Looking Death in the Eye at 42: My Birthday Ride on Vampire at Chessington

Yesterday was my 42nd birthday, and I decided to celebrate it with my family at Chessington World of Adventures, a fantastic theme park practically on our doorstep here in England. I expected laughter, ice creams, family memories, and perhaps a few gentle rides. What I did not expect was to come face-to-face with my own mortality within the first ten minutes of entering the park.

As we walked through the entrance, the first thing we noticed on our right was the famous Vampire ride. Towering above the trees of the Wild Woods area, it looked intimidating enough from the ground. For some members of our family, however, simply looking at it was enough.

My oldest son, aged ten, and my seven-year-old daughter took one look at the ride and immediately burst into tears. Their verdict was clear: this machine had been specifically designed to kill people.

My second son, aged nine, had a very different opinion.

"Dad, can we go on it? Please! Let's go!"

While his brother and sister begged us not to go anywhere near what they considered a flying death trap, he stood there grinning with excitement. Before I knew it, I was leaving two terrified children at the exit and joining my fearless son in the queue.

Little did I know that I was about to experience one of the most powerful sensory experiences of my entire life.

When Your Nervous System Takes Over

As an Occupational Therapist with a background in neuroscience, I spend much of my professional life helping children understand and regulate their sensory experiences.

Yesterday, however, my own nervous system became the experiment.

The moment the ride started moving, I felt something shift inside me. Any illusion of control disappeared instantly. My autonomic nervous system switched into survival mode within seconds.

First came the rapid acceleration.

Then the swinging.

Then the turns.

Then the sensation of moving sideways.

Then backwards.

Then seemingly upside down.

All at speeds my sensory systems had absolutely not agreed to beforehand.

My vestibular system, responsible for processing movement, balance, and spatial orientation, was receiving more information than it had bargained for. Every twist and drop produced a flood of sensory input that my brain struggled to organise.

I started taking deep breaths.

Not the calm, mindful breathing I often recommend to clients.

This was survival breathing.

I turned to my son beside me.

"BREATHE OUT!"

"ARE YOU OK?"

"DO YOU WANT TO HOLD MY HAND?"

His response was unforgettable.

"Daddy, I'm fine."

"You need to calm down and breathe."

The irony was not lost on me.

The Moment I Thought It Was Over

As the ride intensified, my body became rigid. Every muscle tightened. My hands clamped onto the safety bar with a grip that could probably have cracked diamonds.

Then I made a mistake.

I looked down.

My legs were dangling freely in empty space.

That was the moment my vestibular system completely lost the argument with gravity.

I remember thinking:

"Well, this is it."

"I'm going to die on my 42nd birthday."

"What a way to go."

It sounds ridiculous now, but at that moment it felt entirely real.

The ride probably lasted around sixty seconds.

Yet during those sixty seconds, time stretched dramatically. I experienced that strange phenomenon many people describe during intense situations: life flashing before their eyes. Every second felt much longer than it actually was.

We Survived

Eventually, the train slowed.

The platform came into view.

The world stopped spinning.

And suddenly we were back.

Alive.

I looked at my son and announced triumphantly:

"WE ARE ALIVE!"

His response?

"THAT WAS PERFECT DADDY! LET'S DO IT AGAIN!"

I stared at him in disbelief.

"DO NOT EVEN MENTION IT AGAIN."

As far as I was concerned, I had used up my lifetime quota of adrenaline.

Or at least that's what I said.

Because if I'm honest, something else was happening beneath the fear.

Part of me wanted to do it again.

Fear, Gratitude, and Being Fully Alive

Perhaps that is what makes experiences like these so fascinating.

At the height of the ride I felt terrified. My body was convinced I was facing genuine danger. Yet the moment it ended, relief was quickly followed by exhilaration.

I felt grateful.

Grateful to be alive.

Grateful for my family.

Grateful for the chance to experience something so intense, so memorable, and so utterly out of my comfort zone.

As Occupational Therapists, we often talk about the "just right challenge" - experiences that stretch our abilities without overwhelming us completely. While Vampire may have exceeded my personal definition of "just right," it certainly reminded me that growth often lives on the other side of discomfort.

My nine-year-old son left the ride wanting more.

I left questioning every life decision that had brought me there.

Yet today, as I write this, I realise that the memory has already transformed from fear into one of the most unforgettable moments of my life.

And that, perhaps, is the magic of adventure.

At 42 years old, I learned that fear and excitement are sometimes separated by only a heartbeat.

And apparently, my nine-year-old son is considerably braver than I am. 🧛🎢🎂