The Power of the Bungee

Bungee jumping is considered an extreme activity. Why, I don’t know. I think everyone should be secured to an elastic cord and then jump off a bridge.

Yes, bungee jumping involves throwing yourself into space many feet (in my case, 160 feet) over the earth. Yes, the only thing between you and a fast meeting with the grim reaper is essentially a rubber band on steroids. Yes, chances are good you are totally scared out of your mind even if you are 100% committed to doing it.

Letting Go

What is it about this experience that is worth saying I think everyone should do it? In my estimation, bungee jumping is the literal and metaphorical meaning of letting go.

Ready for the Jump

Rewind to the moment of “the jump”: I hand my husband my glasses and anything loose that is in my pockets. My seventeen-year-old daughter, who is also jumping, can barely contain herself. The two of us walk up onto the bridge where the jump will take place. I make a resolution to not look down. Not that I think looking down would paralyze me into not jumping, but I’m hoping that by not looking down, I might be able to actually swan dive off the bridge and look somewhat graceful going down.

The area is beautiful. The bridge, which was built specifically for bungee jumping, is located not too far from Whistler B.C. I don’t have to look down to appreciate the beauty around me. Lush, beautiful pine trees and mountains stand in stark relief against a powder blue sky. I can hear (but don’t look at) the river below me, the sound of powerful water moving over rocks unmistakable. The breeze that is blowing gently across the bridge smells sweet, untainted yet by civilization.

The Bridge

I didn’t think I would be too nervous (I’ve actually bungee jumped before) but as we walk up the bridge I can feel my pulse quicken and my breathing becomes shallow. WHY did I think this was a good idea? That’s right, I almost forgot, I promised my daughter that for her high school graduation I’d take her to jump off a bridge.

We come to the mid-span of the bridge where the jump will take place. There are five or six people up here obviously working. An irrational wave of relief washes over me – it isn’t just one bored guy up here drinking beer waiting to tie people to a rubber band and throw them off the bridge.

My daughter wants to go first and steps forward. A guy fits her into a harness that not only fastens at the waist but also has a chest strap. I start to feel even better. The equipment looks serious, not like something someone might have made from a few odds and ends from the hardware store. He then leads her over to the edge of the bridge, which has a hinged gate, and another guy is waiting there with what I am assuming is the bungee cord. It looks like a thick rope (maybe three inches in diameter) with a sheath over it. The second guy clips the cord to my daughter in key points of the harness with three locking clips, and then two other guys com over to double and triple check his work.

Watching this I feel better about the fact that my flesh and blood is about to jump off a bridge and that I’m going to follow right after her. One of the guys opens the gate and instructs my daughter to stand on the edge and to hang onto the railing on either side. He says he is going to count backwards from five and when he reaches one she just needs to take a dive off the bridge. As easy as that. My daughter is grinning ear to ear and when he reaches “one” in the countdown, she throws herself off the bridge without hesitation. I hear her scream as she plummets downward. Knowing her as well as I do I can ascertain that the scream is one of pure joy and not of terror.

I have to admit to a moment of panic when I see my kid disappear over the edge of the bridge. My maternal instinct kicked into high drive and I had to stop myself from wanting to run to the edge and rescue her.

Because of the stretchiness of the cord, we are instructed that we will probably bounce gently for several seconds before they bring us back up to the bridge. The mechanism with which they haul you back up looks primitive but I’m guessing it’s more than effective. When you’ve finished bouncing on the end of the bungee cord they lower you a rope with a clip on it that you then secure to your harness. The other end of the rope is attached to what looks like a small riding lawnmower that is up on the deck of the bridge. When you’re ready to be pulled back up, the lawnmower-like vehicle backs it’s way down the walkway of the bridge, pulling the rope and pulling you back up. I eventually see the top of my daughter’s head and she then pulls herself over the railing and onto the bridge.

She looks ecstatic and is bouncing up and down asking me if I’m ready. Of course I’m ready, I grumble, realizing again I’m more nervous than I thought I would be. So now it’s my turn. While I was waiting for Sarah to come back up, they put a harness on me, so I’m ready to go.

I step up to the edge and get connected to the cord. One of the guys who are checking to make sure it’s all connected properly makes some comment about how something here doesn’t look right and then pokes me in the ribs and says it’s just some “bungee humor”. Ha ha. I get the joke but don’t find it all that funny right at this moment.

The gate swings open and the only thing between me and the river 160 feet below is a bungee cord. I hang onto the rail and wonder if my fingers are leaving any marks in the metal. I fight the urge to look down, even though I know my chances of doing anything remotely graceful, like a swan dive, are diminishing by the minute. It’s amazing that even though I don’t look down, I can sense the huge amount of air underneath me. The animal part of my brain is trying to get my feet to back away from the ledge, but I stubbornly stay put. The countdown begins: five…the river is a long way down…four…there is no way in (many expletives here strung together) I’m letting go of this bridge…three…if I don’t let go, will I get my money back…two…if I don’t let go at the count of one, I probably WON’T let go…one…and without allowing myself to think about what I’m doing, I let go.

I hear myself screaming and it doesn’t sound like fear, anger, or joy. It sounds like the stress and anxiety of a lifetime pouring out of my mouth and dissolving in the wind. The fall must only be a couple of seconds at most but it seems like an eternity. I’m expecting a jarring jolt when I reach the end of the cord; it’s a pleasant surprise when all that happens is a gentle bounce.

Again, it’s probably only seconds, but I feel like I’m floating in mid-air and it’s timeless.

Bungee jumping, viewed from afar, looks much more brutal than it really is. When you see someone jump and get to the end of the bungee line it looks like a cartoon character being snapped on the end of a rubber band. You cringe at the sight because it looks like every joint and internal organ in the jumper’s body just got turned into scrambled eggs.

After bouncing around for what is probably less than a minute but feels longer, a rope snakes down from the bridge. I grab it and clip it in to my harness and get pulled back up to the railing. I feel like I’m in some television movie being dramatically rescued. Even though everything is the same as when I jumped off it, I don’t feel the same. I feel exhilaration and freedom for a moment of all the stresses that make up my day-to-day life.

Somehow I managed to let go of a bridge that signified safety and trust that jumping off that bridge would not lead me to harm. You can tell someone how to let go of things in their life that are holding them back; to literally let go brings a dimensionality to this lesson that I think has value. Now if only I can hang on to that sensation of standing on that ledge, scared, and then letting go for a little longer…