How I learned to love the steep incline

The Millennium Force still makes me nervous. I’ve ridden it hundreds of times by now (okay, more like dozens but I’m trying to exaggerate for emphasis here—and to impress you), but I still get a fluttering in my stomach as I stand in line and look up towards its 300’ hill towering over Lake Erie. The fluttering increases as I stand on the platform with the pseudo-rave music echoing through my ears (if you’ve ridden it, you know the music I mean).

Up until a handful of years ago, I hated roller coasters. I had myself convinced I was afraid of heights—I think because once when I was younger my brother said he was so I was too. Oddly, he has always loved roller coasters. The first coaster I ever rode was the Beastie at King’s Island, a kid’s version of The Beast, and I hated it. The first real coaster I rode was the Millennium Force and I hated it. My eyes were closed for the entire minute-and-a-half ride. I think I was forced to ride it two or even three times that day by my then best friend. I know once I was soaking wet, having just ridden the flume ride or white water raft ride and I was terrified I was somehow going to slip right out. I felt bad for whoever had to sit in the wet seats of the car after us.

 

Towards the end of the day, I was finally starting to enjoy the roller coasters and was growing tired of my friend’s prodding of “Quit being a pussy.”

But then the park closed and we had to go home.

Next time. And yes, there was a next time.

My then best friend got me hooked on the physics-bending structures, which I never would have thought possible. Of all of the times my family had tried to get me to ride them when I was younger, I never would, but he was able to get me to do it; he gave me a confidence I didn’t know I had. I passed that confidence onto my now best friend, who also used to not like roller coasters but now loves them. In fact, he was the one who convinced me to ride in the first row of every roller coaster we rode—something my previous best friend had tried to get me to do too, but I never would. Recently I went to Cedar Point with a different friend and it was curious how I didn’t seem to push much to sit in the first row save for on a couple rides.

That night as we drove home, my friend asleep in the passenger seat, I found myself pondering this idea that we have more confidence around certain people than others. But why? Why must we rely upon the presence of someone else for that extra push we need? I don’t have that answer. I don’t think anyone does. I’m sure there are plenty of government grant-paid researchers who have theories. We’re societal beings. We like accompaniment. We thrive upon it. No matter how self-confident or motivated you are, you need someone to rely on, someone for support. 

Without our friends and family to back us up, we are nothing.