"We're going to do a countdown and then you're going to jump," one of the attendants explained.
They were so nonchalant, while I had a hundred questions. I wanted to make sure I did everything right.
"What do I do? How do I jump? How long will I fall? Will I hit the water?"
Seventeen years later, it felt as though my shoes were nailed to the floor once again. I decided that jumping off a bridge was just too real. After all, I had just walked from the solid ground below that now seemed so far away. I didn't have the will to fling myself off a bridge. I tried to back away from the edge, to return to the safety of the rope-up area. I took a step back — directly into the jump-monitor, who firmly held his ground behind me.
As for my jump, I don't have any yams to show for it, but I can say it was the most exhilarating experience of my life. After plummeting from the bridge (and getting my head dunked in the Nanaimo River), I sprinted to the top of the stairs, ready for another free-fall.
Jennifer DuBois is Outside Online's managing editor. She says she can't wait for her next jump.
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