Oh Heavens. No.
I had neared the landing of a seemingly endless zipline across the treetops of the Little Miami River Gorge. The trees were glowing brilliantly against a deep blue sky, but I was having a hard time enjoying the view. My heart was pounding and all I could think about was getting to the end.
But just as I neared the last fifteen feet, my line slowed. I looked up and made eye contact with my guide, George. I could tell by his face that I wasn’t going to make it to the landing.
“Catch this!” George yelled, throwing out a rescue rope that caught on the top of the line, out of my reach.
I watched the rope fall. Then, with a sinking feeling, I felt myself sliding helplessly back toward the center of the 300-foot line.
Aside from falling to my death, this was worst case scenario.
“Hang tight!” George called. “I’m coming out to get you!”
As I drifted further to the middle of the line, I had to chuckle.
The fear of heights I’d developed in the last few years seemed to have manifested itself in the gorge. On and off, I’d even taken back roads to avoid driving the I-71 bridge over the gorge, repelled by the deep unease I felt at the height and open space.
And now here I was, helplessly suspended above it – my perfect opportunity to confront and come to terms with my fear of the gorge. 
In all directions, I was surrounded by sunlit autumn views. Mercifully, I came to a rest over an area of high ground next to a drop off.
As I breathed and waited for George to make his way out to me, I said to myself, “See? Nothing bad is happening.”
One of the best pieces of advice I’ve ever read about panic and fear is to stay in the pool. When we’re in a state of extreme fear or panic, our reflex is to escape the situation. But when you stay in it, even for just an extra five seconds beyond what you think you can handle, you conquer fear head-on.
Well, I was forced to sit above the gorge. And – wonder of wonders! – it worked.
By the time George arrived, with a well-meaning apology as he awkwardly wrapped his legs around me and pulled me to the landing, I was laughing.
The scary thing had happened, and I’d survived it. I felt like I could take whatever the gorge threw at me next.
I was fortunate in that, while I had signed up to zipline by myself at 9:30 on a Wednesday morning, I had ended up joining a tour of four women celebrating a birthday. The five of us had gotten along from the moment we climbed to the top of a winding staircase to the tree canopy.
I was glad they were there when I had a brief freeze just before climbing to the highest landing. I thought for a moment that I couldn’t do it. They all encouraged me and cheered me on when I moved forward.
On the final line, I was the last of the group to go. The second guide, Alec, stood with me on the platform as we looked out over the expanse of the gorge.
“I’ve seen grown men reduced to tears on this platform,” Alec said. “I hate it when people turn back. They miss out.”
Alec hooked me on to the line and I took off, floating through the tree tops. The sun was glinting on the river far below and shimmering across the yellowing trees in the valley.
I was glad I hadn’t missed out.