You might be surprised to learn that I am afraid of heights. Yes, I have someone else get on my roof to put up Christmas lights, or destroy the wasp nests hanging under the eaves. Surprisingly, I can look out my 6th floor office with windows that go to the floor. I wasn't ever sure why I had this phobia, but today it all came back to me.
Many years ago, as a boy, I was skiing at what was then called Park City West in Salt Lake City. My brother Mike and I were riding the Iron Horse chair lift. This was back in the day when the chairlift consisted of a 2-seater, with a center pole dividing the 2 riders, and a wrap around "guardrail" about 4 inches off the seat. That's all there was. No protective arm coming down to lock you into place; no foot rest. The Iron Horse was a mile long, and just before you get to the top, it crossed a massively wide valley, which couldn't support a lift pole. So, right as we were traveling over the widest part of the valley, and suspended hundreds of feet off the snowy ground, the lift abruptly stops. For those of you non-skiers, let me explain to you the laws of physics about what happens at that precise moment: the chair you are riding on stops and starts bouncing up and down, because your supporting stability poles are far away. At that moment, as the 4x2 foot slab called a chair bounced down and up, Kirt did not stay cemented to the seat. I thought it was going to bounce me off the chair, and I grabbed the center pole as fast as I could. (Even as I am retelling this event, my blood pressure is raising.) Luckily, Mike talked me down off the chair once it got going again and we had to disembark. Note: "Acrophobia can be dangerous, as sufferers can experience a panic attack in a high place and become too agitated to get themselves down safely." Wikipedia
So, today when we went to Solitude Ski Resort in Utah, Lorrie and I had a wonderful day. . . until the Apex chair lift. Mid-afternoon, we skied up to it, and Lorrie's pole got stuck in the fencing for a second and so she didn't make it on the chair with me. I suddenly realized that I wasn't on some high speed chair with safety rail and foot rest. No, I was sitting on the vintage 1970's era chair with a 4 inch rail around it and a pole in the middle. I was fine until I realized the steep grade we were climbing. And then as I passed one of the support poles, I looked up and to my sudden fear, I didn't see another support pole for what seemed to be 1/2 mile. In between, I would be passing over a valley with the snowy floor what seemed to be about 15 building stories, at least. At that moment (and for the next seemingly endless period of time until I reached the top) the panic attack described above came in full force upon me. I couldn't look down, or I knew I would pass out. I couldn't look up to where I was traveling, because that looked endless as we climbed higher and higher. I couldn't look behind to where I had been, because that would show just how far up I was. I was stuck. All I could do was close my eyes and think of myself somewhere else. "There's no place like home. There's no place like home." Since Lorrie's mishap had caused the lift to slow down, I just knew someone would fall getting on the lift, and it would come to a bouncing, swinging stop just as I passed over the middle of the valley of death. I seriously was freaking out. I had a death grip on the fake side rail, and the other hand firmly planted on the back of the chair. I was frozen. As the end of the lift approached, I could barely peel my poles out from under my leg, because I couldn't even lift my leg. As I landed safely on ground, I didn't even want to take any steep ski runs for fear of how high up I might think I was. I did settle down, and even took some more runs on ski lifts. But I have no shame in telling you that I did not, and never will ride on Apex Chair Lift again. Now, can someone help me prune my trees so I don't have to get on a step ladder?
Many years ago, as a boy, I was skiing at what was then called Park City West in Salt Lake City. My brother Mike and I were riding the Iron Horse chair lift. This was back in the day when the chairlift consisted of a 2-seater, with a center pole dividing the 2 riders, and a wrap around "guardrail" about 4 inches off the seat. That's all there was. No protective arm coming down to lock you into place; no foot rest. The Iron Horse was a mile long, and just before you get to the top, it crossed a massively wide valley, which couldn't support a lift pole. So, right as we were traveling over the widest part of the valley, and suspended hundreds of feet off the snowy ground, the lift abruptly stops. For those of you non-skiers, let me explain to you the laws of physics about what happens at that precise moment: the chair you are riding on stops and starts bouncing up and down, because your supporting stability poles are far away. At that moment, as the 4x2 foot slab called a chair bounced down and up, Kirt did not stay cemented to the seat. I thought it was going to bounce me off the chair, and I grabbed the center pole as fast as I could. (Even as I am retelling this event, my blood pressure is raising.) Luckily, Mike talked me down off the chair once it got going again and we had to disembark. Note: "Acrophobia can be dangerous, as sufferers can experience a panic attack in a high place and become too agitated to get themselves down safely." Wikipedia
So, today when we went to Solitude Ski Resort in Utah, Lorrie and I had a wonderful day. . . until the Apex chair lift. Mid-afternoon, we skied up to it, and Lorrie's pole got stuck in the fencing for a second and so she didn't make it on the chair with me. I suddenly realized that I wasn't on some high speed chair with safety rail and foot rest. No, I was sitting on the vintage 1970's era chair with a 4 inch rail around it and a pole in the middle. I was fine until I realized the steep grade we were climbing. And then as I passed one of the support poles, I looked up and to my sudden fear, I didn't see another support pole for what seemed to be 1/2 mile. In between, I would be passing over a valley with the snowy floor what seemed to be about 15 building stories, at least. At that moment (and for the next seemingly endless period of time until I reached the top) the panic attack described above came in full force upon me. I couldn't look down, or I knew I would pass out. I couldn't look up to where I was traveling, because that looked endless as we climbed higher and higher. I couldn't look behind to where I had been, because that would show just how far up I was. I was stuck. All I could do was close my eyes and think of myself somewhere else. "There's no place like home. There's no place like home." Since Lorrie's mishap had caused the lift to slow down, I just knew someone would fall getting on the lift, and it would come to a bouncing, swinging stop just as I passed over the middle of the valley of death. I seriously was freaking out. I had a death grip on the fake side rail, and the other hand firmly planted on the back of the chair. I was frozen. As the end of the lift approached, I could barely peel my poles out from under my leg, because I couldn't even lift my leg. As I landed safely on ground, I didn't even want to take any steep ski runs for fear of how high up I might think I was. I did settle down, and even took some more runs on ski lifts. But I have no shame in telling you that I did not, and never will ride on Apex Chair Lift again. Now, can someone help me prune my trees so I don't have to get on a step ladder?
3 comments:
Oh my goodness, reading this nearly gave me a panic attack! I hope Mom gave you a big hug for surviving.
No, there was no hug. She just laughed and laughed. Right over the Valley of Death, she was in the chair behind me and was asking how people skied over to the left up some mountain. I said, "I don't know," because I couldn't even look to where she was pointing.
This made me laugh
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