It was in January. Of this year. I accidentally went abseiling in Tasmania. It was supposed to be a canyoning trip, which by definition is jumping off rocks and whatnot. But that canyon was flooded from the recent rain so instead our guide took us down a different canyon, one that required 9 abseils and maybe 2 little rock jumps.
I was the first in the group to BACK OVER THE EDGE of a cliff (something that in everyway goes against nature, against what your body thinks is right) and right off the lip of the cliff-face, my back parallel with the rock bottom 60 yards below. I had a nice thin rope attached to me that the guide above held, and another that I was in control of to determine the rate in which I descended (I dont know who thought that was a good idea).
Its hard to describe the erratic way my heart raced and pounded and the adrenaline that coursed through my body screaming FLIGHT and not in any way fight. My muscles shook and my fear was heightened to an amount infinite to what I thought was fear in the past. I thought I'd die. It was so terrifying I didnt even mind my unflattering wetsuit. Fashion just took a backseat for 6 hours. I may be smiling in these pictures, but it was only because I wanted the last photo ever taken of me to look nice in my obit.
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