“Can I help you?”
“Hi! I’m here to jump out of an airplane.”
And lo, my first solo adventure and the completion of a fairly high-stakes bucket list item began.
After a fair amount of waiting around (thank goodness for Kindles), they herded my class into a tiny room for our safety briefing. There was a trio, a couple, a very nice barista from Schaumburg, and me.
We watched a short video on what it’s like to skydive, what we can expect to happen next, how to purchase photos or videos of our jump (I did both), and information on group rates if we decided to jump again in the future.
I sat through it thinking, I just want to jump once. Forget the future. Heck, depending on how things go this time, I might not even have a future.
More waiting. More reading. More butterflies in my stomach. I went outside for a bit to try to distract myself by watching other people land. They seemed to be approaching the ground awfully fast. I decided perhaps I should go back inside.
Finally, our group was called to go back to the hanger, meet our instructor, and get suited up. There were people rolling parachutes, other chutes draped over things, and a bunch of gear I’m pretty sure wouldn’t look out of place in a torture chamber. My trusty tandem jump instructor, I discovered, was about a foot shorter than I am. She assured me she’s taken up people bigger than I am. I certainly hope so.
She trussed me up like a chicken in my harness and hung a pair of goggles off my shoulder to protect my glasses later. I met my videographer/photographer, did a short interview, posed for some pictures, and after a few more moments waiting for my groupmates to get set up, we were off to the plane.
Each instructor led their jumper by a ring fastened to our harnesses. I asked my instructor what the deal was--“I’m not going to run away, you know”. It’s to make 100% certain we’re seated in the proper order with the right instructor and the correct jumper. She also had a helmet. I didn’t. It turns out that my head could snap back and--if I were wearing a helmet--hit her in the face. Bad news all around.
I was last in, which meant I was in a primo spot to watch the ground fly by underneath. I settled down between my instructor’s knees and alternated my time during our short ascent to 14,500 feet between looking out the window, trying not to panic, waiting for the sliding door to roll up, trying not to panic, rehearsing all the steps we were supposed to take, and trying not to panic. My instructor pointed out Lake Michigan and various other interesting landmarks. She also took this time to buckle our harnesses together, check and re-check them, remind me to put my goggles on, and review what was going to happen next.
“OK! Put your goggles on! When the door opens, we’re gonna butt-scoot into position and you’re gonna dangle your legs over the side! Hold onto your harness straps like you would a backpack! Keep your chin up and lean your head back toward my shoulder! When we fall, keep your legs tucked behind me like you’re trying to kick me in the butt! Remember to stay like that til I tap your shoulders twice, then you can relax! Remember to breathe!”
The door rolled up like one of those old manual garage doors. A cold rush of wind whipped into the plane. Below, I could see the patchwork of fields and two-lane highways that make up so much of our farmland around here. Next to me, my video guy was whooping it up, giving thumbs up and high fives. My instructor was cheering. Behind me, my six classmates and their instructors waited for their turn.
My instructor and I scooted to the door. I dangled my legs over the edge. My stomach did a flip. I hung onto those harness straps like it was life or death. I pointed my chin up and braced my head on the instructor’s shoulder. I had the parachuting scene from Deadpool 2 running through my head.
“OK! I’m gonna rock us back and forth to the count of three and then I’m gonna push us off! Relax! Breathe! You got this!”
“ONE!” If I were Catholic I’d be crossing myself.
“TWO!” Dear Lord, please let the parachute work and let us land in one piece.
“THREE!” OH MY GAAAAAAAAAWWWWDDDDDDDD WHAT THE F*** WAS I THINKING???
The wind blasted over my face and in my ears. It was loud. It was cold. It was hard to breathe. I was immediately, completely, disoriented. I had no idea where the plane went, where my videographer was, or when my fellow classmates jumped. I saw the sky, I saw the clouds, I saw the horizon. I was plummeting toward earth at a breathtaking (literally) speed. I may have broken a new record for the number of times one person has said “holy shit.”
Then, thump-thump on my shoulders. I let go of the harness. The instructor held my hands out sideways. I wasn’t falling, I was flying! I waved at the videographer. I looked down with a manic grin on my face. I gave a thumbs up, a rock-n-roll salute, and tried to look everywhere at once.
The parachute deployed, there was one massive jerk on my harness, and then we were floating downward. The instructor guided my hands to the parachute controls and encouraged me to “drive." We went to the leeeeffft. And my stomach went to the right. We went to the riiiiiiight...and my stomach went to the left. We decided she should probably drive.
“OK! We’re gonna get ready to land! Pick your legs up! Pick them up! Up-up-up-up-up!”
In one of the most ungraceful moments of my life, I hit the dirt knee-first and we toppled over. My videographer came out of absolutely nowhere to help me up and ask me how it was.
It was amazing. Terrifying. Cold. Spectacular. Breathtaking. Panic-inducing. And once-in-a-lifetime. And I do mean “once.” I’ve done it now, and can cross it off my list. On to something a little safer. Whatever that may be.
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