Show me the guy who fears no evil because he’s the baddest dude in the valley of death, and the woman who climbs El Capitan before breakfast. You think they’refearless? Tougher than a Deca Ironman? I’d have to agree. But I think I did something scarier and tougher than either of them. Little old me. Miss forty-five-year-old can’t-do-no-better-than-a-half-ironman, me.

I risked everything for love.

Pish posh, you say. Love is easy. You can fall in love any night of the week, and fall back out in time to start over again by Sunday.

Well, yes, you can do that. It’s easy. But it isn’t love, and it isn’t risk-taking. I’m talking about love as an extreme sport, love with the loser put to death, love played with hearts ripped out of the chest and handed over at the beginning of the “match.”


Click here to read the rest of “Cliff Diving, Falling in Love, and Other Extreme Sports” on Beyond Limits Magazine.



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