Fear of Flying
Heights frighten me – or perhaps it’s the fear of falling from high places that really makes it hard to breathe. I try not to think about this as I climb the narrow ladder 25 feet into the air. What awaits me, if I manage the climb safely, is a small platform from which I will grab a 10 pound trapeze bar and swing through the air – assuming with the greatest of ease, given all the circuses I’ve been to.
It’s not too late to climb back down the ladder, but I coax myself to put one foot above the other (the rungs bite into my arches) and hold on as I ascend. Breathe … breathe … breathe, dammit! After what might qualify as the slowest ascent to a trapeze’s beckoning, I arrive. What once looked daunting now looks absolutely forbidding.
I stand on the platform and breathe heavily. I am out of breath not only because I have held it during my ascent, but the height and expanse of the trapeze rig causes me to hyperventilate. John, an experienced and very kind ‘flyer’, holds onto the back of the leather safety belt that encircles my waist; the belt is cinched so tightly that my belly fat rolls both over and below it. John’s voice is low and appropriately intimate – which is to say it is extremely soothing and comforting, even to my disembodied ears.
“Left arm: up!”
I stretch my left arm slightly behind me and higher than my head; I grab the line that hoists the ladder and await the next order.
“Right arm: out!”
I stretch out my right arm, prepared to catch the fly bar that Jeannie is pulling in – she is the ‘biscuit’, the person who serves the bar to the fool (I mean, artiste) ready to fly.
John continues his coaching, a running litany of corrections and encouragement: chest out, lean forward, butt clenched, smile, look up at the flag, grab the bar with your right hand, clench your butt, now move your left hand to the bar, smile, raise the bar up three or four inches, smile, good! I see your butt is clenched!, you’re going to do great, listen to my cues!
“Ready!”
I bend my knees and wait for the next cue, which is when I will jump and fly into the abyss, the chasm below, the void. Because I am full of fear and hyperventilating yet full of exhilaration and hope, it seems like hours before I finally hear John say The Word:
“Hep!”
It’s now or never: I jump up, stretch out from the bar, try to hang onto it, pray to the goodlordjesus. I start to traverse the rig; I’m flying! The trapeze swings with my momentum (I later find out that I am swinging with the trapeze’s momentum) – but right now I am too dazed to be confused and before I get half way through the full swing, I lose my grip on the bar and fall into the safety net, bouncing like a cannon ball as I trip across the net. I remain fairly upright and avoid ‘net rash’ on my face and other parts of my body, but my toes get caught up in the webbing and hurt like hell and take my mind off the fact that I just fell off a trapeze over 25 feet in the air. I want to cry because they hurt, and I am embarrassed that my maiden voyage is so brief, but I stand up and wobble my way back to the ladder like a pigeon-toed kangaroo. I climb down to terra firma (there is no graceful somersault off the edge of the net which looks so easy on tv) and collapse on the bench next to Jeannie. Somewhat dazed, still, I feel tears well up. The disembodied me begins to reunite with the present me, though, and instead of crying I begin to laugh. Gibberish gushes out of my mouth that roughly translates to: “Omygod omygod omygod I can’t believe I actually DID that! THAT was ME up there?!” and so on. Why did I think this was a good idea in the first place? I blame it on Jeannie.
••••••••••
Jeannie has been flying for 15 years and takes lessons here in Sonoma. We meet for lunch after one of her classes, where other members of her troupe also happen to be enjoying the delicious, creative soups, sandwiches, and baked goods at Community Cafe. Jeannie and I first met in the early 90s at the Santa Barbara Writers Conference; she lives 18 miles north of Sonoma in Santa Rosa and drives down to trapeze every week. A petite, lithe, vibrant 73 year old, Jeannie is an inspiration in so many ways – but her passion for the trapeze and her belief that the troupe she flies with is what helped her get through her husband’s health crisis and death in 2000 are irresistible. I must go to the mountain (where the trapeze is) and face my own demons. There are many, I am sure. If ‘flying’ can help me with at least one of them, I’m going there straightaway.
••••••••••
The 3.5 mile drive up to Keen Ranch and my inaugural flight reminds me yet again of Wyoming. The road quickly narrows to one lane, and I pray that no one is coming down as I drive up. Where in the world will I pull over to let them pass? There are no cutouts as there are on Red Grade. And do I honk as I approach a curve so anyone on the other side of that curve might hear me and squeeze to the side of the road so as not to sideswipe me and force my rented vehicle off the road and into the vineyards below? I drive this dental floss of a road and pray to St. Christopher, hoping he is the patron saint of drivers as well as of travelers.
••••••••••
The sign on the barn board gate reads “Keen Ranch”. I ignore a smaller sign that reads “not a through road” and drive down the narrow driveway, around a bend where an alpaca and chestnut colored horse graze freely, and up the hill where I see several vehicles parked. In front of me is a cabin flanked by hills covered with willow, poplar, pine, chestnut, and cedar trees. Two men are down by the creek felling huge trees, cutting them into massive rounds: “Do you need any firewood?”, they offer. I wish I did, but ask them only if they know where the trapeze is. “Follow this path!” they say, gesturing over their shoulders and through the woods. I follow the narrow route from the parking area and across the creek; I walk up the hill and come into the clearing where the trapeze rig rises from the ground. I can’t believe I’m here. Class members are already on the trampoline warming up; some stretch, some wrap their hands in tape. Jeannie introduces me to each, and each is lovely: welcoming, encouraging, open to a novice, perhaps remembering when they too first assessed the wires and ropes that stood before me now.
••••••••••
Marek (“Professor and Proprietor”) greets me as he tightens ropes, calls out to Hope, Shannon, and Megan. There is no formal beginning of class: the veterans eventually make their way to the rig, climb the ladder, begin to swing. It is an amoebic-like effect, from where I stand; they are moths drawn to a light. Someone somewhere has called ‘lights, camera, action!’ and the show has begun. They swing, they fly, they twist, they land on the net. They laugh, they bounce, they critique themselves (as does Professor Marek). I am in awe; this is Cirque de Soliel come to life, and I’m about to join the circus!
••••••••••
Before I join them WAY UP THERE, Marek brings me over to a picnic table and goes over the ground rules (no pun intended):
Walk carefully around the rigs. Most students are looking up at the trapeze as the navigate the area; better to look down at the uneven ground, steel tethers, coiled ropes, mole holes that can ruin your plans if you trip over/into them.
Stay on the paths. Up in the mountains, rattlesnakes, deer, and coyotes are frequent visitors, he tells me, and poison oak abounds on the hillsides. I’m more afraid of poison oak than I am of rattlesnakes; the odds are far greater that I’ll suffer from the blisters of poison oak if I come in contact with it than from the venom of a snake I’m unlikely to run into.
Wear shoes when walking around. You climb the trapeze rig in socks or bare feet, but shoes should be worn otherwise to keep dirt from falling into your eyes while flying. I soon learn that there’s a lot to keep track of when you’re up there flying, so eliminating temporary blindness is an excellent idea.
Finally – and most importantly – SMILE and LISTEN TO THE INSTRUCTORS’ DIRECTIVES. I soon find out it is easier to climb up a 25 foot ladder holding your breath because you’re just so damned scared than it is to do either of these two things.
••••••••••
The knee-hang is considered one of the easiest tricks on the flying trapeze and is the first trick that most people try. The first stage of completing the knee-hang is getting your legs up and high enough so you can then push them between your arms and hook them over the bar. My understanding is that everyone can do this trick right out of the box, but I prove that premise false in the six swings I try today.
Swing #1:
I actually bend my arms when I first jump off the platform, which is why I fall off the trapeze so quickly. I didn’t trust the fact that you don’t necessarily have to be strong to hang onto the bar; no one has yet told me about momentum being my friend
Swing #2:
I miss the cue for “legs up” – being a hard-of-hearing novice trapeze artist does not make the transition from scaredy cat to accomplished performer easy.
Swing #3:
I hear the cue this time and try to get my feet up, through my arms, and over the bar. Things don’t go as intended, and once I waddle back across the net (because I’ve fallen again) and climb down the ladder, I hear that I didn’t ‘go with the flow’ and let gravity work for me. (Ah! The momentum thing, still unexplained.)
Swing #4:
Almost there – don’t look at your feet or the bar, Marek tells me afterward. Really? How will my feet know where to go if I’m not looking at them? (Ah! the momentum thing!)
Swings #5 and #6:
Marek agrees with John that I should try a different way of getting my legs up and over the bar: instead of sliding them through my arms, I will swing them around the trapeze and onto the bar this way. This move almost works, but the combination of fear, adrenalin, hope, trust, frustration, focus, and exhilaration (as well as six trips up the 25’ ladder) have tired me.
••••••••••
That night after a hot shower, I replay the afternoon’s highs and lows. I take Advil for the aches that are reminding me now that I have muscles yet unnamed in my upper body that are killing me. I go online to read more about the flying trapeze (Ah! Momentum!). I order a DVD of 35 flying trapeze tricks (34 of which I’m certain are a pipe dream for me). I sign up for next week’s class and go to sleep, dreaming of hanging upside down by knees 25 feet up in the air.
It’s not that I’m afraid of flying…it’s the trip up the ladder and it’s standing on the platform waiting to hear the cues to let go and fly…but I like what I’m hearing and hope to get past the knee-hang and onto trick #2.
Show time! The trapeze rig looks harmless in this setting…
Jeannie climbing up The Ladder.
Determination and Concentration – Jeannie is focused on her next trick.
Jeannie in flight: doing a ‘7’ – see how her body forms a ‘7’? It helps her get higher and faster.
Enjoy yourselves quietly….difficult to do so when your heart is beating so loudly you can’t hear a thing!
Professor Marek handling the safety lines … wish he would speak louder so I can hear him as I fly! :)
Sharon has you covered!
Sharon was there for me every time I fell … she ran out to help me release my safety straps and led me back to safety (no small feat on this ‘safety net’!) – notice her bare feet. Impressive!!!
John between swings.
John also climbs/flys with bare feet … he’s experienced enough to do it all in bare feet and to know enough to wear sandals in between swings (no dirt on HIS face!).
Things are looking up for Cher!
Cher grew up in Brockton and in East Bridgewater – can you believe that? (I grew up in Brockton – East Bridgewater is right down the street, just about!) Cher lives in Marin (about a half hour from here) and loves trapeze. She’s an artist and a pretty cool woman, from what I can tell.
Darryl waits while Cher prepares her trick … Jeannie is next to fly!
I’m TRYING to smile … per orders!
I’m breathing deeply, trying to smile, afraid of everything, trying to listen .
Warning: This Is Not Pretty.
One leg is up…the other isn’t. Darnitall!!!! But there’s always NEXT week! :)
Sonoma Sojourn 