The Things We “Think” We Want To Do Part 1
Photo Credit: J. Howeth
Six years ago, I got it into my head to pursue one of the activities I’d been dreaming about since I was in my early twenties. Now if I’m honest with myself, it was just a little puff of an idea – I hadn’t really been dreaming about it in a serious way but rather in a vague, water-color-y kind-of-way. And yet somehow, I had managed to convince myself that I always wanted to try it. Encouraged, goaded, nudged, persuaded (take your pick) by a motivational teacher I was listening to at the time, I thought sky diving fit the bill when he challenged his devotees to do something completely out of their comfort zone.
Photo Credit: J. Howeth
I was lucky; not too far from where I live, we happened to have a skydiving school, so I didn’t have to travel very far to fulfill this nebulous dream. I arranged a date and time for a tandem jump and put the payment on my credit card.
It turned out to be a lovely Friday afternoon in May – the sky was an exquisite blue and there were few if any clouds hanging around. The school was in an airplane hangar surrounded by farmland. Once I arrived and had signed the disclaimer promising I wouldn’t sue if anything went wrong, the owner helped me into my gear while my instructor gave me three things to remember that (big sigh) I immediately forgot. Or maybe I wasn’t really listening. Looking back, I recognize that even though I was too ignorant to be nervous, I was overwhelmed.
He led me to the runaway where a little Cessna was parked. Old and gutted, with only one seat for the pilot, everyone else huddled on the floor. Besides my instructor, me, and the pilot, there were two jumpers (very young endorphin junkies, I might add) who were working on accruing jump hours. I’m sure, just to see my reaction, they joked about the duct tape holding together the seams of the interior panels to which my instructor commented that as far as skydiving planes went, this was “pretty upscale!” I recall laughing nervously and feeling a complete loss of control which reminded me of the times I gave birth – it was a done deal – no turning back.
Photo Credit: J. Howeth
The runway was very short – none of the comforts of a long, leisurely take-off with a graceful ascent. This was fast burst for like ten yards and then terrifyingly straight up. Harnessed to my instructor, we were sitting backwards to the pilot; completely unprepared, I realized we were now perpendicular to the ground. This sent my amygdala into overdrive and is when I started to panic but weirdly, in a muted way. I think a part of my brain tried to point out to other parts of my brain that this situation was surely not healthy.
Awash in the “juxtapositions,” I tried to make sense of the pristine details coexisting with a sickening, dreamy sensation. I was so surprised by the simplest things: The plane engine was horrifically noisy! The air was so cold! My ears ached unbearably! My brain fought to maintain order. After circling a few times, we finally reached 10,000 feet, and the pilot slid open the door. With silly grins on their faces, the two endorphin junkies threw themselves out of the plane.
Then my instructor unbuckled us from the safety belt that anchored us to the wall, and we scooted over to the door – still open and blasting gelid air into our faces (imagine stepping into a walk-in freezer). He put his left foot on a platform, then guided my feet to the platform. I remember thinking, “Do I still have time to bail?” (As in, change my mind.) Instead, that’s exactly what we did. With his right foot leveraged against the doorjamb, without hesitation, my instructor launched us
into
midair . . .
(to be continued)
