The night before skydiving, I was wracked by nightmares. Not the sorts of nightmares that I suppose one would expect like death, dismemberment and a parachute not opening… I tossed and turned about things such as losing my shoes somewhere over the city, or yarfing on my hot tandem jump partner, or losing being too afraid to jump.
Obviously, my priorities are in some sort of order…
As Admiral Fubar and I drove toward Mollala, while we talked and while we both signed a stack of waivers as tall as a small child… these 10 thoughts were running through my mind in a continuous loop; 1) this is so awesome! I can’t believe I’m finally going to do this 2) This is so stupid! Why the fuck am I going to do this? 3) This is so cool! I hope I don’t yammy on anyone 4) Oh my god. What if I spew? 5) This is so freaking awesome! I can’t believe I’m finally going to do this! 6) I should remember to stop at the store on the way home and pick up tampons since I forgot last night. 7) Oh my god. What if I bleed through my jumpsuit? 8- This is so stupid! Why the fuck am I doing this? 9) My boss is gonna be so pissed at me if I die. 10) This is so amazing! Why has it taken me so long to do this?
Even between conversations about whatever Admiral Fubar and I was talking about… those thoughts ran in circles at the speed of light and then I would look over and Admiral Fubar would grin with this crazy mischievous look and I couldn’t help but smile back because no matter what happened – I was about to jump out of a plane with my baby brother and that is all sorts of awesome.
While we were sitting in the lobby, a young super hot instructor walked past us to the back room to get ready and Admiral Fubar obligingly announced to the whole room, “Yeah, Athena, you don’t want to hurling on THAT guy!”
Leave it to siblings to set my face on fire at the sudden odd look from the hot guy. I tried to smile at him but ducked my head and prayed that he wouldn’t be my instructor. Thankfully he wasn’t, the older guy that went with me was amazing and calm and gentle and talked the whole time so I knew what to expect from the time we started suiting up till the time we jumped.
As we walked in our jumpsuits toward the runway, the photographer followed with the video camera and kept encouraging me to give the thumbs up and smile – but I really felt like my legs belonged to someone else. My feet were moving – but I didn’t feel entirely present. “This is a terrible idea! This is awesome! This is stupid! This is great!” Etc.
Every time I looked over at Fubar as the plane was taking off, I seriously thought the kid was going to burst into hysterical laughter and start jumping up and down clapping. He looked like Bliss and as the plane lifted off and began circling to 14,000 feet I was suddenly profoundly grateful that he offered to take me skydiving for and early birthday since he would be in Baghdad in August. I have the coolest little brother ever!
The sky was a brilliant blue with a smattering of clouds that we flew through and minor turbulence. My instructor was coaching my in my ear as he sat behind me attaching my harness to his.
“When we reach altitude you and I are going to go to the edge of the plane and I want you to sit on the edge and dangle your legs outside like you are sitting at the edge of the pool!” he said in my ear.
I nodded.
“Then after Dave jumps with the camera, I’m going to rock us three times and then we will roll out of the plane on three. Okay?”
I nodded again and glanced at Fubar. “Have fun big sister! I love you! I’ll see you on the ground!”
At altitude, the other jumpers disappeared and I didn’t even see them go and before I was even paying attention my instructor was oonching me toward the door and I was thinking, “sit at the pool sit at the pool sit at the pool sit at the pool…”
We ambled to the edge of the airplane where safety ended and nothingness began and I sat at on the edge like I was sitting at a pool – but when my instructor sat down he pushed me off the lip and I was suddenly dangling by my harness off his chest. I had only a moment to think, “What a jerk! He’s totally hung me out there like some…….AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA
AAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH
HHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!”
And I screamed like a six year old girl for what must have been 3,000 feet until I completely ran out of breath.
As Admiral Fubar tells it from his perspective, “I was watching you and the instructor move to the door. You looked fine and I glanced back at my dude but heard –EAHAH! And the panic in your voice made me stand up and I dragged my guy to the exit but you were already like 500 feet behind the plane!”
I imagine Admiral Fubar didn’t give his instructor much notice as he dove after me and while I was screeching like a ninny – Fubar was yodeling like a lunatic!
The panic response to scream is triggered mostly by the logical knowledge that you are falling – but truthfully once I ran out of breath and inhaled – my lungs froze from the temperature of the altitude and I finally closed my mouth to inhale through my nose and realized…..
WAIT A MINUTE… I’M NOT FALLING… I’M SWIMMING.
Because of the altitude there is no frame of reference for falling. Sure, there’s a sudden uncomfortable and intense pressure in my ears. Sure, the cold is biting into my fingers and my lungs. Sure, the weight of terminal velocity and wind power is pushing against my chest like it’s trying to crush my sternum – but
OHMYGODTHEVIEWISAMAZING! OH,YGODI’MFLYING AND THEWORLDIS SO TINY AND MAGICAL AND LIKE PATCHWORKY GOODNESS AND
I knew the photographer kept trying to get a picture of my face but he kept getting in the way of my view of the world all laid out like a massive quilt of endless possibilities. I wasn’t falling – I was flying quickly in a fixed downward direction. I imagined for a moment that we didn’t need a parachute as my sinus cavity seemed to inflate enough land us both safely on the ground.
AND THEN I WAS LAUGHING…
I laughed until he pulled our chute and grinned with a permanently attached smile because my face had frozen in a state of happiness. While falling/flying earthward I forgot about bills, work, dating, dishes. I forgot that Admiral Fubar would be leaving in a couple of days. I forgot that I am lonely. I forgot that I haven’t been writing.
I knew only that when the chute pulled and my harness strained against gravity that I was airborne and the horizon was further than I had pictured, that the earth is far greener the sky more blue and tomorrow was full of limitless potential – because – I just jumped out of a fucking plane – now I can do anything.
After a moment or two of drifting with the chute he turned us around so I could watch Admiral Fubar, and there was a moment of sympathy for him for what looked like a jerk as his harness yanked him skyward when the chute opened. Poor guy. I knew he would be feeling that one.
“If you put your hands through the loops you can control the chute. Pull right and we’ll turn right. Pull left and we’ll turn left.” He said from somewhere above me.
“What happens if you pull them both at the same time?” I wondered.
“Here. Put your hands in and I’ll show you.”
So I put my hands in the straps to drive the parachute and together we pulled down. The chute stalled and caught air – suspending our fall but even though my body stopped falling – my stomach did not.
“OH DEAR GOD! Please don’t ever do that again!” I wailed as my stomach fell out somewhere over a sheep farm in Mololla. “I’m going to throw up!”
“Just look out over the horizon, don’t look down. I have a baggy in my pack if you need it.”
“You carry a barf bag around?”
“If the pressure of your harness is too much just stand on my feet and that will take the pressure off your chest.”
So I did. I stood on my instructor’s feet like I was dancing with my dad at the Father/Daughter Ball, and the earth drifted up toward me with determined focus.
Our landing was expert, I barely even noticed the transition – until I stood there and gravity made the world under my feet stop moving.
The photographer and Admiral Fubar came blaring toward me and the look of concern on Fubar’s face made sense when he later confessed that I was deathly pale and he thought my nose was bleeding until he realized it was the shadow.
The Photographer shoved the video at me and said, “How was it?!!”
“I think I’m going to spew.” I commented, and Admiral Fubar started laughing.
As we left the airstrip, my legs wobbled and my smile stayed fixed. My stomach settled once I was moving under my own control again and as soon as I wasn’t nauseas I was suddenly RAVENOUSLY HUNGRY!
We said our goodbyes to the crew and drove straight to a burger shop where we laughed and relived everything while I ate a double bacon cheeseburger, tots and a shake. All the while I sat across the table from my little brother and thought – this is bliss.
Skydiving. Hanging out with Fubar. Bliss.
So I guess that answers the question – Does skydiving cause bliss? YES.
45 minutes later as we were driving back to Portland I burst into uncontrollable- hysterical laughter. “We just jumped out of an airplane! That’s so stupid! Why did we do that??? That’s so awesome.” A bit of a delayed response – but alas, I rarely react timely anymore.
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