I'm Official.

Hey ladies, gentlemen, and those of you who have yet to make up your minds -
I am sitting at the computer on a lovely Friday evening. Mac is in the kitchen, preparing for a braae. The delicious smell of garlic is snaking it's way through the house.
I can't write long, I just wanted to tell you the news. Basically, I'm amazing. Mom, don't read this.
I just got back from the World's Highest Bungee Bridge. Even on the first bounce, it is still higher than the second tallest bungee bridge. The facility has a pub - very advantageous. On the deck, you can watch people plunge straight down into the gorge. You can pay to jump off, or just take a walk along the side. I jumped.
First, I had to sit while these padded straps were wrapped around my ankles. I had to put my arms around these two (boisterous, hilarious, jibing) guys, and they helped me hop to the edge. They started to count down, and I bellowed - "No, wait!" "There is no time for waiting," they said, so I bent my knees and leaped into the air.
Before I felt the tension on the bungee, I was convinced that I would fall straight into the weak, muddy river below. My arms were out, like they might somehow help me fly instead of fall. I could feel the wind pounding at my cheeks, rushing into my ears and back out again. I stretched my feet, trying to find solid ground in the middle of the sky. It was only about a five second fall. But then, the bungee tightened and I was pulled back up again. I swung under the bridge, then flew up again. After a bit, the bouncing lessened and I was simply hanging upside-down from a concrete bridge.
A man in a hazard-red shirt belayed himself down to rescue me. He hooked my harness up to his, and slowly tipped me right side up. He told me his name was Spiderman, and I told him that mine was Grace. Actually, it was a rather enjoyable conversation, never mind the fact that we were hanging above an enormous ravine.
It was absolutely terrifying. Pee your pants terrifying. Cry to your mom terrifying. But I couldn't have gone back to the States without jumping, not when the bridge was right down the street.
Later, Chris, Mira, and I drove to The Mill - an artisan village, of sorts. There were Mohair goats grazing in the sun, and piles of scarves and blankets displayed in the nearby warehouse. Everyone recognized the number written on my hand - written by the guys at the bridge - and I immediately had this common ground with a group full of strangers. Even now, my chest is still wrapped up tight. I can still feel the ground fall out from under me, hear nothing but the wind in my head.
Oh, and when we were leaving, there was quite a commotion back at the harness-area. A group of about fifteen English guys in Adidas Speedos were getting suited up to jump. I can only imagine how cold they were, standing practically nekkid at the top of the bridge. Good luck to you guys, wherever your Speedo bums are.
(olive juice.)
P.S. Okay, Mom. You can start reading here. Love you.