I was in New Zealand, on my way to go ZORBING globe riding, an adventure in which you crawl inside an 11-foot high inflatable ball and go tumbling down a steep hill with such an adrenaline rush, they call it the 'astronaut-in-training' ride. I hadn’t eaten breakfast because everyone had warned me there might be dire repercussions, the ride was so intense.
It was a three-hour drive to Roturua from The Farm at Cape Kidnappers in Hawkes Bay, where I was staying, but I’d heard so much about this scary, fun adventure, that I decided it was worth the three-hour trip to get there. Besides, every time I do something that terrifies me, I feel empowered. Driving was scary enough – here I was in a foreign country on the wrong side of the road with directions that made no sense. I’d already been lost three times, and had stopped at that many gas stations to ask for better directions. Now I was lost again. I pulled up in front of a liquor store, so frustrated, I was almost hyperventilating. “Would you like a drink?” asked the store owner. It was ten o’clock in the morning, but I was almost ready to say yes.
Miraculously, it turned out I was only a half-mile from ZORB Rotorua.
“Did you bring an extra change of clothes?” asked the person at the desk.
“Why?”
“Because you’re going to get soaked.”
It was about 55 degrees outside. I didn’t want to drive back cold and dripping. “No one said anything about getting wet,” I said.
“Well, you see, it’s too windy to do Zorbit, so you’re going to do Zydro. You’ll like it much better because it’s our wildest ride. We put water inside the globe and send you zig-zagging down the hill. You can buy a t-shirt and shorts, and our changing rooms have a hair dryer.”
Wildest ride? I wondered if he could hear my heart pounding. I could.
You can still back out, I told myself as I read the agreement I had to sign: “Zorb® globe riding can involve risk of injury. If you decide not to take the ride, please just tell any Zorb® crew member and they will, even if you are at the launch pad, arrange for you to return to reception and get a refund.”
But what would I tell my friends? That I’d chickened out? I purchased a pair of shorts and a T-shirt and waited with five others for the van to drive us up the hill to the launch pad. No one spoke. From the top, the hill looked as steep as Everest. As I was first off the van, the attendant chose me to go first. He dumped about a foot of water into the huge white inflatable sphere and said, “Climb in.” I dove through the chute feeling like Alice and Wonderland going down the rabbit hole, landing in a pool of warm water. The attendant gave the ball a little push.
As the globe began to roll down the hill, I was splashed around in the water. My body twisted and turned sideways, then I sloshed forward, then backward, but never upside down. This wasn’t scary after all. It was fun. It was thrilling, even better than fast downhill skiing. I began to laugh. This must be what it’s like inside the womb if your mother is galloping on horseback, I thought. The started to spin faster, like an out of control toboggan. I stopped laughing and began to scream. It felt like a combination of flying down a steep water slide and being on a loopty-loop roller coaster. The ball was rolling so fast I was sure I’d inadvertently bounced right off the zig zag track. I tried to peer outside, but it was like looking in vain through a windshield during a torrential downpour.
And then, suddenly, the ball slowed. Whew. I wasn’t off the track after all. An attendant spun the ball so that the chute faced down. The water poured out like a deluge. “Come on out,” he said. I slid out, soaking wet, my heart pounding, but this time out of joy, not fear. The attendant gave me a thumbs up, and with a huge grin on his face, said, “Congratulations!”
Later that day, I waited for my spa treatment in the lounge of the Spa at Cape Kidnappers. I sat looking out at cows and sheep polka-dotting the velvety rolling green hills. Not too far away, a newborn lamb buried itself into her mothers’ udder. My therapist Manula introduced herself and led me into the treatment room. I lay down on the table and inhaled the intoxicating aroma of lavender oil. She dug into the knots in my shoulders. “You’re so tight!” she said. “What have you been doing?”
“Driving. And getting lost. But I think those knots are from Zorbing.”
“You went Zorbing?” She seemed to look at me in awe. “That thing with the huge ball where you roll inside down a hill?”
“Yup,” I laughed. “I earned those knots. Just call me ZORBONAUT.”
It was a three-hour drive to Roturua from The Farm at Cape Kidnappers in Hawkes Bay, where I was staying, but I’d heard so much about this scary, fun adventure, that I decided it was worth the three-hour trip to get there. Besides, every time I do something that terrifies me, I feel empowered. Driving was scary enough – here I was in a foreign country on the wrong side of the road with directions that made no sense. I’d already been lost three times, and had stopped at that many gas stations to ask for better directions. Now I was lost again. I pulled up in front of a liquor store, so frustrated, I was almost hyperventilating. “Would you like a drink?” asked the store owner. It was ten o’clock in the morning, but I was almost ready to say yes.
Miraculously, it turned out I was only a half-mile from ZORB Rotorua.
“Did you bring an extra change of clothes?” asked the person at the desk.
“Why?”
“Because you’re going to get soaked.”
It was about 55 degrees outside. I didn’t want to drive back cold and dripping. “No one said anything about getting wet,” I said.
“Well, you see, it’s too windy to do Zorbit, so you’re going to do Zydro. You’ll like it much better because it’s our wildest ride. We put water inside the globe and send you zig-zagging down the hill. You can buy a t-shirt and shorts, and our changing rooms have a hair dryer.”
Wildest ride? I wondered if he could hear my heart pounding. I could.
You can still back out, I told myself as I read the agreement I had to sign: “Zorb® globe riding can involve risk of injury. If you decide not to take the ride, please just tell any Zorb® crew member and they will, even if you are at the launch pad, arrange for you to return to reception and get a refund.”
But what would I tell my friends? That I’d chickened out? I purchased a pair of shorts and a T-shirt and waited with five others for the van to drive us up the hill to the launch pad. No one spoke. From the top, the hill looked as steep as Everest. As I was first off the van, the attendant chose me to go first. He dumped about a foot of water into the huge white inflatable sphere and said, “Climb in.” I dove through the chute feeling like Alice and Wonderland going down the rabbit hole, landing in a pool of warm water. The attendant gave the ball a little push.
As the globe began to roll down the hill, I was splashed around in the water. My body twisted and turned sideways, then I sloshed forward, then backward, but never upside down. This wasn’t scary after all. It was fun. It was thrilling, even better than fast downhill skiing. I began to laugh. This must be what it’s like inside the womb if your mother is galloping on horseback, I thought. The started to spin faster, like an out of control toboggan. I stopped laughing and began to scream. It felt like a combination of flying down a steep water slide and being on a loopty-loop roller coaster. The ball was rolling so fast I was sure I’d inadvertently bounced right off the zig zag track. I tried to peer outside, but it was like looking in vain through a windshield during a torrential downpour.
And then, suddenly, the ball slowed. Whew. I wasn’t off the track after all. An attendant spun the ball so that the chute faced down. The water poured out like a deluge. “Come on out,” he said. I slid out, soaking wet, my heart pounding, but this time out of joy, not fear. The attendant gave me a thumbs up, and with a huge grin on his face, said, “Congratulations!”
Later that day, I waited for my spa treatment in the lounge of the Spa at Cape Kidnappers. I sat looking out at cows and sheep polka-dotting the velvety rolling green hills. Not too far away, a newborn lamb buried itself into her mothers’ udder. My therapist Manula introduced herself and led me into the treatment room. I lay down on the table and inhaled the intoxicating aroma of lavender oil. She dug into the knots in my shoulders. “You’re so tight!” she said. “What have you been doing?”
“Driving. And getting lost. But I think those knots are from Zorbing.”
“You went Zorbing?” She seemed to look at me in awe. “That thing with the huge ball where you roll inside down a hill?”
“Yup,” I laughed. “I earned those knots. Just call me ZORBONAUT.”
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