I’ve completely fallen out of the blogging grove.
But if anything is blog-worthy, my recent experience with skydiving must certainly be.
That’s right, I jumped out of a perfectly functional airplane this past Sunday at an altitude of 13,500 feet. Well, more accurately, I was thrown out. But not entirely against my will.
Since this was my first time, it was a tandem jump. I was securely attached to a guy who was an experienced jumper. That way, he could do all of the things like actually throwing his body (and, thus, mine) out of the airplane, thinking clearly enough to pull the chute, steering, and landing.
The best way I can think of to describe the experience is “sensory overload.” It was so much to take in that it seemed completely surreal. Even now, it all seems like a dream.
I don’t think I was really nervous until the plane pulled up, and we all started climbing on. It was a tiny plane with two propellers. The inside consisted of a small cockpit with two seats and only one pilot. I’m aware of the pilot count because my partner and I were right behind Wendy and her partner, so we sat at the very front of the plane. From the side I was on, I couldn’t see the pilot — I could only see the empty co-pilot seat. In front of the empty seat was an empty controller, which looked like an arcade game controller — and just like in the movie Airplane.
There must have been almost 20 people on the plane, and we were so packed that I had two grown men partially sitting in my lap. Uncomfortable, to say the least. The plane had lap belts, and everyone used them, but I really wondered why we were bothering.
As the plane continued to ascend, so did my anxiety level. It was difficult to see out the windows with the high density of body mass, but when I could catch a peak, my heart would race. Especially when I saw clouds below us. I think that’s when I started thinking, “Megan, you’re a rational, reasonably intelligent human being… What were you thinking?!”
Soon, the door at the other end was open — I knew because I could feel a gust of cold air. It was quite hot and sunny on the ground, so the cold blast was a bit of a shock. People were bailing out the end, but I was thinking about how I was now sitting in my partner’s lap, strapped to him, trying to waddle down the isle without hurting either of us.
In just a moment, I saw Ben disappear out of the corner of my eye, and in another moment, I saw the ground looking extremely far away, and then we had left the plane! I didn’t even have time to hesitate!
I thought for certain I would scream at the top of my lungs all the way down. My partner had assured me that when we were in free-fall, we wouldn’t be able to hear anything. But I think I was so completely overwhelmed that I didn’t scream at all. As we exited the plane, I think I just said “Oh…” and hyperventilated a bit.
I can’t clearly recall the first few seconds of free-fall. I think we tumbled sort of awkwardly for a while, and then I remembered the one instruction I was given. Stick your hips and gut out (toward the ground), and pull your knees and shoulders back. This positions your center of gravity forward (toward the earth). I attempted this, but still felt awkward. I could feel my partner tap my knees and shoulders, so I pulled them up harder, and then we settled into a face down and belly toward the ground position.
I thought I would have the sensation of my stomach in my throat, like one has on swings or roller coasters, but I don’t recall having that at all. I believe it was because without a frame of reference, it didn’t really feel like I was falling in that sense. The aspects of free-falling I can recall most vividly were wondering at how far away the ground was (it didn’t ever seem to be approaching rapidly — or hardly at all, for that matter), and how my face felt like it was going to be pulled off by the air rushing past. Apparently we were falling at a rate of around 120 – 150 mph at that point.
Perhaps the most fascinating part of the jump to me was free-falling through a cloud. Looking back, I have the utmost respect and appreciation for my partner, though he seemed a little strange to me at the time. As we were falling, he pointed out a cloud and somehow steered us toward it. It was a mostly clear day, but I think he found the most substantial cloud around. It was perfectly white.
As we approached it, right before we went through it, I felt my body pull away — well, as much as it could, which was really not at all. Subconsciously, I thought I was going to crash into something solid. But there was only a moment of haze, and then solid white. I started to get a little claustrophobic in the solid white, and I have no idea if or how my partner could sense this, but he put his hand in front of my face so I had some frame of reference and I could tell he was still with me. Then, within just another second or two, we were out, and I could see blue sky and the ground again.
Eventually, the first chute was pulled, and we slowed down and adjusted to a feet-down position. Shortly thereafter, the canopy came out, and we started to glide. I enjoyed the glide more than the free-fall. The view was breathtaking, and the feeling of flying gracefully through the air was awesome, in the truest sense of the word.
My partner did a few swoops, which were fun, but after the third one, I started to become a bit dizzy (inner ear issues), so we just floated back down to earth. As we neared the ground, I became aware of just how fast we were going. I was a little nervous for the landing, but I don’t think I even felt it.
Before I knew it, we were back on the ground, and I was unhooked. I saw Ben and Wendy and just started laughing. Wendy and I laughed in the car all the way home… and I think we still are!
Apparently the whole jump lasted about seven minutes. It seemed more like three to me. My partner said that’s because of the sensory overload. Even so, I’d love to do it again someday.
