"You're here", it started, "in Queenstown, practically the home of this ludicrous sport. When will you come back here?" It continued, "It would almost be churlish not to take this golden opportunity these people are offering you. Think of what you'll miss out on if you leave now".

Meanwhile, another part of my brain was countering: "Are you mad? What possible reason could you have for wanting to fall off a bridge? And why on earth would you pay someone for that privilege?" I had to agree, I had a point.

So it was with great surprise that I found myself sitting on the edge of the bridge whilst someone chatted in a barber-like fashion as he bound my legs together with several lengths of rope. Almost before I knew it I was standing on a precarious ledge looking down on what appeared to be a very very long drop to the river below. I had seen six people do this jump only minutes before; but somehow the way I had imagined they felt didn't match up to the cocktail of chemical messengers that were dashing frantically about my body.

Standing on the bridge, behind the barrier, it had seemed a long way down, but somehow, now that I was on the edge with the naked drop before me, it took on an altogether new meaning.

I looked down.
"OK", said my guide, "on the count of five: five, four,"
I looked out at the spectacular view.
"three, two,"
I looked down.
"one"
Nothing.

My body absolutely refused to move. Half of me was trying to reason about the laws of elasticity and motion to the other half that was loudly shouting "What the hell do you think you are doing?"

"Ok", said the guide, who had clearly come across this behaviour a hundred times before. "Look to your left and wave to the camera." I looked and saw the video, the line of spectators and Gaynor standing with her camera poised.
"Look at the horizon."
I looked forward and for an instant forgot the yawning gap beneath my feet. "Five four three two one"
And I jumped.

The experience of that microsecond is impossible to encapsulate. Every alarm bell and warning in my body was triggered - a grand emergency had occurred and different parts of my brain were scrabbling for the emergency stop cord. The rest was an utterly confusing collage, the view was spinning and changing so fast that it was impossible to focus on any one point. The sharp tug that would prevent me from splashing into the waters below never came; I was only vaguely aware that I was travelling upwards again - the deceleration had been silky smooth. As I reached the top of what must have been my second bounce, the blue and green patchwork had resolved itself into something resembling a landscape and I could almost begin to make sense of my surroundings; but the unfamiliar angles and perspectives made it intensely confusing. Eventually I came to rest and dangled midstream above the inflatable dingy and the pole the pilot was offering me.

As I collapsed into the boat I looked up at the grins on the faces of those still on the bridge, grinned myself and waved back. I can honestly say it was almost completely unlike I expected it to be. Dangling upside down from a bridge gives you a new perspective on the world, but that first unforgettable microsecond of flight gives you a whole new and surprising perspective on yourself.