I went on an aerial obstacle course twice with my adult daughter with autism. Here’s what I learnt

SINGAPORE – There we were, my adult daughter with autism, Kate, and I on an obstacle course among the trees.

Why? Because of my impulse to do something adventurous after reading about the new Outward Bound Singapore campus in September.

A week later, 3m above the ground, I felt a stab of regret. Also, nervousness, timidity, tension and a touch of self-pity.

My initial concern had been for Kate, who is 22 and somewhat resistant to new and difficult things. Would she struggle out of her safety harness? Have a meltdown? Or – nightmare – freeze mid-course, unable to move forward or backwards?

Ironically, Kate did swimmingly. She stepped confidently over large gaps and across swinging elements of the obstacle course. She didn’t like it much, but she kept going.

I was the one painfully inching my way along a narrow plank, clinging to any handhold within reach, hopelessly trying to pull a suspended board closer and finally, gingerly, putting out a foot because I had to.

Initial awkwardness

Before starting our session on the most basic kids’ course (“ages five and up”), we had to step into our harnesses and pull them up to our waists.

While the harness felt bulky around my thighs and uncomfortably tight around my waist, Kate seemed unfazed. My hopes for a successful outing rose.

She willingly gave the introductory practice circuit a try. However, getting used to the safety gadgets was trickier.

The carabiner we each had, linked to our harnesses, looked effortless to open with one hand during the trainer’s demonstration.

On the actual circuit, I was all fingers and thumbs when I had to hook the carabiner onto the safety line or back onto my belt loop.

Unfamiliar with where the belt loop was – to the left and towards the back of my harness – I often missed the loop or hooked my carabiner onto the wrong strap. I needed two hands and all my attention to get it right.

Adding to my stress, I had to do this for Kate as well, all while trying to keep her happy – picture me singing The Carpenters’ cheerful Top Of The World while I fumbled as fast as I could.

I tried to get her to do it on her own, but there are moments when a repeated instruction can take you only so far.

Kate could not coordinate her fingers and also did not seem to be able to picture how to use the safety gadgets. I mostly stepped in before frustration erupted for both of us.

Other challenges

Another challenge was getting used to the pulley or trolley, a safety device connected to the harness by a cord.

The trolley slides onto a safety line and rolls alongside the user throughout the course.

It was reassuring from a safety point of view, but it sometimes complicated our progress.

For example, it could get slightly stuck. Wiggling it would get it moving again, but Kate didn’t always manage that and I had to free her device for her.

At one point, she was going down some winding steps ahead of me when her trolley stopped. Oblivious, she continued heading down and the cord was pulled taut, fixing the trolley in place.

What Kate needed to do was climb back up to give the cord some slack, but she wanted only to keep going, and when she couldn’t, she became agitated, jerking forward harder and harder.

Because space was tight, I was unable to reach her.

I can only thank my lucky stars that, from the step above, I was able to bend practically double at the waist to haul her up a tiny bit, just enough for me to wiggle the trolley loose with my other hand.

If I had not done that, we would have been stuck there for much longer, and she could have become violently upset.

It was a good reminder that even as I see to her activities and fitness, I also need to work on my own strength, flexibility and range of motion for our sakes.

Not just to tick a box

We completed the basic course with no major mishaps and I decided to stop while Kate’s mood remained upbeat, so she would remember the day and activity positively.

However, I didn’t want the experience to feel like a check in the box, where one whizzes through something just to say it has been done. So we went again three days later.

On our second try, everything felt more familiar and less daunting. I was more confident on the swinging slats and clutched at the ropes less. The height no longer troubled me. I handled the carabiner better, even managing it with one hand at times.

Kate was calmer, smiled more and could occasionally attach her carabiner to the safety line herself, with verbal prompts.

Buoyed by the experience, I hustled her towards the more challenging section of the kids’ course once we finished the basic one.

I’ll be back

That went mostly smoothly too, aside from one moment on the rope net, which Kate had already completed.

We had to traverse the rope net from right to left. I was in the middle, hating the softness of the ropes that sank under my feet. I felt inept, my arms ached, my hands were sore and the whole rope contraption swung. I even called out to the staff: “Can I leave this and go down those stairs?”

They cheerfully urged me on and I eventually joined Kate at the platform at the end of the net, from where we completed the course with a clumsy zip-line landing.

My takeaways from our two adventure-filled days:

• Kate is probably stronger and more capable than I realise. I need to figure out how to channel that hidden ability.

• I am probably stronger and more capable than I realise.

• I will count it as a blessing when I am taken out of my comfort zone by a loved one.

• Adventures are good. Difficult, tiring, but also exhilarating and potentially life-affirming.

Kate left without a look back, but I swore to myself that we would do this again. Maybe we will even attempt the junior course, for ages 10 and up.

• Jill Lim is a mother of three and a book editor with Straits Times Press. She has written four children’s books, including My Colouring Book Is Ruined!, about a child with autism.