Acrophobia

I have always suffered from a terrible fear of heights. It shows up in odd ways, For example, I worked several summers painting houses, and going up ladders, at least to a certain point, never bothered me. I think it was having something to hold on to that made it easier. But I was never able to work on scaffolding, or anywhere else where I had to walk along any height at all without a handrail. I remember when the handrail fell off of the log bridge that crossed the Rio Uruca in Matinilla. The bridge was only about 5 feet above the water, but I could barely get home.

Twenty of the 65 school children are off on adventure provided by AVANTI and LAN airlines. The idea is to give rural children a chance to experience air travel; I can't say 'm clear on why this is considered beneficial, but it is certainly exciting. But this means that about half of the foruth through seventh graders are not here. Yesterday, the teachers of those classes (both named Luis) decided to walk the children down to the train station as a kind of nature walk. I can't say I heard much nature discussed, but it was nice to get out, and it spared me having to teach anything in particular (except for taking the opportunity to teach one of the Luis that the Eucalyptus tree is native to Australia, not Ecuador).

Normally, when I walk down to the train station on my own, I take the dirt road that is wide enough for cars. It's quite the magnificent view, but it is certainly the long way down. Yesterday we took a short cut. Not the shortest cut, but definitely more direct than the road. This is where the acrophobia comes in. I can't recall ever feeling the creeping terror hit me when I was standing on the ground. But on this short cut, if you look out on the "downhill" side, you don't see anything other than empty space. It's like walking along the edge of a cliff. Actually, I think it may be a walk along the edge of a cliff. But there I was, surrounded by little children, and I have to be Dave when I am teaching, which requires a certain level of fearlessness. And so I walked down the shortcut, and later I walked back up again, doing my best to look as fearless as possible. Inside, the adrenalin was surging so hard that I could hardly move. I couldn't decide whether to throw up or just have a heart attack. But I made it in both direction without hesitation. A couple of kids even held my hands as we finished up on the road, because I seemed to be hiking along more strongly than they felt.

I wouldn't make too much of this experience. I don't think it proves you can do anything you set your mind to. There is a shorter cut that I never want to get on to, because I don't think I could handle anything even slightly more provoking than yesterday's trail. But I will say that my mood seemed to pick up quite a bit when we were done. Maybe we all need more adrenalin rush and less prozac.