We were standing at the top of a cliff overlooking glittering blue-green water, both of us salty with ocean and buzzing with adrenaline. I'd just mustered enough courage to fling my unwilling body off a fairly large cliff at Rick's, to the delight of Corey, who'd already flipped, dived, and spun off a rope across the way into the depths. I'd suspected he was an adrenaline junkie too, we'd talked about it, but it turned out he also walked the walk.
"I'm thinking about going off that one there," he nodded to a sketchy plank on top of a near dead tree on the other side of the cliffs: a place conspicuously absent of whitey tourists. Rastas and sinewy locals smoked joints and wandered lazily under the tree, which appeared to be miles above the ocean. We watched as a resort employee plunged gracefully off the tree platform and into the recesses below.
God. It was absurdly high.
"I'll do it if you do it." The words flopped out of my mouth before I could catch them, spank them, and huck them back into my stomach where they belonged.
I was going to go off that gigantic cliff if he did? Would I go off it if he died first? Because that was the way it would probably go down. That cliff was ridiculously, ominously massive. And that platform was tiny, and sketchy, and oh my god, Corey was paying that dude to take him over to the forbidden area where Naive Overpaid Tourists were obviously not allowed.
Next thing I knew, he was climbing up the damned tree. And I was cheering him on.
He came out, pulsating with adrenaline and awesomeness and I tasted sea salt on his neck and then I put on my sandals because I said I'd do it, too.
I dodged past locals who explained: this is dangerous and you could die and if you do we are not liable. I plowed up the tree and over the tiny plank and into the ocean. It was terrifying, exhilarating, and awesome.
"Where can we do this next?" I asked when I emerged, shaky and elated by the words of strangers (you have balls, girl!) as I scrambled out of the ocean.
Cliff diving isn't a sport, per se, and it's not an activity for the faint of heart, and this I understand. But one of the things that keeps Corey and I solid, and interested and engaged in each other, is a penchant for extreme sports. Cliff diving, bungee jumping, endurance running, snowboarding, skiing, we want to do it all, and do it together.
This past weekend, we went up to Whistler. I was a bit unsure: he was a two-planker, I preferred to ride. But, of course, we had fun and pushed each other, as always. Turns out, he's a better skier than I am snowboarder. But that's only till I catch up to him.
Corey at Whistler Blackcomb from Kristin on Vimeo.
(Note that neither Corey nor I condone plunging off insanely high cliffs for fun. Do, always, what is right for you.)
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