He knows fear is irrational but can't convince his brain

When a woman I was chatting with recently heard that my next adventure trip would be to New Mexico, she asked if I was going to Carlsbad Caverns."That's underground, right? I asked"Yes," she confirmed."Then I'm not going."That's what my claustrophobia has advanced to — even a vast underground space spooks me.They say the biggest fear for most people is the fear of speaking in front of a group.I can do that. No problem.But enclosed, windowless spaces are another issue altogether.The first time I noticed it was back in the 1980s.At the time, I was about one-third of the way to the top of the Gateway Arch in St. Louis, crammed in a tiny tram with three strangers. All of a sudden, I did not like that I could not move and that there was nowhere to go if I could. I knew the tinge of panic I was feeling was completely irrational, but I couldn't convince my brain.I have had a similar feeling a few times since.The stupidest incident was probably in the submarine at the "20,000 Leagues Under The Sea" ride at Disney World. Once they closed the hatch on that thing, I might as well have been sealed up in a barrel: I got all clammy and started drawing short breaths. The funny thing is the so-called submarine does not even really go beneath the water. And it is air conditioned to death. Just another example of how rational thinking can go out the window when your mind starts playing tricks on you.Of course elevators are a great place for fun with claustrophobia.Against my better judgment, I went to the "hospitality suite" on the top floor of a Nashville hotel during a business seminar a few years ago. When I arrived, several people had already drunk too much, and I was not in the mood. So I turned around and went back to the elevator.Unfortunately, many of the people from the party had the same idea. I got on the elevator first, followed by at least a dozen others. We were packed in there solid. And we probably exceeded the elevator capacity by two or three.I suppose that is why we overshot the lobby level by a couple of feet, dropping just below the exit doors and disabling the elevator. We could not go up or down or open the door.That was a bad one. It felt immediately as if there were no air in the space which was getting hotter by the second. Even the drunks stopped giggling. When the breaker eventually re-set or whatever happened to make the car move again and open the door, we burst out of that thing like victims of a mine disaster.Then there was the time I got on a Florida hotel elevator after having breakfast at the top floor restaurant. There were two other guys already in it.The car traveled maybe six feet and stopped. Uh oh.I was about to suggest that the guy standing next to the button board push the emergency bell button. But he had other ideas. He took something out of his pocket and pried the face off the control panel! Wires squirted out everywhere, and I was sure we were all going to die.But it turns out the two guys were from the elevator repair company. They were responding to complaints about the elevator and were riding it, hoping for a malfunction. And I was right there when it happened. Lucky me.There is no particular point to me telling you all this. I guess it is just therapeutic to put it all down in writing.The only thing better would be if I could speak about it in front of a group. Maybe I could gather a few people as they get off their tour buses at Carlsbad Caverns. In the parking lot. Outdoors. Jim Busek is a free-lance writer who lives in Norwalk. He can be reached via e-mail at jimbusek@ hotmail.com.Jim Busek