The year was 1987, and I was just beginning the 5th grade when I visited Six Flags St. Louis for the first time. It was a family trip, with my mom, dad, brother, and several aunts and cousins going along.

Prior to this day, I had been to a few carnivals and town fairs and ridden the Ferris Wheel, spinning saucers and other ubiqitous amusements found all over America on the 4th of July or Labor Day. But this was my first trip to a bona fide amusement park, with real roller coasters and rides that were too big to move once the weekend was over.

When we entered the park, the first ride we encountered was a roller coaster known as the Jet Scream. As I recall, the Jet Scream began with a precipitous climb, followed by a lightning fast plunge, giving the cars enough speed to complete one full loop. There wasn’t really much more than that, as I recall. I doubt the entire trip lasted much more than 30 seconds. Compared to many of the roller coasters offered at Six Flags today, the Jet Scream was nothing special.

The Jet Scream, Six Flags St. Louis

As we climbed into one of the cars, my dad draped his arm around my younger brother’s neck. One of the attendants came by and asked him to remove it, warning, “You could break his neck once this ride gets going.” That was our first sign we were in for an experience.

For a kid who had never been on anything faster than the Heart Flip at the town festival, the Jet Scream was 30 seconds of pure terror. My heart plunged along with the coaster, and we were viciously hurled through the loop and out the other side.

And just like that, it was over. I climbed out of the car, legs trembling, half-sick and scared witless. In that moment, I reached an important conclusion: I hated roller coasters.

For the rest of the day, I did my best to avoid a repeat performance. While everyone else rode the Screaming Eagle, Six Flags’ signature coaster, my feet remained planted on the terra firma. I had learned my lesson and didn’t need another.

Sometime later, my family and some friends made another trip to Six Flags. I went along, but managed to avoid climbing on anything that looked even slightly titillating. Suffice it to say it was a rather boring day.

After that, I managed to avoid Six Flags altogether. Schoolmates, friends and family members made annual treks, sometimes offering to take me along. But the answer was always no. I was content to keep my distance.

Then, in 2002, it happened. I was the brand new youth pastor at Calvary Tabernacle in Quincy, and the church youth group had a tradition: every summer, they took a trip to Six Flags.

I was now 24 and leading a group of 12-18 year olds. And if there was one thing I was determined not to do, it was look weak in front of my flock. I scheduled that Six Flags trip and braced myself for the Day of Reckoning. I was determined to endure a day of roller coaster rides even if it killed me.

When the Big Day arrived and we walked through the gates of the park, my old nemesis, the Jet Scream, was gone. In it’s place was a metal monstrosity designed to be twice as frightening: Batman: The Ride.

I could attempt to describe Batman: The Ride to you, but instead, I offer this line from a Wikipedia article about the coaster:

Numerous guests often complain about headaches, dizziness, and nausea after riding Batman due to intense G-forces on the ride, especially in the portion of track including the wingovers, after the second loop.

Needless to say, Batman: The Ride made the Jet Scream look like child’s play. But I was determined. I clenched my jaw, waited in line, and climbed aboard.

And we were off. The motor began pulling the cars towards the pinnacle of the track, preparing for the inevitable descent the provided the momentum to complete the rest of the ride. I could feel my chest tightening with every second that passed.

But somewhere along the trip, a strange sensation crept through my body. I actually was beginning to feel more excitement and adrenaline than fear. And by the time Batman: The Ride reached its final destination and I disembarked, I had reached a conclusion.

I loved roller coasters.

I spent the rest of the day riding every coaster in the park, including the gravity-defying Mr. Freeze. I barely touched any other type of ride, and didn’t take even a single trip down Thunder River, one of my childhood favorites. I did squeeze in a trip on the Highland Fling, a demented Ferris Wheel-type device that spins the rider upside down. I had been too scared to even get close to the Highland Fling as a kid, but now, in my newfound lust for an ever-greater adrenaline rush, I found it a little monotonous. I even rode the Screaming Eagle, which also seemed a little dull compared to some of the newer offerings.

I discovered something else that day, too, that was far more important than the thrill of a roller coaster. I was reminded that life’s greatest rewards usually come when we push past our fears and take a risk.

As humans, we’re usually content to stay in our safety zone. We do everything in our power to avoid anything that makes us uncomfortable. And in doing so, we miss opportunites to enjoy  new and exciting experiences. We miss opportunities to grow.

In 2010, I encourage you to step out and do the thing that scares you to death. Take a risk. Go on an adventure. Do something radical.

Ride the roller coasters.