Jet lag crippled me for a while, so I lay in my comfortable bed, half-sleeping in the beautiful city of Queenstown, New Zealand.

I immediately awakened in a slight panic, springing up with that "what did I forget?" energy.

Then it hit me: I had an appointment to go bungee jumping off a massive 134 meter crane. (440 feet) above the Nevis River Valley. With a free-fall time of about 8.5 seconds. It’s considered the highest bungee jump in New Zealand and one of the highest in the world only adding to its intimidating stance.

OK, "You're on vacation," I tried to tell myself, "relax."

But who can relax when your morning plan involves jumping off something very tall and very man-made?

The beautiful two-bedroom suite overlooking Lake Wakatipu was like a page torn from an international travel magazine, peaceful, reflective, and whispering stay in bed.

But rest would have to wait; destiny (and gravity) were calling.

Running late for my crane jump, I did what any determined adrenaline junkie would do get bothered but jump off of whatever could find.

So I was lead to where it all started, If I couldn't leap from the crane, I'd leap from history itself.

So, I booked a jump at Kawarau Bridge, the birthplace of modern bungee jumping, the first permanent commercial site, opened in 1988.

The bridge sits gracefully over the turquoise Kawarau River, 43 meters (about 141 feet) above the water below.

When I finally arrived, the sight was breathtaking.

The bridge looked like something out of an explorer's sketchbook, rugged stone, wooden beams, and the unmistakable hum of pure adrenaline echoing from jumpers and spectators alike.

It was surreal, my standing there, knowing that this was where it all began, where countless thrill-seekers had stood before me, questioning life choices and gravity simultaneously.

As I approached the jump platform, my heart rate politely informed me that it was now working overtime.

The staff greeted me me with wide smiles and the unmistakable confidence of people who tie strangers to rubber bands for a living.

I signed the waiver, the modern traveler's way of saying, "Sure, let's do something crazy, and I won't sue you if I survive."

Just as I was waiting the jumper ahead of me, a tall guy who looked like he could wrestle a bear -started trembling.

After several deep breaths and motivational speeches from the crew, he stepped forward… then backward…

Finally, he looked down, shook his head, and tapped out. “I can't do it” he sadly expressed

The crew sighed, and asked him was he sure. His disappointed tone was more direct “Yes I’m sure,” the staff immediately started to unhook him, and turned to me with raised eyebrows.

"So, mate, you gonna do the same thing?"

Without hesitation, I said,

"Absolutely not. I'm in.”

One of them grinned.

"Good! Now, when you jump, do you want to touch the water?" the staff asked me

I thought for a moment.

"Yes… but I don't want to spend the rest of the day walking around like a wet towel."

They laughed, nodded, and promised to "dip me just enough."

What could possibly go wrong?

Standing on that narrow wooden ledge, toes hanging over the abyss, I took a deep breath and stared at the turquoise ribbon of river below.

The countdown began.

Three… Two… One… Jump!

And I did.

The bridge instantly disappeared, replaced by wind, speed, and the sound of my own lungs filing a complaint.

The drop was pure freefall, heart-pounding, brain-buzzing, and so fast that thought couldn't keep up with feeling.

Then the cord caught, stretched, and launched me skyward again like a human yo-yo.

Once.

Twice.

Three times.

By the fifth bounce, I was starting to question my life choices.

Each rebound was "Woohoo!" quickly followed by "Okay, that's enough!"

But despite the jolts, the discomfort, and the realization that I was now the world's most awkward pogo stick, I endured.

And I loved every second.

Finally lowered into a waiting raft, I was unhooked and ferried to shore.

My legs felt like overcooked noodles, and my adrenaline levels were somewhere near orbit.

But the real challenge wasn't the jump, it was the walk back up to the point of origin before my faithful leap.

Step after step, calves burning, lungs questioning my fitness choices, I climbed toward the bridge like a triumphant (but exhausted) mountaineer.

By the time I reached the top, I was drenched in sweat, grinning ear to ear, and convinced I'd just unlocked a new level of life.

As I watched other jumpers take the plunge, I couldn't help but smile.

Fear is funny, it makes your knees weak and your heart race, yet it also makes you feel alive.

Jumping off the original Kawarau Bridge wasn't just about thrill; it was about trust , trusting the cord, the crew, and most importantly, myself.

Would I do it again?

In a heartbeat, though I might request fewer bounces next time.

"Look before you leap," they say.

I looked.

I leaped.

And I can honestly say… the view from mid-air was worth every heartbeat.