This Is What Panic Looks Like

Last week, the husband I broke our five year streak of never having been to the beach together. 'Bout time too, because we had some serious "we are 14 years old again" fun. And we packed all that fun into a mere 48+ hours. We had big plans for those hours though. Our Virginia Beach itinerary looked like this:

1) Find and consume crab cakes (I might eat crab cakes every day if I could)
2) Find and consume copious amounts of crab legs (due to the fact that we spent more on one dinner than I did in one week in Nicaragua, I am trying to pretend this never happened)
3) Find and ride go-karts (I am a fairly agressive driver with what my father describes as a "lead foot." But apparently not in a go-kart. There were small children taking each and every opportunity to cut me off and/or lap me)
4) Find and walk the boardwalk (good people watching)
5) Find  miniature golf course and beat my husband  (accomplished for the first time ever!)
5) Find sun and increase deep golden bronze skin tone so as to enhance youthful glow (not actually his plan, just mine)

And then I got a curious little text message from a  friend who just happened to be headed to the same beach on the same dates. The message inquired as to whether I would be interested in parasailing with her.

Para what? 

Yes please. Sign me up.

Now remember, I don't like activities that scare me shameless or that raise the question of whether I will live, die, or get seriously injured.  After all, it did take me approximately 30 minutes to inch my way down a volcano.

Apparently, that experience quickly became a distant memory because I almost immediately began planning on partaking in this para whatever thing. My knowledge of the activity was minimal:  I knew that it involved floating above the ocean while suspended from a giant parachute or something. How one actually ascended into the air though?  That remained a mystery.

I would soon find out though.  Making our way to the dock that morning, I started to feel the first prick of nerves. I needed to keep them at bay though,  because I had managed to convince Adam, who hates heights, that this would be woohoo! fun.  Although he appeared not to believe that this would turn out to be true, he begrudgingly agreed that he would go. Such a good man.

I am all smiles until the moment we get on the boat and the captain and his buddy inform the three of us that we will be going first.

I don't do "first."

I do "wait and see if/how other people meet an untimely demise and then decide a course of action."

But seeing as how as the nice young man was at that very moment cocooning me into some sort of harness, attaching me to very scary looking cables and stuff, while simultaneously telling me that everything was going to be fine, there was very little to do but await my fate. 

That is when the panic set in. How exactly would  we ascend into the air? Would we be shot off the back of the boat like human cannonballs? Would a gust of wind blow us into the air? Would there be some sort of jet propulsion involved? Would our method of ascent involve me getting bloody and/or breaking something?

But why waste time describing my state of mind, when you can see it for yourself?

Because all of that was documented on film. And if you are in need of cheering up today, then really, look no further than this little series of photos. When finished, please believe this is one of the coolest things I have ever done, despite what my face is telling you.