As we rapidly climbed the first hill, already alarmingly steep on the way up, I began to wonder how one actually tests the safety of a roller coaster. Hopefully, I thought, "Media Day" wasn't some kind of euphemism for human trials. When we came to the crest of the hill, I looked down to the ground far, far below me and began to contemplate my mortality.
When we started falling, basically face-first toward the ground, I opened my mouth to scream. Nothing came out. My mouth stayed open, though, because my whole body froze, every muscle tensed and the force of the wind took away any ability to breathe.
And then, just as I thought I couldn't stand it anymore, the car swooped up. Suddenly, we were on our side.
I could breathe, but my cheeks felt like they were sliding off my face. My mouth, of course, was still gaping open because the G-force wouldn't let me close it. At some point, I became aware that my friend sitting next to me had her hands up and seemed to be laughing. Maybe she was laughing at her impending doom?
The blue sky spun around my head. I wondered what all the screaming was and realized it was me (and apparently everybody else aboard.) Then I realized I was drooling. And my bra straps were falling down.
But none of that mattered.
You know at the end of a roller coaster ride, when you get to go over some gentle hills and then calm down? This roller coaster doesn't do that. You're flying for the entire 3½ minutes.
When the car pulled to a stop, every muscle finally relaxed. I was spent. Exhausted but exhilarated.
And I was ready to do it again.