Had a tamer but similar hill near my home growing up. Loved speeding down. It ended in a lot filled with gravel. Fortunately the day I spun out on the gravel lot was coming from a different, slower direction. Developed an extremely bad case of road rash all over one leg. When I realized what might have happened if I’d been taking the hill instead, that I probably would have broken my legs or worse, I stopped going down that hill. Realization of mortality can be like a bucket of ice water sometimes.
A powerful statement in therapy that still hits me when I think about it. “You don’t stop being someone’s child.” (I’ll leave it without context, the context would be too painful and personal, so read that however you want.)