Bad week for extreme sport
A full gamut of emotion has been evoked this week via the 4 loses, and 1 rediscovery of Australian extreme sport practitioners in recent days. First there was the New Zealander that tens of others of his ilk walked pasted as he lay dying. Lincoln Hall was lost then found after spending a night alone in the ‘dead zone’ of Everest. Then Sue (no) Fear tragically fell into a crevasse and is presumed dead, at time of writing there is still faint hope she may still alive. Then there was Anthony Coombes who died while base jumping in Europe.
I really do get this guy and was particularly pleased to read his mother thoughts. Mrs Jarrett was content that her son lived a happy life and died doing what he loved most. At the end of the day can anyone else ask for any more? One could leave a huge legacy and a large family but if the family isn’t happy and you die at your desk having worked too hard to live life what’s the freekin point?
I get this guy as I am well into sports where if you get it wrong you can die. I don’t want getting it wrong means a dart stuck in the cork, a 2 stroke penalty or 5 minutes in the sin bin. I want getting it wrong means slamming it into the Armco or sliding along your arse hoping the cow that gave itself for your leathers didn’t use moisturiser and your back protector works. I want getting it wrong means you have 30 seconds to cut away the main chute and deploy the secondary or your fertiliser. That I get. My eyes work faster and I find myself holding my breath for short periods just thinking of track days or jumping out of planes. I just love it to death; quite literally if necessary. I’ve been becoming conscious of the breath holding thing lately. I am pretty sure it is done in order to increase my heart rate. It seems to happen at the beginning of the ‘fight or flight’ and ‘time to get excited’ cycles – very interesting.
Now mountaineers; I so don’t that. I have this mental picture that is a version of the Seinfeld episode where George is involved in a building evacuation where he throws women and children aside to save his own sorry arse. Well in my version there are many George’s. They are wind burned with over-protective sunglasses wearing feather / down puffy jackets and full mountain boots. In my version not only are they throwing men, women and children asunder but also stepping on their own in order to get the hell out.
One can image one of Lincoln Hall’s fellow mountaineers talking live to the BBC on his Sat-phone back at base camp about how there was nothing anyone could do for him as he walked into the bloody tent. In their defence I obviously have no understanding of it takes to survive in those conditions. Listening to the radio I heard that it takes all your effort and concentration to keep yourself alive up their but I’m sorry I am of the no-one gets left behind mindset. If you can afford US$50k to fulfil such a 'folly' (to quote Sue Fear) you can surely afford to stop to comfort someone in their last moments and have another crack later.
Each to their own but I would not get involved in a sport that has the potential to put me in such a predicament.
I really do get this guy and was particularly pleased to read his mother thoughts. Mrs Jarrett was content that her son lived a happy life and died doing what he loved most. At the end of the day can anyone else ask for any more? One could leave a huge legacy and a large family but if the family isn’t happy and you die at your desk having worked too hard to live life what’s the freekin point?
I get this guy as I am well into sports where if you get it wrong you can die. I don’t want getting it wrong means a dart stuck in the cork, a 2 stroke penalty or 5 minutes in the sin bin. I want getting it wrong means slamming it into the Armco or sliding along your arse hoping the cow that gave itself for your leathers didn’t use moisturiser and your back protector works. I want getting it wrong means you have 30 seconds to cut away the main chute and deploy the secondary or your fertiliser. That I get. My eyes work faster and I find myself holding my breath for short periods just thinking of track days or jumping out of planes. I just love it to death; quite literally if necessary. I’ve been becoming conscious of the breath holding thing lately. I am pretty sure it is done in order to increase my heart rate. It seems to happen at the beginning of the ‘fight or flight’ and ‘time to get excited’ cycles – very interesting.
Now mountaineers; I so don’t that. I have this mental picture that is a version of the Seinfeld episode where George is involved in a building evacuation where he throws women and children aside to save his own sorry arse. Well in my version there are many George’s. They are wind burned with over-protective sunglasses wearing feather / down puffy jackets and full mountain boots. In my version not only are they throwing men, women and children asunder but also stepping on their own in order to get the hell out.
One can image one of Lincoln Hall’s fellow mountaineers talking live to the BBC on his Sat-phone back at base camp about how there was nothing anyone could do for him as he walked into the bloody tent. In their defence I obviously have no understanding of it takes to survive in those conditions. Listening to the radio I heard that it takes all your effort and concentration to keep yourself alive up their but I’m sorry I am of the no-one gets left behind mindset. If you can afford US$50k to fulfil such a 'folly' (to quote Sue Fear) you can surely afford to stop to comfort someone in their last moments and have another crack later.
Each to their own but I would not get involved in a sport that has the potential to put me in such a predicament.
posted by Dissident Dave | 5:18 pm
