The school is one of those funny New York City things. Everybody I mentioned it to had seen it - you pass right by it when you drive down the West Side Highway or toddle down the riverside jogging path - but nobody I knew had actually scaled that ladder. There's a chance my friends just prefer earthbound activities, but I think there's something more to it than that. It's like an of-the-moment NYC restaurant: Some New Yorkers are dying to go but never get around to making reservations, while others just don't see the need. Well, it's time they (and anybody visiting NYC) get off the jogging path and scale the ladder.

WHEN TRAPEZE DAY arrives, I am tempted­ to skip out on my flying lesson. But spurred on by the contract for this article and my need for the money it will bring, I head toward school. Usually, trapeze students learn alfresco when the weather ­cooperates, but I am happy to see that the school's tent is up when I arrive. I've made a fool of myself in lots of different ways and always shirked it off with an attitude of, "Well, I won't see most of those people ever again." But I quickly realize that if I fly under the clouds instead of under the tent, I'll be on display for thousands of gawkers in their cars, along with walkers, joggers, cyclists, and, since it's New York, probably a unicyclist or two and maybe even a guy with a parrot on his shoulder or a woman with a boa constrictor wrapped around her waist. And, honestly, I really don't want a boa watching me on the trapeze.

Two women step through the tent door just ahead of me. My classmates. I cross my fingers that they are also first-time flyers. They are. Hey, things are looking up.