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I have this fear. It causes my legs to shake. I break out in a cold sweat. I start to tear up. I imagine my own funeral, and then shrink back. My stomach feels strange. My palms are clammy. I am terrified of heights. Of course, it’s not really a fear of being in a high place. Rather, it is the view of a long way to fall, of rocks far below me and no firm wall between us. My sense of security is gone. There are no guardrails. I can rely only on my own sure footedness. Last summer, four friends and I took a graduation road trip to my aunt’s house in Melpeque, Prince Edward Island in Canada. Its prime attraction is a waterfall, about 100 feet high that thunders into a crystal clear pool. All around the pool and down its rushing river are boulders large and small. During a night of drinking I watched my cousins climb up the cliff them selves and jumped of the waterfall. My friends decided they really wanted to jump they begged me to jump along with them I knew there was no way I would be able to jump, but I went. We went along the base of the hill until we reached the climb. It stopped me in my tracks. The cliff ascended above rocks. All I could think about was how far it would be to fall. My thoughts were interrupted by the realization that my friends were already beginning to climb! I watched them with fear. Do I turn back? My whole being shouted, “Yes!” Will I regret it later?
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