I jumped out of an airplane yesterday. Focusing too much on it, even now with my butt firmly planted in this chair at Starbucks, makes my heart beat quicken.
I knew that if I didn’t jump first, I wouldn’t do it. Watching and anticipating would only allow for the dread to build up and paralyze me. While I began my descent into anxiety (in preparation from my descent from an airplane), Wil called over, “Michael, do you want to go first?” Yes.
Surprisingly, there wasn’t a lot of training. The tandem instructors pulled Wil and I aside, strapped us into the harnesses, and walked us to the plane. “So we’ll cover what you need to do in the plane, and I’ll explain the landing on our way down.” Good. No need to think about this too much.
The plane was a single prop Cessna.- room for two skydivers, two tandem instructors, and a pilot. Cramped inside, the tiny plane began to go down the runway. Oddly enough as the wheels lifted off the ground, I felt a calm come over me. Like any of the other flights I’ve been on, once we takeoff, there’s nothing I can really do. I was committed.
The instructor, Justin, walked me through the position I needed to get in once we left the plane. That was it. As we climbed up and up to our goal of 10,000 feet, I began to shake again. Wil looked at me and gave a sarcastic toothy smile and a thumbs up. About that time, my instructor started saying something to the pilot. Quick exchanges were made and he unclipped me from the harness, pushing me towards Wil and saying he needed to look at something. The heater in the plane was on and Justin was leaning against it. When he removed his hand from the back of the parachute, there was melted glue all over it. Shit was melting. Panic swelled in me. Wide-eyed I looked at the floor, then up, then at Wil, then at my instructor. “Dude, it’s fine, we’ll be ok.”
After a few minutes pass, Justin hooks me back up. “How about a few skydiving jokes before we go?” What the hell – hit me. The jokes, I assumed, were to calm my nerves, but there’s only so much you can do to distract you from the fact that you’re about to jump out of an airplane and free fall at 120mph.
The time had finally come. Justin opened the door and the roar of wind made the loud Cessna even louder. Wil gave another sign of encouragement and a skeptical glance. I knew in the back of his mind he figured this would be the part where I said ‘hell no’ to the whole thing. Justin put his feet out of the plane, I followed suit. 1, 2, 3. We were falling.
It all happened very quickly. Tumbling downward, there was no sense of direction. Just a rush of air. My eyes open I see the plane veer away from us. It was an image burned into my mind. Seeing a plane from the perspective was almost haunting. It was almost like missing a bus. You see it take off down the street without you and in your head you scream, “Wait for me!” The plane was not going to wait – and the option of jumping back inside James Bond style was not really an option.
I arched my back, lifted my head up, and kicked my feet backwards (the position they told us to get into). As soon as I did that the twirling leveled off. Justin made some maneuvers that spun us around like a top or a awkward cartwheel. There was some element of control, despite the fact that we were freefalling to the ground.
45 seconds is a long time. A long ass time. It’s enough time to process what’s going on, stick your arms out, realize what’s going on, and to think “holy shit, holy shit, holy shit” about 87 times.
Justin pulled the cord, and the mangled, melted, malfunctioning parachute that I signed pages and pages of waivers consenting to the fact that it might not work, I might not survive, I might not make it home, unfurled. With a jolt, we stopped falling and began to coast slowly to the ground.
Elements of control came with the slower descent as well. I drove a little bit – pulling the handles to the left and right. Then allllll the way to the right, which sent us into this quick spiral and fast fall to the ground again. Positive that I had sealed our fate again, I said “that’s enough, I’m done doing that,” and gave the handles back to Justin (after again assuring him that I’m not going to puke). About that time I see Wil’s parachute open up.
We landed on our butts at a slower pace than it felt. The ground was soft and wet and amazing under my ass. I survived, I always knew I would. The adrenaline coursed through my veins and I felt an amazing high. I tempted death, in a controlled environment, sort of. I didn’t do anything except fall out of an airplane.
Would I do it again? Probably not. I’m not a thrill seeker. I can check the box that I experienced jumping from an airplane, but I think I prefer riding in them and drinking to jumping out. Wil and I discussed that maybe, MAYBE, if an opportunity came up where we could do it someplace really unique like the Alps or into some famous canyon or something that the option could be reconsidered.
Skydive Sacramento gets five-stars. The guys there were professional and fun. They put up with our large group and got 7 out of 7 first time divers back to the ground safely. We got our stuff and left to drive back to Palo Alto (and eventually back into SF for me).
At we made our way home, the girl driving wasn’t looking and the car ahead of us hit their brakes. I made that noise that all mom’s make when their kids are new drivers. Wil looked over and said, “Really? That scared you? You just jumped out of an airplane.” Touché.
