It was one of the best trips of my life. Who wouldn’t want to go camping with their best friend? No nagging parents, no annoying siblings, no responsibilities, and best of all, no cares. I was free from any ties for a week. I could finally relax.
It took quite a few hours to get there, but we made it to the campsite. It may not have been exactly what I had expected, but it was where I was going to have to live for the next week, unless I had strong enough legs to carry me home.
The campsite possessed endless, daring paths that were perfect to take with a golf cart that has seen better times. Their mini-golf course was the best that I have ever seen. It also had a driving range that proved that I really do suck at golf. It even had a pool that …show more content…
He informed us that the length from the jump to the surface of the water was forty feet. Logan advised us not to do pencil dive because straight down was a metal basket that held drift wood. He said, “There have been many people that landed on it and broken their legs.” This was a bit concerning because I am half blind without my glasses so I planned on a pencil dive to ensure that I could find my way back to the lighthouse instead of trying to scale the wall with no ladder to hold onto.
I let my friend take a few jumps while I sat on the very edge of the lighthouse platform just past the sissy line. “Just jump!” she urged me. I didn’t want to jump because I hated the feeling of water shooting up my nose then running down my throat. Nor did I want to feel the water fill my ears and put an intense pressure on my eardrums. I had enough previous experience.
“That’s okay, you keep jumping,” I told her. I would rather sit on the sissy line then take a lesser extreme version of the polar plunge. Over and over, they jumped in and begged me to do the same. I believe “peer pressure” is the term for it, but let me assure you I did not give in. I promise I am a perfect swimmer, but I would drown if I hit that pole, and the only way to avoid that is to not …show more content…
Instead I kept my word and stood at the very end of the cement with my toes over the edge. What was I thinking? Was I really that crazy? Yes, I decided, I was about to plummet forty feet to my death. It was about time I finally did something worthwhile in my life. That was the reason of this trip; the lesson. To live. The whole trip was based around that phrase. The races with other golf carts, the terror we put on the faces of twelve year olds at night, the attempted breaking and entering, when we snuck other kids out to drive around, when we drove around passed curfew hours, and almost froze to death while we swam in the frigid rain. All of
It took quite a few hours to get there, but we made it to the campsite. It may not have been exactly what I had expected, but it was where I was going to have to live for the next week, unless I had strong enough legs to carry me home.
The campsite possessed endless, daring paths that were perfect to take with a golf cart that has seen better times. Their mini-golf course was the best that I have ever seen. It also had a driving range that proved that I really do suck at golf. It even had a pool that …show more content…
He informed us that the length from the jump to the surface of the water was forty feet. Logan advised us not to do pencil dive because straight down was a metal basket that held drift wood. He said, “There have been many people that landed on it and broken their legs.” This was a bit concerning because I am half blind without my glasses so I planned on a pencil dive to ensure that I could find my way back to the lighthouse instead of trying to scale the wall with no ladder to hold onto.
I let my friend take a few jumps while I sat on the very edge of the lighthouse platform just past the sissy line. “Just jump!” she urged me. I didn’t want to jump because I hated the feeling of water shooting up my nose then running down my throat. Nor did I want to feel the water fill my ears and put an intense pressure on my eardrums. I had enough previous experience.
“That’s okay, you keep jumping,” I told her. I would rather sit on the sissy line then take a lesser extreme version of the polar plunge. Over and over, they jumped in and begged me to do the same. I believe “peer pressure” is the term for it, but let me assure you I did not give in. I promise I am a perfect swimmer, but I would drown if I hit that pole, and the only way to avoid that is to not …show more content…
Instead I kept my word and stood at the very end of the cement with my toes over the edge. What was I thinking? Was I really that crazy? Yes, I decided, I was about to plummet forty feet to my death. It was about time I finally did something worthwhile in my life. That was the reason of this trip; the lesson. To live. The whole trip was based around that phrase. The races with other golf carts, the terror we put on the faces of twelve year olds at night, the attempted breaking and entering, when we snuck other kids out to drive around, when we drove around passed curfew hours, and almost froze to death while we swam in the frigid rain. All of