No, we won’t cross that bridge when we come to it
Iactually kind of enjoyed my trip to the dentist last week. The routine is always the same. I slide into a trance as the dental hygienist lowers my chair into Freedom 7 launch position. I lay there staring at the light, all mellow and relaxed while she tinkers with my teeth. Even when she pokes a little too hard, it’s OK. I’m cool, man. At the end of the hour, I rise from the chair refreshed and minty clean ready for six more months of Corn Nuts and Laffy Taffy.
A lot of people have a phobia about going to the dentist. A phobia is defined as an extreme or irrational fear of something. Contrary to what most of you think, I’m not perfect. I too have phobias. For example, I can’t run, walk, or drive across a high bridge like the Bay Bridge or the Golden Gate. Can’t do it. Seriously.
About 20 years ago I signed up for a half marathon in San Francisco. I checked into my room downtown the night before the run and went to check out the starting line at Aquatic Park. I understood the race took us across the Golden Gate Bridge and back but as I stood there looking at the massive span looming in the darkness, a chill went up my spine.
I’d had a thing about heights since I’d refused to ascend the Swiss Family Robinson tree in Disneyland by holding the trunk in a death grip as a 10-year-old but I figured the energy of the runners would get me across the bridge the next day. I was wrong.
The race started promptly at 7 a.m. the next day. Hundreds of us ran through Crissy Field and across the Presidio for about a half hour. We then headed up the path to the south end of the Golden Gate. So far, so good. It was at that point the herd of runners got funneled down so tight on the sidewalk along the east side of the span we started trading elbows like hockey players.
Up ahead the bridge seemed to arch upwards unnaturally and the two giant red towers glowered at me. I made a conscious effort to not look down as land disappeared below us. The bay was only 220 feet (I looked it up later) below me but the space between bridge and water seemed infinite and threatening. I tried resisting the trickery welling up in my mind to no avail. My heart was beating like a rabbit who’d guzzled a Red Bull and it had nothing to do with the race.
Suddenly I was one of the Wallenda family on a sidewalk that was a foot wide. The railing that was supposed to keep me from blowing over the side was the same height as a loaf of bread. The mass of people whose energy I’d be counting on to get me across the bridge had gone quiet, their conversations replaced by a cold howling wind from Asia.
I was at the south tower when I made my decision. I banged a U-turn and sprinted back towards dry land. I kept my head down avoiding eye contact as I zig-zagged through the wave of optimistic runners going in the opposite direction.
Then I noticed it. As I wedged my way between the crowd, people were saying things like, “Good job” and “Nice time.” I heard it over and over again.
I was back on terra firma near the toll booth when I heard a guy yell, “Keep going. You’re by yourself !” I suddenly realized they all thought I was in the lead. No one else had crossed the bridge and returned yet so they assumed that since I was the first runner they saw coming at them, I must be in first place. It was amusing and embarrassing at the same time. I turned the corner and slinked off down a side street like a talentless mime at Fisherman’s Wharf.
Since that day as we near say, the Antioch Bridge, I quietly pull over and let my wife take the wheel. I like being in first place at the dentist office. Crossing a bridge? Not so much.