I rode my first roller coaster at the age of 21, in Japan. As I child I loved anything that would make an adult feel sick. Sometimes I just span around in a circle until I fell over, then lay there watching the ceiling spin. I think I would have loved roller coasters, but we couldn’t afford to ride them back then. When I was young we lived in faily oppressive poverty and my parents made the entirely sensible decision that violin lessons would stand me in better stead for the future than roller coaster rides. Good call according to present me, not so much according to child-me. Anyway. While standing in the 45 minute queue to ride the White Cyclone, the third-longest wooden roller coaster in the world, I had every reason to believe that I would love it.
I didn’t. Just like Girl’s Gone Child, I guess I grew out of the joy of spinning. I wasn’t scared, but I was sure I was going to throw up. So sure that although I did not throw up, I swore never to ride one again. Last summer my brother and sister came to visit and I took them to an amusement park. They decided to ride this:
I was nervous for my little sister, who had also never ridden a roller coaster. Honestly, I tried to talk her out of it. She came through like a champion… but she did say that she didn’t think she’d do it again ;)