two seconds later… we’d reached the bottom of my long dreaded plunge.
That was it?!
“I did it! I did it! I did it!” Jackson screamed as we hurled around the corner.
He’s having fun! We’re having fun! I thought to myself— this time, for real.
We laughed, and we screamed our way around several more twists and turns. Then we high-fived each other as we came to a safe and slow return back into the station.
Two life lessons I was reminded of that day.
1. Goliath was not nearly as bad as I imagined.
For all that I had built the coaster up to be in my head, the ride was relatively smooth and painless. What a pointless waste of fear and anxiety!
2. Even victories take their toll.
Unbuckling from our seats, I looked over at Jackson, who had lost all color in his face and had developed a sudden look of post experience trauma. As we walked down the stairs on the other side, he clung to my side and buried his head under my arm. I was surprised to see new, hot tears rolling down his cheeks.
“I’m not ever doing that again!” he declared, with complete and utter certainty.
Me neither, buddy. Me neither.