I'm With Stupid

I have phobias: fear of heights, fear of blood, and fear of flying. I hate that I have these unfounded fears. They are irrational and reduce my range of activities.

My unscientific approach to dealing with these phobias is to try to dispel them by engaging in things I fear. Basically, I force myself to do things that scare me.

Yesterday, I walked across the Manhattan Bridge.

It is a pretty bridge with filigree iron work. I've admired its beauty many times while walking across the Brooklyn Bridge and wondered what it looked like up close. I wanted to walk across it but avoided doing so.

The Manhattan Bridge was in great disrepair when I moved to New York. A high official in the public works department told a friend that it was in such dangerous condition he refused to drive across it.

The Manhattan Bridge supports subway and car traffic. According to the official, this was inappropriate use of the bridge. Routine subway crossings cause too much stress on a bridge intended for cars and trolleys. Also, the bridge was designed by the same person responsible for the Tacoma Narrows Bridge, which collapsed 3 months after completion.

The bridge underwent a major renovation during the 00's.

I decided it was time to face my fear and do something new by walking across the bridge.

I walked down to the far east side of Canal Street and found a path leading up to the bridge. There was a sign for bicyclists, so I asked a passing biker whether the path was only for bikes. He said pedestrians use it also and encouraged me to use the path.

I should not have listened to him. Unlike the Brooklyn Bridge, bicycles and pedestrians have separate paths on the Manhattan Bridge.

Bikers angrily rang their bells as they passed me. But by the time this happened, I had crossed one quarter of the bridge (about a quarter of a mile). It was too late to turn back.

When I reached the part of the bridge that begins the span over the water my heart started to pound. The only separation between me and the water approximately twelve stories below was an open iron work banister.

It makes no sense, but open structures such as stairs without risers or steps composed of iron grid work exacerbate my fear of heights. Anything above the second story is too high for me to climb unless a stairway is composed of solid materials.

I averted my eyes from the water and Brooklyn skyline to fix them on the path ahead.

As the subway rumbled and the bridge rocked, I tried to focus on the recent repairs rather than the structural instability associated with the train.

When I reached the middle of the bridge, I noticed that the light was fading quickly. I was on the north side of the bridge, so the bridge cast a shadow on the walkway as the sun went down.

I could see there was a homeless man ahead gesturing to bikers as they went by. It was clear that he did not have a good grasp of his wits, and I wanted to avoid him. But there was nowhere to go except past him.

I was not looking forward to passing him in the dark on a restricted path with scarce bikers.

A jogger passed me, and I started jogging near her so we could pass this person together. I didn't want to turn back. I wanted to get to the other side as quickly as possible.

I started thinking about the many times I have driven under caged overpasses on urban highways at night. I would marvel that anyone would walk on those passageways after dark. They make one so vulnerable because they are poorly lit and there is no alternative exit route.

Here I was in a similar setting but this one was a mile-long, enclosed walkway on a bridge I fear.

I passed the unhinged man about 10 feet behind the jogger. The street lights on the bridge kindled at about this moment. I followed the jogger all the way down to the clover leaf highway at the base of the walkway.

Instead of feeling a sense of accomplishment, I was annoyed with myself.

Why did I place myself in a somewhat precarious situation? I should have researched the location of the pedestrian walkway entrance before getting on the bridge.

Why did I allow myself to get so nervous about a situation that probably was not dangerous? Most likely the jogger took this path routinely. The homeless guy was not in his senses, but he was probably harmless.

It appears that there is more than the phobia in me that is irrational.