Climbing the biggest bridge: a fear of heights

Just looking at it gave me the chills. The intricate steel lines  glistened in the sun as they wrapped around each other to form an enormous parabola. The Pacific Ocean roared beneath the bridge, thundering against the  boats that sailed across it.

The bridge’s beauty was undeniable; it gave me a sense of awe. But secretly, I looked at it with extreme fear. My pulse quickened as I clutched the harness around me, breathing in and out, in and out, trying to stay calm. I had to scale this 463-foot monster suspended over the Sydney Harbor, and I couldn't even take the first step.

Before we left for Australia last summer,  I received lot of advice about the erratic spiders and poisonous reptiles that I needed to watch out for.  But honestly, none of this bothered me —  I had a much bigger fear in mind.

Every year, tourists flock to Sydney to see the Sydney Harbor Bridge.  Suspended over the Sydney Harbor, the metallic bridge is known to be one of Australia’s most famous structural beauties.

When my family arrived at our hotel, the concierge suggested we try the Bridge Climb, a tour that allowed people to climb to the top of the bridge and marvel at the city that unfolded beneath. The only problem? I’m terrified of heights. And not just normal terrified of heights, either.

I spent much of my time in Australia worrying about the tour, shivering every time I thought about the enormous bridge and the vast expanse below it.

But before I knew it, the day of the climb had come and I stood among the climbers in a stuffy room.  My heart was pounding, my hands clammy — I was about to have a heart attack until I noticed an 80-year-old man standing there said he had climbed the bridge before.  This calmed me down a bit, but once the waivers were passed around and I read about the dangers of the climb, which included suffocation, stroke or possibly falling off the bridge, I paled.

The chatter and anticipation that filled the room became a low hum as I tortured myself with thoughts of falling, of being stuck on the bridge. I paced the room biting my lip, my brows furrowed with worry.

The tense moments before the hike was interrupted by the arrival of our bridge leader, an over-enthusiastic man with a wide grin across his face. As he entered the room, everyone’s face lit up; on the other hand, my face tensed up even more.

Noticing my fear, the bridge leader, suggested that I stay right behind him during the entire climb.  So, 19 brave adults and one petrified teenager embarked on the “Climb of our Lives” — that is …. if we managed to live through it.

The over-enthusiastic bridge leader herded our group into a tight elevator that took us up to the entrance of the bridge. At this moment, I realized I was one door away from possibly the last two hours of my life.

As the doors opened, my stomach did a somersault. The cold wind gushed onto my face and 400 feet beneath the perforated metal bridge that I stood on, I saw the Pacific Ocean in all its enormity. From this height, the cars looked like specks and our hotel, a miniature dollhouse.

I decided that the best way to get through it was to just stare at my feet and walk steadily. So I did precisely that; my unbelievably excited parents squealed with delight over the breath-taking views, but I steadily ignored their exuberance and focused on my feet.

A sense of comfort began to grow as I walked slowly, step after step. My comfort was temporary, however. As soon as I began to ease into a routine, the climb leader stopped, and I was forced back into reality.

Beside him was a 10-foot steel ladder; that of course, I still had to climb. Wonderful, I had thought. I have to go even higher.

I anxiously put one foot on the first rung and climbed a few steps till I was halfway up the ladder. To my left, there was the support of steel railings, but to my right there was nothing — absolutely nothing. I could see the road and the cars whizzing across the bridge, one horrific fall away. This was the breaking point for me. I began to lose feeling in my fingers and was overcome with dizziness. With tears streaming down my face, I whirled my head toward the guide and screamed, “I can’t do this!”

It took a 30-minute pep talk from five members of the staff before I could finally continue. The rest of the climb participants anxiously waited for me to renew my composure and continue.

Once I reached the top of the bridge, I felt my fear slowly dissipate. Standing on top of the bridge, I could feel the sun’s heat on my face and the birds that once seemed so high up in the sky were now within the reach of my hands.

I did it. I had actually done it. I had conquered one of my worst fears. In that moment, as pride rushed through me, I realized that the difference between fearing or not fearing something is but a very small difference; it all depends on the willingness to keep taking one step forward.