My love is like a roller coaster baby baby ...

The Superman roller coaster is coming to a stop. Kelley and I are hanging in our seats, bellies parallel to the ground as though we are flying crime fighters. But we aren't crime fighters. We are terrified, aching sacks of flesh that want to get off this terrible machine and see a chiropractor or a bartender or both.

My 29th birthday has come and gone, officially launching the one year countdown to our ceremony of commitment. To start of the weekend on a corporeal note, we went to the Body Worlds exhibit at the Museum of Science and Industry. There we learned what our lungs and livers will look like if we continue to live like heathens and that our muscles really resemble corned beef. I will never look at brisket the same again, nor will I binge drink more than once a month.

The next morning, my birth morning, we headed to Gurnee for me to face my irrational fear of giant contraptions that throw your bodies against steel bars at 70 mph. I went on four in the following order -- Batman (feet dangle), Superman (face down), Raging Bull (traditional) and Iron Wolf (standing up) -- and only cried once (and that was when Kelley smashed me on a tilt-a-whirl).

What did I learn from confronting my roller coaster phobia? Well, I like the traditional ride with the slow build up and steep plummet better than the gimmicky positioning and violent jerks of the Batman, Iron Wolf variety -- even though all this time I've been most afraid of heights. And I've found that getting up the nerve to keep your eyes open while going upside down is way easier than recovering from going upside down. My neck and back are in knots.

So in review: The biggest risk has the biggest payoff. Going into something with your eyes open doesn't mean it won't hurt. Muscles look like brisket. And, it is time to dry out.