I am standing on a wooden platform, wearing a harness, clipped to a steel cable, about to launch myself on a zipline. It’s only at this precise moment that I realise this was not the best idea I’ve ever had. “I’ve never been on a zipline before,” I think to myself. “I wonder how you do it”. But it’s too late now. I step off my perch and move along the cable, gravity pulling me inexorably towards the other wooden platform up ahead. The plan is, the young Spanish instructor informed me earlier, that I will then hoosh myself up onto that platform. We make plans. God laughs. I am on the Costa del Sol in Spain on my holidays with my husband and teenage daughters. We walk past an adventure centre called Aventura Amazonia on the way to the local fruteria where you can buy giant watermelons for half nothing. Every day, my daughter says we should try out the centre, so one afternoon, near the end of the holiday, we traipse inside. For once, I want to be the can-do parent who joins in instead of the no-way-nope-will-not-do parent who sits on the sidelines eating crisps and taking photos of other people doing adventurous things. I ask the man at the ticket desk whether he thinks I will be able for the adventures that lie ahead. He appraises me briefly and says “no problema”. Later, I will think of writing a letter to the company suggesting he should be fired – but for now I am thrilled. This zipline is a practice zipline. It’s only a few metres off the ground. The main purpose of this zipline is to teach people how to safely clip yourself on and clip off the steel cable. This is the zipline you do before you tackle the real tree-top activities. The enthusiastic but strict young Spanish instructor has told us that when we successfully mount the platform on the other end we should shout “Libre!” to let the person behind us know that it is now safe for them to launch themselves on the zipline. There’s a moment, gliding along the steel cable, when I feel momentarily happy and free. Libre, so to speak. This moment doesn’t last long. [ Róisín Ingle: Dublin is a different place. Sandymount a different village. I’m happiest on the other side nowOpens in new window ]As I dangle in front of the other platform, the one onto which I am supposed to scramble, it soon becomes apparent to me, if not to the beaming young instructor, that there’s no way I’m going to be able to get myself up on the wooden ledge. “I can’t do it,” I tell her. “You can do it,” she grins encouragingly. I try, but my legs won’t let me. So now I am hanging in the air, trying and failing to hoosh myself up onto the platform. Meanwhile the instructor, who has been joined by another young instructor, tries to (a) push me up to safety and (b) not laugh. Both tasks prove impossible. There is a moment, hanging haplessly from the steel cable, when I look around for support from my family. This is when I spot my daughters sitting on a bench behind a bush, the mortification of it all having proved too much for them. It feels like things can’t get any worse, but that feeling is wrong. At this moment, my husband, who has been waiting for his turn on the zipline, decides to propel himself towards me and arrives like Tarzan in a T-shirt to try to help. “No, no senor!” shout the lovely young instructors, dismayed even further by this latest development. “Did you hear me say Libre!?” I roar at my husband, who is now dangling beside me. “I didn’t say Libre! Did you hear me say Libre? No Libre!” We’ve had many domestic disagreements over the years but this is the first one that has happened while hanging from steel cables wearing harnesses. There’s nothing for it but for both of us to reverse back along the zip line where the instructors are hoping I will be able to manoeuvre myself back up to my starting platform which, by some miracle, I manage to do. By now, several other instructors have gathered to watch the spectacle. Aventura Amazonia has never seen the like and probably never will again.When we get home, we go up to the North where, in a strange bit of serendipity, my husband’s family have arranged a day out at an adventure centre called The Jungle NI in Moneymore, Co Derry. This time I know better than to join in. Laser Tag involves overalls. I add overalls to my list of things I don’t do. People say you should get out of your comfort zone, but as my friend Marian says, it’s comfortable there.[ Róisín Ingle: Getting a tattoo was my friend’s idea. I’m calling it my ‘mild-life’ crisisOpens in new window ]Instead of running around in overalls shooting lasers at people, I sit with Queenie, my husband’s mother, in an SUV eating boiled sweets and ranking the charity shops of Portadown. We are driven around all afternoon like royalty, and it reminds me that sitting on the sidelines eating crisps/Werther’s Originals while taking photos of other people being adventurous can also be fun. Afterwards, there is the best BBQ food I have ever tasted - seriously it’s worth going to The Jungle NI just for the kimchi coleslaw and short ribs - and a wonderful catch up with all my in-laws. None of it involves a harness. Libre!