This time last week I was basking in the afterglow of a massive adrenaline surge. Of having taken my life in my hands and survived. Well a bit, anyway.
During our Welsh extravaganza last week we decided to have a Tree Top Adventure. Unsurprisingly I hadn't thought about it much before last Saturday. Of course, I knew about Go Ape-type places, but I hadn't actually been. And, clearly, in my head I'm still a strong and agile youngster.
An exhilaration hour or so later I found myself 100ft up, peering over the edge of a platform at my family waaaay down below. Then I stepped forward... into nothing.
Oh my goodness.
Squealing seconds later, I was deposited gently on the ground. I survived.
I had done the Powerfan Plummet!
The well-trained and professional staff at the Tree Top Adventure had made sure I was securely strapped into a harness and wasn't really in any danger, but still, my subconscious didn't know that.
There is a point where you have a huge internal argument between your rational brain "you've got the harness on" and your survival instinct "get the hell off down now". Blimey.
Just thinking about that moment on the edge makes my stomach churn. I'm glad I did it. And I probably would do it again.
It does make me wonder, though. Over the years I've learned - again and again - that my instinct knows better and I've tried to pay better attention. What does slapping it in the face and telling it to shut up, do in the long run?