The anticipation in the air was so thick you could cut it with a knife.  The butterflies soared.  The tourists watched as we climbed the stairs, after just having signed our lives away.

We reached the top of the stairs and were greeted by three college-aged “dudes” who sat slouched in their chairs.  Overlooking Fremont Street, the tourists looked up at us, pulling out their cameras for what was to come.  Confidently, as always, he held my hand and winked, “It’s okay baby girl.”  The dudes, who I couldn’t believe we were about to trust with our lives, walked us over to a contraption on the ground of what looked like tie-downs for hauling an ATV.

“Put your feet through those holes,” the dude said.  He pulled up the straps around my body, tightening them until I realized my thighs weren’t quite toned enough to be wearing something so tight with such unforgiving leggings.

Both suited up and cinched in, we held hands again for the few short steps that led to an even higher platform where the zip lines above ran parallel to the street below.  Not knowing if the college dude was joking or not, I felt a little embarrassed when he asked, “Dude, do you guys, like, wanna hold hands while you go down?” “Can we really?!” I asked excitedly.  “Uhhhh, no.  You can’t do that.”

Guess he was joking.

“Let’s just do this,” I said.

Locking into one last carabiner that would soon hold my body weight, I leaped off the ledge and let out a girly squeal.  Spinning around I brushed the hair out of my eyes just in time to see John take the same leap, whooping and hollering, giving the tourists below quite a show.

And just like that we soared.  35 miles an hour we soared through the air side by side, kicking our feet, spinning around and around, and laughing and smiling at each other all the way into what is now one of my favorite memories.

Because sometimes, no matter how nervous you are, you just have to take the leap.

It could be better than you expected.