There are certain words that can strike fear into the hearts of the most courageous adult. Words like recession, war, Tsunami, cellulite, paisley, and telephone pole. I used to live in a world that did not include any strong feelings regarding telephone poles but then something happened on a sunny Saturday afternoon in Shropshire and I now seem incapable of restoring a state of mind in which I can walk down the road, look at a telephone pole and not fearfully crumble into the foetal position.
It all happened on a weekend work retreat that included team-building activities. If you haven’t been traumatized by these before, they are basically random scenarios designed to help you “face your fears” by subjecting you to bizarre situations that you could never realistically expect to encounter in your normal, everyday life without being a professional stunt person.
The first thing we had to do was put on a crash helmet in order to protect our brains from the inconvenience of being struck by airborne items such as ropes, the ground or the occasional human being. Next, we had to climb into a safety harness that was designed to comfortably accommodate the legs of the average garden gnome. Then, once the instructor had confirmed that our harnesses were “secure” (i.e: we were are at the point of collapse due to lack of blood flow to our knees), we were all set to engage in what I would conservatively classify as “medically risky” activities.
We had to scale a glorified telephone pole, stand on top of it and then leap into the air in a desperate attempt to grab hold of a handle hanging 5 feet in front of the pole. About halfway up the telephone pole, I looked down and the adrenalin shakes set in. Since my physical fitness peaked when I was about 5, I didn’t have the strength or dexterity required to master my shaky limbs and keep moving upward. So there I was; stranded halfway up the telephone pole and unable to do anything other than canoodle it in a close embrace I usually don’t bestow on inanimate wooden objects.
The instructor confidently assured me that the only way was up as I was not allowed to climb down (I thought the only way was Essex but didn’t say so because I’d lost the ability to breathe in at that point).
As far as I could tell, my only options were:
1.) Faint.
2.) Build a time machine, go back in time to before I made the decision to do this, and slap some sense into myself.
3.) Build a time machine, go back in time to when these activities were being invented, and slap the inventor.
I was transfixed by terror and it was going to take one heartfelt comment from my teammates below to snap me out of it.
Q) Did he say, “You CAN do it!” in an immensely fortifying tone?
A) No, he said, “I’m taking close-up photos of your butt right now!”
And that was all I needed to plumb the depths of my resolve, master my muscles, and get up the rest of that pole. Once on top, I took a couple of minutes to compose myself (i.e: I turned my butt away from the camera) while trying not to look down, fall off, or unleash the contents of my bladder on those standing below.
All that remained was the jump.
Now I am somewhat of an accomplished jumper. More than once I have been known to jump on things like trampolines, bouncy castles, and even the odd bandwagon - often with little or no regard for the earthly laws of gravity! But even with all this jumping experience, I found this particular jump to be terrifying... I couldn’t have felt more uncomfortable if I was forced to take up a public career as a Morris dancer!
You see; even if I managed to successfully grab the handle, I knew I would eventually have to actually LET GO and would then plummet back to earth in a blur of flailing arms and legs towards certain incontinence and (potentially) being mortally wounded by gravity. But in the end, I did it! And I even managed to remain the master of my bladder in the process.
As it turns out, the well-known saying is true: there is something that happens in those few moments preceding imminent death. Your life passes before your eyes and you consider those truly significant questions such as, ‘Did I make a valuable contribution to this world?’ and ‘Did my butt look big in those photos?’
It all happened on a weekend work retreat that included team-building activities. If you haven’t been traumatized by these before, they are basically random scenarios designed to help you “face your fears” by subjecting you to bizarre situations that you could never realistically expect to encounter in your normal, everyday life without being a professional stunt person.
The first thing we had to do was put on a crash helmet in order to protect our brains from the inconvenience of being struck by airborne items such as ropes, the ground or the occasional human being. Next, we had to climb into a safety harness that was designed to comfortably accommodate the legs of the average garden gnome. Then, once the instructor had confirmed that our harnesses were “secure” (i.e: we were are at the point of collapse due to lack of blood flow to our knees), we were all set to engage in what I would conservatively classify as “medically risky” activities.
We had to scale a glorified telephone pole, stand on top of it and then leap into the air in a desperate attempt to grab hold of a handle hanging 5 feet in front of the pole. About halfway up the telephone pole, I looked down and the adrenalin shakes set in. Since my physical fitness peaked when I was about 5, I didn’t have the strength or dexterity required to master my shaky limbs and keep moving upward. So there I was; stranded halfway up the telephone pole and unable to do anything other than canoodle it in a close embrace I usually don’t bestow on inanimate wooden objects.
The instructor confidently assured me that the only way was up as I was not allowed to climb down (I thought the only way was Essex but didn’t say so because I’d lost the ability to breathe in at that point).
As far as I could tell, my only options were:
1.) Faint.
2.) Build a time machine, go back in time to before I made the decision to do this, and slap some sense into myself.
3.) Build a time machine, go back in time to when these activities were being invented, and slap the inventor.
I was transfixed by terror and it was going to take one heartfelt comment from my teammates below to snap me out of it.
Q) Did he say, “You CAN do it!” in an immensely fortifying tone?
A) No, he said, “I’m taking close-up photos of your butt right now!”
All that remained was the jump.
Now I am somewhat of an accomplished jumper. More than once I have been known to jump on things like trampolines, bouncy castles, and even the odd bandwagon - often with little or no regard for the earthly laws of gravity! But even with all this jumping experience, I found this particular jump to be terrifying... I couldn’t have felt more uncomfortable if I was forced to take up a public career as a Morris dancer!
You see; even if I managed to successfully grab the handle, I knew I would eventually have to actually LET GO and would then plummet back to earth in a blur of flailing arms and legs towards certain incontinence and (potentially) being mortally wounded by gravity. But in the end, I did it! And I even managed to remain the master of my bladder in the process.
As it turns out, the well-known saying is true: there is something that happens in those few moments preceding imminent death. Your life passes before your eyes and you consider those truly significant questions such as, ‘Did I make a valuable contribution to this world?’ and ‘Did my butt look big in those photos?’
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