Moving on up
If you don’t live around these parts, then the Astoria Column is this:
and it’s 125 feet of terror. Or, it is if you’re afraid of heights. And ohhhhhhh, I am. I can’t even climb a 6 foot ladder without feeling like I’m going to soil myself. One hundred twenty five feet, so multiply that by about 20. Or 21. Or, if you’re literal like my husband, 20.8.
I have no idea what possessed me to climb the column. Call it a lapse in judgment, a moment of stupidity, or thinking my balls were bigger than they are. Either way, it was not my brightest choice.
Inside the column is a metal spiral staircase with 164 steps that lead to the top.
About halfway up…
Me: “WHAT WAS THAT?!” I drop down to a whisper. “Is that an earthquake?”
Me, in a desperate whisper: “I THINK IT IS. IT’S AN EARTHQUAKE.”
Him, patiently: “No, it’s someone else coming up the stairs.”
Me, a little louder: “ARE YOU SURE?”
Before he can respond, we hear voices. “Oh. I guess you are.”
Me, in another panicked whisper: “WHY ARE THEY LAUGHING. DO THEY NOT REALIZE THAT WE ARE ALL GONNA DIE UP HERE?”
And later still…
“I CAN FEEL THIS SWAYING. ARE WE SWAYING? I THINK WE’RE SWAYING. WE’RE GOING DOWN.”
Needless to say, I was relieved to get down, even if I nearly had to scoot down the stairs on my ass.