You could say that in one way, I have looked up to Felix Baumgartner. I had to: he was something like 39 kilometres above the Earth, preparing to step into space and either set his blood to boiling or land safely after passing through the sound barrier.

Luckily for all of us, he made it. Now, we can all be confident that when we find ourselves up there at 39 km and have to abandon our helium balloon, we have a decent chance of making it home as other than a pancake. Assuming we are properly attired, as was Felix.

Am I somewhat bemused by the feat of Felix? You betcha.
I can see that his jump required daring, planning, money and not much thought of what he might be doing should all go wrong. But outside of that, it is one of those exploits that is amazing but asks the question, “Why?” Why do it? Is it one giant skydive for mankind?

What does it accomplish, other than the thrill for Felix and the titillation of a large audience?

Years ago, in a magazine long dead, I published the story of a man who rowed single-handedly across the Atlantic in a small boat. West to east, I think. Hard work and fraught with peril. Alive with menace. Amazing. And yet, all it proved was that with courage and stamina and a supply of food, you could make it across the ocean. Possibly. Yet, I don’t recall that it started a stampede to the boat-rental shops.

There are many deeds done that are bold and daring. Yet, all they prove is that some people like to take risks. For example, going over Niagara Falls in a barrel or crossing above them on a tightrope.

Oddly enough, I have done that. Except it wasn’t Niagara Falls and the tightrope was only 15 feet off the ground, and there was a parallel tightrope with a rope walker on it. He and I were supposed to lean on each other and edge our way across while we were belayed by others on the ground who had ropes attached to our safety harnesses. Of course, I fell off, and they let me dangle in the breeze for a minute as an object lesson before lowering me to the ground.

As you can most likely tell, this was part of a management-training course that was supposed to teach valuable lessons. What it taught me was to keep off tightropes. (And also look for another job.)

I can think of other achievements that are noble, daring, amazing, cloaked with glamour and essentially empty. Such as climbing mountains, swimming vast distances across cold lakes, trekking to one of the poles. Or, on a less heroic scale, sitting on a flagpole to raise money or support a cause. Flagpole sitting fades in and out of popularity, but it even has a patron saint — a chap named Simeon Stylites, who sat on a pillar in the desert for years and eventually earned canonization.

Even less heroic are other feats, such as the competitive eating of pies and ribs and hot dogs. They take dedication and courage and, one assumes, a strong gut. And, I think, a lack of self-respect. Although, in a way, setting eating records is harder than falling from a helium balloon from 39 km up. In consuming vast amounts of food, you face surely a day or two of stomach aches. In balloon jumping, you face something like nine minutes. And if you get it wrong, your worries are over in short order.
When I think of notable feats, I can come up with only one that I can claim for my own. And although it has never yet been celebrated in song and story, it is unique.

Many years ago, when Ontario still had a Grade 13 in high school and provincewide exams, I went into the final Latin exam, received my exam paper and a notebook, and sat in that classroom for three hours, writing away. I was one of the last to hand in his paper.

When the marks came out, I had scored three out of a possible 100 marks. I don’t think anyone who filled several notebooks with answers has ever done as poorly. The lowest mark in the province of Ontario.

And yet to be beaten. Take that, Felix.  IE