What could be more relaxing than camping by a lake?
The answer would be camping by a lake that has absolutely no water sports facilities.
This summer, my seven-year-old asked to try zorbing during our camping trip. He had watched other people zorb (is that the correct term?) at various other places we had visited, but this was the first time he had asked to do it. Sure, we said, of course you can. Only, he didn’t want to do it alone, so I volunteered to go with him.
It was not fun. I discovered that, actually, I am quite claustrophobic. Being zipped inside a plastic ball and then forced to physically exert yourself was, frankly, horrific.
For the first few minutes it was alright. I waved to my son, who was already inside his zorb, as we tried to move around the enclosure. Attempting to move in any direction was difficult, and with the sun beating down, I began to tire pretty quickly. My instinct was to get the hell out of there as soon as possible; I wanted to rip a hole in that thing to feel the breeze, and take in deep gulps of fresh air, like Sandra Bullock in that closing scene at the end of Gravity.
The session lasted ten minutes; but I asked to get out after five, by madly trying to manoeuver myself over to the launch deck and waving at the attendant. My son lasted longer than I did, but he was crying to get out by the end.
Zorbing is more fun to watch than to do. I learned that I could never be an astronaut or work in a submarine, so I guess I can cross those off my list of future careers…