Remember me? It's your irrational fear of heights! Here I am!

So, this plan. I thought hard about this plan, taking in to account all sorts of stuff like work commitments and family events and even the weather; notice how I get to stay inside during July and August? I thought about the realities of my limits and the limitlessness of my dreams. Is that even a thing? Ah well.

But. It’s one month in and I’ve hit a snag. A big ole’ ugly bump in the road that I’m going to have to climb over but I really would rather just, well, not.

Did you know, I’m afraid of heights? Do you know that it’s not just proper heights, but little heights like the first step on a step-ladder? I can’t stand on a kid’s chair at work without my knees feeling weak.

Well last weekend I climbed the Durie Hill steps for the first time in my whole life (even though I drive past them every day). And guess what? I forgot that I was afraid of heights until it was time to come back down. It took me as long as to come down those steps as it did to get to the top, and I was holding on to the rail for dear life. Every time I took a step it looked like the stair was falling away from me. Paul strode down carrying Alice, smiling at me partly because he loves me and partly because I was being such a sook.

So in March, I have to climb up those stairs three times a week. No sweat (Well, lots of sweat, actually, it’s a bloody good workout – my lungs were screaming!). What I should actually do is change my plan to ‘come DOWN the Durie Hill steps three times a week’, because suddenly this is not a physical challenge any more, it’s a mental one.

But it gets worse!

Because I’m aware of how terrified I was coming down the stairs on the weekend, I know that if I wait until March to do it again that little mental bump in the road will manifest itself in to a mountain. Damn it, you know what that means. I’m going to have to go up Durie Hill steps before then!

I used to think that I wanted to go up the steps with a friend but I didn’t want to do it with anyone too fit because I didn’t want to hold them back. Now, I want to go up with a friend who won’t laugh at me when they see me creep down the stairs, two hands on the rail.

I don’t want to go back up there, to be honest. But on the other hand, I really, really do. What is there to really be afraid of? Nothing. What is there to lose? A small part of my irrational fear of a slightly elevated standing position and some calories. And how wonderful would it be, to stroll down the stairs like those two girls in jandals that passed me, not watching where they were going and not holding on to the rail? That would be a dream come true!

Can you remind me of these things, please, when I’m on the verge of making up a lame excuse?