Daredevil

In my younger years, I was quite the daredevil. I'd hang by my knees on the monkey bars for hours until we were called in from recess. I'd just from couch to couch, not touching the floor because clearly, it was made of lava. When my mom would bring my brother and I to Castle Park, a giant wooden structure that kids could go into, I would be the first to the top, looking over my subjects and facing the sky.

As I got older, my daredevil lifestyle died a bit. I didn't skateboard anymore because I fell one too many times. My rollerblades were stashed away, as were my abilities to run further than any kid on the block. I still craved to defy gravity and pull off ridiculously hard stunts in my spare time, but age caught up to me. I was scared.

When college rolled around, daring tasks were far from climbing and jumping. Instead, they were breaking into the abandoned dorm building, putting up the circus net after hours and jumping on it in the dark, or running around campus late at night, playing a rousing game of capture the flag. I joined a circus so I could risk my life daily, dangling from my ankles, flipping into a net, spinning by my neck, and so forth. I loved the feel of doing something different, something exciting. I was crazy.

After college, teaching mellowed me. I lost my childlike awe in situations and didn't have any desire to do something daring. I was too tired. Plus, I wasn't a teenager anymore. I couldn't get away with crazy stunts like fitting into dryers (it's true, I can fit into a dryer.)

This past weekend, my roommates and I went to see Joel McHale's stand up show at Hard Rock Cafe. We learned upon approaching the venue that no cameras were allowed inside. The thing is, I always carry my camera with me. No matter where I go, it's there, so of course it was deep in my purse, waiting to be used. I had two options: deposit it at will call and pay $3 for them to hold it until the show ended, or go back to the car and leave it there. Now, the car was a good 20 minutes away and there was no way that I was going to leaving my camera with some stranger, so quickly we devised a plan. The guys went in first, along with Megan. I stayed outside, looking around, pretending to be waiting for someone. Megan came back outside, standing in the smoking section that was separated from me by only one thin rope. I looked at her intently and suddenly thought of railroads.

We were bored, dreadfully bored. Sitting in my dorm room, Keith, Amy and I were debating how to spend the rest of our Saturday. Nothing was going on around campus and we didn't really feel like going to the same movie theatre, the same coffee shop or the same person's house. We wanted to do something different. So after much thought, we decided to go to Georgia.

Tallahassee is around 30 minutes from the border of Georgia, so driving there was completely logical. We didn't have a certain place in mind, just the idea of getting away. And going to another state was definitely getting away. We passed the state line and took a picture by it, to document the trip. I called my mom once back on the road to tell her I fled the state. She didn't find it as amusing as I thought she would.

Seeing cobblestone streets, we parked the car in a supermarket parking lot and decided to walk around. We took some more pictures, goofy ones, around the square. The place was quaint and cute, catering towards the small town person. The street lamps actually had fire in them.

After some dinner at a sub shop, we walked back to the car. Noticing a train coming, we realized that if we left now, we'd be stuck at the light, waiting for the train to pass. Keith, however, had a different idea. Running towards the train, we followed him, tentatively. He glanced back at us with glimmer of excitement in his eyes. And just like that, he hopped on the train.

It wasn't like in movies, he didn't jump into the carriage and land on mounds of hay. Some circus performer didn't throw him off because he was trespassing. Instead, he hopped up and grabbed the ladder attached. He held on tight and then let go suddenly, dropping back to the ground. As he brushed the dirt off his knees, we looked at him in awe and inspiration. We needed to try next.

So one by one, we all jumped onto the train. We knew it was dumb and incredibly dangerous, but we didn't care. We were daredevils, we were adventure seekers, we were explorers. We held on tight to the cold iron and kept riding, allowing the wind to smash against our faces. We jumped off many minutes later, feet hitting hard against the floor, cheeks bright red, and laughter in the air.

I dropped my camera down into Megan's waiting hand under the rope. No one was looking, but it seemed as if everyone was. Sure, we weren't dangerous and sure we weren't crazy, but we were doing something that made my heart rush. As I sat inside the venue, camera back safely in my purse, I thought back to the trade off and then back to the train. I remembered climbing up castle park and walking through the dark, dusty halls of the abandoned dorm. I thought about my meager daring lifestyle and how I almost gave it up for teaching. And then I smiled because I'll always love the feel of adrenaline, no matter how small the feat.