"If not now, when?"

Hillel's teaching played through my mind as I stood on the platform of the first tower of the high ropes course at Wolf Ridge Environmental Learning Center. I had spent the morning guiding fourth graders through the process of switching safely from the first ropes event to the next. Now, I needed to decide whether to traverse four more events then ride a zip line to the ground, or retreat along a familiar wooden bridge back to the ropes course entry.

The day before, I had retreated, content with the accomplishment of having spent three hours on a platform 25 feet off the ground. As a college student 30 years ago, I had acquired a strong fear of heights while standing on a hang gliding platform in the Cumberland Mountains. Only once had I challenged that fear when, as a newspaper reporter, I climbed a fire spotter's tower in northern Wisconsin for a story.

I was pretty confident I could do the course's two log events. But it was the web and wire bridge before me that gave me pause and the single wire later on that gave me concern. Would I be able to get back up onto that single wire if I fell off and was dangling? Best not to think about that too much.

My inspiration lay in the children who had crossed my tower earlier in the day. My son Sam completed the course fully focused, slowly and deliberately, Peter, who is limited in mobility, went across in a special harness attached to his Dad. Grace, who quit after the first station, decided to try again. As Grace neared the end of the wire and web bridge, our instructor Carrie asked the question I had been contemplating all morning. Did I want to head back to the entry or "do" the course?

I'm already up here, I thought, standing at the edge of the tower, looking out over the "rainbow bridge," admiring the view of Lake Superior and the birch, aspen and pine treetops. When will I ever have this chance again?

I chose to "do" the course. "Sam, may I switch my first carabiner?" I called down to my son and self-appointed ground partner. After safely switching my second, I stepped purposefully out onto the wire. A big rush of adrenaline carried me more than half-way across. I paused when the wind caused the bridge to shake and buckle. I realized how much my leg muscles were shaking. Determined, I pushed out on the two waist-high wires to steady the bridge and continued walking. The last five steps up to the tower seemed hardest. But once there, I knew I wasn't going back.

The next challenge, walking across two logs while pushing my harness ahead of me, was a piece of cake. I waited on the third tower while Grace finished the single wire and switched ahead. I looked back and saw Jeana, the adult who had manned the second tower, coming across the logs. To turn back now meant I would only have the encouragement and guidance of my 10-year-old ground partner to get me back to the ropes course entry.

The single wire proved most challenging. I had to pull out  my harness straps for balance as I stepped across a single wire suspended 25 feet in the air. Thankfully, the wire was much shorter than the one on the rainbow bridge. I was breathing heavily by the time I reached that fourth tower, my legs and arms shaking. Although I wanted desperately to feel solid planking under my feet, it took great effort to take those last few steps.

Walk across one more log to the zip line tower and I'm home free, I thought.

Attached to the zip line, all I had to do was jump off the tower. Home free? What was I thinking? I decided to sit and edge off instead. Buoyed by the chanting of my son and his friends on the ground below, "Let go Mom, let go Mom," I took the plunge.

My sensation of fear switched to incredible freedom once the free-fall stopped and the line caught. I rode to the steps overwhelmed by the awesomeness of what I had just accomplished.