When my feet hit the ground, I knew I was old. The Kings Island ride Windseeker, which consisted of sitting in a chair which rotated 301 feet in the air, had done something it hadn’t ever done: It scared me. It hadn’t malfunctioned, or sprung a lap bar, or acted in any way in which all the warning signs at the base of the tower told me it would. It did exactly it was supposed to do. And I freaked out. Suspended so high, going so fast, even while closing my eyes and clutching at Josh The Pilot, I panicked and panicked and panicked even as everything but the discomposure came to a full and complete stop.
Baseball Is Life: Leaning Into the Ride
