Why I’m not an action heroine, part two

I’m not an action heroine, but I am in denial.

It has come to my attention that while I was writing the previous post, about my loathing of heights, I was wearing this T-shirt.

I got it after going whitewater rafting on the Zambezi River below Victoria Falls, one of the wildest things I’ve ever done. The Zambezi has, I think, the biggest rapids run commercially in the world. I was a novice, and to get to the rafting launch zone, I had to climb down a crumbling trail to the bottom of a gorge. The gorge is one thousand feet deep. The trail is rocky, slippery, narrow, steep, and has no guard rail. Halfway down, I clearly recall thinking: This isn’t Disneyland.

Yet I did it, and I don’t recall being scared. I can think of three reasons for my lack of fear.

(1) My sister had told me that rafting the Zambezi was the most fun I could possibly have, ever — and I was hellbound to experience it. (2) I never looked down, because my eyes were glued to the rafting guide ahead of me on the trail, who seemed to be carved from the same incredible stone as the walls of the gorge and had a negative percentage of body fat. (3) I’ve lost the memory of the trek, because the subsequent rafting proved so terrifying that I nearly lost my mind.

And damn, it was awesome.