My daughter comes from a short line of risk takers.
My philosophy has pretty well been why participate in a sport if there isn’t a really high percentage risk factor that you will break something. Or maybe kill yourself. Or get eaten. Like:
swimming with sharks
Sticking your hand in holes
jumping off cliffs
rappelling off cliffs
skiing down slopes that are obviously beyond your skilll level
or my favorite-going on a road trip with no map and only the vaguest idea of where you are going (like, oh Central America-ish)
and other dangerous crap I have forgotten.
So Lisi (who is a cop) tells me in that bye the bye manner of a person JUST LIKE ME that last weekend she went cliff diving.
You can break your neck doing stuff like that.
Did she check to see how deep it was?
Nope. It looked deep enough.
Other people were doing it.
It looked both scary AND fun. She forgot the break your neck and be a para/quadrplegic for the rest of your life part. It probably slipped her mind. If it had even CROSSED it.
Well, I know that feeling. I have it every day at work, when I trot out to see the new generation of Hannibal Lectors.
Rock on, Lisi. Enjoy it now because one day, it might possibly catch up with you. Or not. Depends. Then you will look at stuff, oh, say men’s gymnastics on the the rings and think to yourself “Man! That looks rough on a rotator cuff!” Or watch the girls go flying thru the air, only to whomp on the mat with their teeny tiny ankles and think “Man, that is going to hurt one day.”
Gravity and mortality.
Quite a heavy burden to drag around.
I think I need some Butterfingers to get me through this.
A great big box of them and I am going to hide them at work.
Because sometimes that is the only thing that helps.