Learn Trapeze: Fulfill That Childhood Dream

Our instructor Rob explains what to expect on the platform: how we'll chalk our hands while another teacher switches the safety lines; how we'll reach forward to grab the fly bar and lean over the edge.

"Hep" is the signal to go. Once swinging, we will bring our legs up, hook them over the bar and drop our arms for an upside-down knee hang before reverting to the arm swing; an instructor will yell out what to do and when, so we need to listen.

We go through some of the motions on the ground. It doesn't bode well that my practice jumps are too wimpy to clear the imaginary platform edge I'm supposed to be envisioning on the floor. As we await our turns up the ladder, I ask to try a knee hang on a low bar. Lifting my legs is more difficult than I expect, but Rob explains it'll be easier to do during a swing.

My turn comes sooner than I want, and I'm nervous. As I climb the quivering ladder, I try to remember why I wanted to do this. I decide not to look down or up and instead focus on each small step. At the top, I kneel awkwardly onto the platform before slowly standing up. It's not so high, I try to tell myself, plus there's a net. And, hey, didn't that little girl just jump without a moment's hesitation?

But my head can't compete with my heart, which beats so hard I can barely hear anything else. The panic spikes when it's time to lean over the edge and grab the bar. Frozen in place, I weigh my options. The thought of climbing down the ladder isn't a soothing one; jumping will be the fastest way to get this over with. After about eight "heps," I hop off the platform. The sense of freedom lasts only seconds, drowned out by the flood of fear coursing through my body. I don't attempt a knee hang on this first jump. After the signal to let go of the bar, another "hep," I drop to the net and dismount.

Although they don't fully subside, my nerves lessen with each successive jump. I manage the knee hang, back arched and arms swaying toward the ground, on my second turn and add a flipping dismount on the third. My movements feel clumsy, jerky, but Rob suggests I might be ready for a catch. I'm not as sure. The catch is a precisely timed move; I'd have to smoothly execute a knee hang and stretch my arms toward a second bar, where a catcher -- also in an upside-down hang -- would be waiting to grab my wrists and pull me off my bar. I'm not even sure I'll be ready to jump on the first "hep."

My body makes the decision for me: Thanks to a leg cramp, my fifth turn becomes my last. The catch will have to wait until next time.

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