Remember that time I jumped off a 30-foot pole and lived to tell about it?

No? You don’t remember that? Well, let me tell you about it. Last week, I had the amazing experience of completing a ropes course, sans the zipline. (I will Indiana Jones it on a zipline one day, mark my words. And yes, I just used Indiana Jones as a verb.) To be honest, this ropes course was a highlight of my life — for real — like in the Top Ten of highlights! The course was part of my opening retreat for Connect Class 14. It was a team building exercise, and I must say, I will never forget the people on my team.

The day was overcast with rain in the forecast. (Of course the rain waited till my group was on the climbing wall, naturally). My group had the pleasure of doing the “Leap of Faith” first. The “Leap of Faith” is a 30-foot, round pole similar to a utility pole. There were small staples we had to use to climb to the top. Once we reached the top, we had to climb onto the round base (which is teeny tiny) and then turn around on the base so we could jump off the pole and touch a rope dangling in mid-air. Of course, we were harnessed in for this and were never in any real danger, although I did ask if anyone had died doing it and was assured they had not. (whew…) The point of the jump was trust. My team members were the ones holding the ropes attached to my harness. I had to trust they were not going to let me fall to the ground if I lost my balance and slipped.

The thing is, I had no problem with the trust part. My problem was fear. And I don’t know where it came from. I love trying new things and having crazy experiences with fantastic stories to tell afterward. (And I especially love doing things to torment my mother when she reads about them on Twitter after the fact. Completely in a loving nature, of course.) I knew I was harnessed in, and I knew the staffers at the Space and Rocket Center were not going to let anything happen to me. So why the fear? Fear of the unknown? Fear of taking the leap? Fear of injury? I’ve tried to come up with a prolific reason for my fear, but I haven’t found one. All I know is that climbing and jumping off that pole was the most terrifying thing I can remember ever doing.

I volunteered to go fourth thinking it wasn’t enough time to chicken out, but it was enough time to see how other people did it. The first guy, Britt, flew up the pole at a record pace. He practically leaped to the top, turned around in one motion and jumped.

“OK,” I said to myself, “he made this look really easy and we both know it’s not going to be. But you can do this. You know you have this in you.” (Yes, I talk to myself out loud in public — often in the form of motivational speeches. It is what it is.)

When it was my turn, I started up the pole. Easy peasy. Even with the wind, I had no problems making it to the top. But then the pole started swaying. It was so high, it actually moved. And that’s when the fear overcame the excitement. Once I caught my breath, I hoisted my right foot onto the top of the pole. Then, I froze for what seemed like an hour. I had one foot on the top of the pole, both hands gripping tiny platform and one leg on the top staple. I stood there, perched like Captain Morgan, praying as if my life were truly on the line. I vaguely remember reciting Philippians 4:13 atop the pole. Actually, I think I was so terrified I just said “Philippians 4:13” and not the actual verse. I mean, God knows what it says, right? I knew the longer I stood there, the harder it would be for me to get that left leg to the top. The thing is, once that left leg came up, I had to let go with my hands and balance on top of a swaying pole. (See above photo.) And we all know my middle name is not “coordination.” (Said the girl who once broke her foot falling up the stairs.

As my team encouraged me below, I just kept thinking how I’d come too far to back down the pole, knowing if I didn’t try, I’d regret it. My new friend Mike yelled for me to do it on three, and I agreed. One… Two… Three… I pulled my left leg up and let go. I was unsteady, but I was up. As I began to turn around, I realized this part was more terrifying than getting both feet on the platform. Taking tiny baby steps to the left, I slowly turned until I was facing the dangling rope, and then Mike started counting again.

One… Two… Three… Nope, still there, balancing atop a utility pole. He counted again.

One… Two… Three… Nope, still there.

Then my new friend Christina yelled something about doing it for all the diabetics in the world and I laughed. Then I heard Mike counting again.

One… Two… Three… and I jumped.

I have no idea if I actually touched the rope, but I jumped off a 30-foot pole and lived to tell about it. Good enough for me.

The “leap of faith” indeed took a team. Not only did I need them to keep me alive, but I needed their encouragement. I could not have done that on my own without people shouting “you’ve got this; you’re so close” and “great job, just a little more.” (Enter life lesson about diabetes support here.) Turns out, a simple “you can do this” really does go a long way. Yay for Kim for making YCDT tangible.

**Major thanks to Christina for letting me borrow her sneakers and for telling me to do it wearing my pump. I initially took it off after I was harnessed in, but she saw me disconnect and asked, “why did you take your pancreas off? If you’re going to do this, do it as yourself.” — BTW, she has a friend with type 1, hence her calling it a pancreas. Love her. — So I did… I jumped with my pump, cgm and glucose tabs. And special thanks to Mike for the impeccable photo skills so I’d have proof and for the countoffs. I think I’d still be up there without that one, two, three…

***And in case you’re wondering… I made it to the top of the 50-foot climbing wall, too. Click here for a photo of the wall. Not only did I make it to the top, but I did it in the rain. Wearing Clarks. And with a low blood sugar. (OK, so I was only 71, but I felt shaky so it counts.)

****Oh, and if you have children or grandchildren, send them to Space Camp and/or Aviation Challenge. For real… this place is amazing for kids and has incredible resources. Do it. It’s worth every penny. On second thought, come with them. There’s a parent-child version of camp.