My First (And Last!) Time on a Zip Line

Originally published in 2014

Sometimes I have the idea I should get out of my house and be more adventurous (usually after I watch an episode of Biggest Loser). However, I fail to take into consideration important details like , oh I don’t know, my age, size, bad back, the fact that I just had my third c-section. Oh, and my absolute intolerance for people eating cereal. That last one was weird and not at all applicable to this story. Sorry. My point is, staying home and never wearing a bra is way underrated…especially when you combine me (post BL episode) and a zip line.

Case in point:

I have three girls. Three lovely, sweet girls. Somehow them inheriting their father’s eyes and my nose made them into heavenly beings that look like they came straight from heaven’s womb instead of being surgically removed from mine.  They are gorgeous, joyful, creative, angelic beings. However, what happened to my body after having said girls brings about a completely different group of adjectives. I remember coming home from the hospital after my first daughter was born, looking in the mirror, and seeing this once beautifully round belly filled with a growing life, now sagging past my non-angelic vajayjay and getting dangerously close to my knees. I panicked and decided I would NEVER gain that much weight when I had my other children. Oh yeah, that totally happened.

Fast forward three years, fifty pounds, and two additional children later. I had just finished an episode of Biggest Loser (one of the ones where they pull a semi filled with tTwinkies, using nothing but a rope tied around their waist and their newly found disgust of processed foods) and decided to take my three little chicks to a local park, complete with swings, slides, and a zip line. They knew we were going somewhere special when I changed out of my maternity sweatpants and put on a bra.

I wanted to sit on the grass and watch them play but my kids had the incredulous idea I would actually participate in this playtime with them. So I dragged my grass-stained butt off the ground and pushed them on the swings for a while. And that’s when I saw it — a zip line! I’d seen them before on the world-wide web, complete with happy people climbing to the top of the mountain in Australia, gliding down effortlessly whilst their hair stays perfectly in place. I then decided I was no longer a pudgy mom of three who would rather be sitting at home, bra-less, watching back-to-back episodes of Psych. I was adventurous, dammit!

I grabbed my unsuspecting two-year old off the swings and pulled her over to the zip line, waiting for the annoying child in front of us to just go already so we could have a turn. A few parents had already taken their kids and it looked SO easy. She decided she wasn’t too sure about it and asked that I go with her (see how I made it seem like it was HER idea I ride along? Clever Mommy.) I put her on my lap, held on tight to the ropes, pushed off the edge of the platform, and just as the mental picture of me gliding down the mountain in size two hiking short (with my Bare Minerals un-smudged, of course) popped into my head, I opened my eyes. There I was, sitting on the ground, clutching my two-year old as if her life depended on it. Nothing was happening. Nothing. We weren’t moving. My daughter looked completely un-amused and ran for the swings, leaving me sitting there with a mangled piece of industrial-strength rope under me. I had broken the zip line. And, to top it off, I had playground sand up my size 16 shorts.

I write this to you from the comfort of my home, wearing my pajamas at two o’clock in the afternoon. I haven’t completely given up on being adventurous. While I may not run to the nearest zip line again any time soon — and will probably hold off on watching Biggest Loser for a while — I do make it a point to wear a bra every day. Well, almost every day.