One o'clock this afternoon found me belly-flat on the very end of a short, rickety dock, the rough edges of the boards biting into my waist, my left arm clinging to a metal pipe running parallel to the end of the dock to keep my upper body out of the water while my right fished at full extension for a cache suspended in a tube below. I knew going in that the terrain rating for this cache was a 5 (the highest), but I did not expect to be suspended over water while hunting it! Fortunately, had I lost my grip and fallen into the shallow pond below, most likely the only thing injured would have been my ego, but those wounds cut deep. As it was, I managed to both retrieve and return the cache without incident, giving thanks for my height and wingspan all the while. I sincerely wish that I'd had the presence of mind to take a picture of the site, but my adrenaline was running high and I forgot. When I get over that way again, I will remedy that omission.
At any rate, I related the scene to my husband when I got home, which was a mistake on several levels. He doesn't much like the idea of me risking my fool neck in general, and he doesn't understand why anyone would choose to spend their free time geocaching, either. He thinks I'm nuts.
Bear in mind that this is a man who runs marathons and 200-mile relay races for fun. This very morning, as it happens, he 1) got up at 5:30AM on purpose and 2) ran 23.5 consecutive sub-8 minute miles of hills as part of his training for his next marathon in December. Then he coached a soccer practice for the two younger ones followed by a game of Thing One's, creaking around like an old man all the while. I may be nuts, but I'm not the only one! Pot, meet kettle.