The 10,000ft. View

Last night I tossed myself out of a plane.

Well, not so much tossed, as perched myself out on a tiny platform above the wheel and under the wing of the plane and waited as my Tandem Jump Master (my friend T) thrust us both forward, in the direction of the tail end of the plane, and out into midair at 10,000 feet - but tossed seems somewhat more succinct.

Over two and a half hours prior to tossing myself out of the plane (2.5hr PPT – Pre-Plane Toss), C and I were travelling up the same road I had ventured up on Sunday morning. Thankfully C was driving, so all traffic laws were adhered to and I was able to quietly, or not so quietly get all twitchy in the passenger seat.

Arriving early, having made better time than I expected in the rush-hour traffic, I was surprised to see a crowd of people waiting to go up; having expected to find a near-deserted airstrip, I said hi to the teenage-pilot and did my name dropping – “I’m T’s friend” – ‘nuff said.

C and I waited around and eavesdropped on another Jump Master going through the pre-jump lecture – giving all the stats; height of jump; speed of fall; length of fall (in both time and distance) and the all-important landing procedure – most of which, though T went over it on Sunday, I missed hearing due to the voice in my head questioning my sanity. T arrived and checked on the time of our jump – a bit delayed, as it turned out, due to the large volume of people who had arrived not long before we did.

It was a sunny and warm evening, and though part of me just wanted to get going, part of me was content enough to delay the jump a little longer – it was now 90 minutes PPT and counting down.

At about 60 minutes PPT, it was time for me to don my jumpsuit and harness; struggling to keep my decorum, I tried to keep the giggling to a minimum and managed to stop myself from making silly comments as T tightened the shoulder, chest and leg straps – they would have been a bit off colour – something about having straps between my legs that bring out the racy humourist in me – who knew.

Standing around waiting for the plane’s return, I had to fend off the paparazzi (or C with my digital camera) who decided to pass the time by taking pictures of me from every angle. One last tightening of the straps and then we headed to the plane – less than 30 minutes PPT

I suppose I should mention that I doubt that the teenage-pilot was actually a teenager; he just looked awfully young, though he seemed to have perfected his take-offs and landings so I suppose his age is rather irrelevant.

I should also mention that, in my humble opinion, a tandem jump is probably not for everyone that wants to jump out of a plane. I think those in the human population that require a fair amount of personal space should not try a tandem jump because you get awfully up close and personal with your Jump Master.

30 minutes PPT – We folded ourselves into the plane; T first, me second, ungracefully clambering over him and managing to plunk myself down between his legs (this is the up-close-and-personal bit I was talking about). I sat folded knees up, trying not to lean back against T too much, glad of my mere 5ft. 4 inch stature (a rarity to be sure), and wishing I was about 15 pounds lighter (5 off in the tummy area and 5 off of each thigh) – the sign next to my right knee, on what used to be (I imagine) the door to the luggage area helpfully announced a weight limit of 120 lbs in “this area” – I hoped the bulk of my bulk was in front of “this area”. The other novice jumper and her Jump Master hopped in too and we were off.

We all sat facing backwards and I was worried that my old nemesis Mo Sickness would put in an appearance (Motion Sickness to those on a less first-name basis) but it seemed as if he’d miss the plane. T and I chatted a bit as we climbed in altitude and I was feeling surprisingly calm. T mentioned that he’d read the two previous blog entries I’d made about tossing myself out of a plane. I kept sneaking glances at the altimeter on his wrist.

At about 5 minutes PPT, we donned out helmets (more accurately, ugly leather caps with chin straps – the sort of thing rugby players wore about 50 years ago( and our goggles. T began hooking up my harness to his parachute harness and tightening more straps – we were now fastened so close together I could feel his chest rise and fall as he breathed – which, incidentally, didn’t rise and fall nearly as frequently as mine did (a fact I took comfort in).

Since we were the first pair in, we were the second pair out, which required us to slide left and then back before exiting the plane. In my excitement (ok, panic) I was a little over exuberant with my sliding back and managed to get my arm caught between the pilot’s seat and T’s right leg (T would later tell me that I had managed to back him into the pilot’s seat – oops).

I tried to remember what T had said about exiting the plane – tuck in the left leg to get the foot out, place foot on “platform”, right leg, same thing – don’t grab the plane frame, hold on to your harness (so you’re not flailing about) and get ready to trust your pelvis forward and toss your head and legs back – only some of which I remembered; it was Zero Minutes PPT!

During the exit, I was rumoured to have said; “Oh My God” – but I don’t really remember...

There were three things I wasn’t prepared for in the decent.

The first being the somersault with a half twist that we did after exiting the plane. I mentioned this to T after we’d landed and he said most people didn’t notice the plane on the exit – I didn’t, was my reply, I just knew that at soon after I left the plane, up wasn’t up and down wasn’t down and free-falling wasn’t what I was expecting; but we soon evened out.

At some point T tapped me on the shoulder – that was my cue to stop clinging to my harness and put my arms out. At another point – I think it was later, he tapped my leg, which meant I needed to bend my knees more; “heels to butt” I thought.

One of the strangest sensations during free-fall was the feeling that T wasn’t really there – though I knew he was, and I wasn’t worried, for a few seconds I felt I was falling on my own – the closeness of him somehow negated by the distance to the ground and the speed at which we travelled toward it.

The second thing I wasn’t prepared for was the sheer force of the wind in my face, I couldn’t breathe – my brain had to make a concerted effort to ensure I breathed (it was a similar sensation to trying to breath through a SUCBA regulator on free-flow); so, for most of the free-fall, I was doing little more than thinking; breathe, breathe, breathe.

The third thing I wasn’t prepared for was the appearance of the guy I thought had missed the flight – Mo Sickness.

Mo and I go back a long way, back to my childhood and long car rides in the back seat. While my sister could read and read while on the trip, anytime I tried to read, Mo appeared and spoilt my fun. Though the years Mo would pop up; while I was riding backwards on a train, while I was whale watching off shore, while I was SCUBA diving in New Zealand – ah, Mo, you spoil-sport you.

Mo didn’t rear his ugly head until after the parachute had deployed – the sudden jolt as our rocketing decent instantly slowed might have been a precipitating factor. It also might have been the spin we voluntarily, just to see how it felt - I can't recall if he'd shown up before of after the spin - though I probably should have known Mo was lurking...

The rapid deceleration (as opposed to the instant deceleration I was not secretly afraid of) caused my goggles, which were only being held in place by the force of air against them, to come off my face and hang loosely around my neck, as I hung loosely in the harness. T asked me how I was and asked about the goggles and I jabbered some unintelligible reply then remembered I was supposed to be hanging on to the "handles" (my technical term for them) in order to "assist" in steering the parachute.

I hung in my harness watching the ground get closer and feeling Mo make his presence known. I felt a bit like a human marionette instead of an active participant in the decent; because instead of helping steer and enjoying the trip I was too busy concentrating on not decorating the front of my jumpsuit with the meagre remains of my lunch.

This was also why I wanted to jump, the feeling of near-weightlessness and near human-flight; the almost gravity defying feat of floating in mid air... and yet Mo was there, the ever-present killjoy. We coasted down and T positioned us for our landing.

Amid a cloud of panicked grasshoppers attempting to launch themselves to safety we executed a perfect 4-cheek landing - that's butt cheeks, not facial ones. I sat there, a bit stupefied and hoping that now that the ground was once again solidly under me, that Mo would bugger off; but as I slowly got to my feet, while T wrangled our parachute (having already detached my harness from his, I noticed that Mo hadn't left.

T asked as we wandered back toward the office if I had enjoyed it, which I did, I suppose, though I know I would have enjoyed it a lot more if Mo hadn't tagged along.

In actuality, I'm surprised at how calm (for the record, for me that was calm (reasonably), I could have been a lot worse) I was throughout the flight and free-fall; I suppose it was because T was there and I trusted him to keep me safe. Thanks T, you are awesome. Funny how the most frightening part was committing to the jump - I was more nervous while paying the money, signing the waiver and waiting about on Sunday than I was last night for the actual jump (I guess I still haven't learned to not build up events in my head).

Once I was in the jump suit and the harness was tightened, I was no longer scared, I was eager.

I'm also disappointed, not in the jump, because it was practically flawless (in my opinion, though T might think otherwise), but because of Mo's presence putting a damper on what should have been a TONNE of fun. Fear, it seems, I can overcome, but how to I get rid of motion sickness?

So here I sit, trying to remember what happened and in what order and how it all felt and what all was said, and I think I'm a bit vague about bits and wished I'd paid better attention at the time and I'm left with this feeling and thought; I want to do it again.

Having said that I realize T will be sitting somewhere reading this, grinning and thinking "I told you so" but I do want to go up again. Hopefully next time with T and only T - Mo, feel free to stay home next time.

Oh, My God - "Next Time"!

Anticipation and Anticlimax

Today I did not toss myself out of a plane.

NO, I didn't loose my bottle and cancel. I was completely willing to do it - ok, not completely willing, but I was prepared to go though with it, for the most part.

I headed out to the air strip with a combination of excitement and dread - in what proportion I don't really know.

The adrenaline got the better of me as I headed up the highway - and speed limits seemed to become more of an suggestion than a rule. I arrived in good time for my excursion.

T - who was to be my tandem partner, was just getting ready to go up with another set of tandem jumpers. So I paid my money, signed the waiver and tried to limit the growing panic I was beginning to feel.

I heard the plane take off as I was finishing off the last of the paperwork; then went outside to watch, wait and try not to completely loose my nerve.

So I stood on the grass listening and watching as the plane climbed higher and higher into the morning sky - getting smaller and smaller as it went. Half an hour passed and then, there they were, with the clouds as a backdrop, four parachutes and six sets of legs. The first two parachutes (with one set of legs each landed first). The first to come down rocketed toward the ground - making the knot in my stomach both larger and tighter - just before pulling up sharply and landing as if he had just stepped off a front porch; in a manoeuvre I found out was called swooping.

I watched as one parachute seemed to hang in the air above my head four legs dangling down and continued to watch as they came in for a landing.

As all this was going on, I was also watching the sky for other things that were also approaching - the nasty set of dark clouds that formed a wall that approached ever closer as the jumpers landed.

T approached from the landing zone, grinning, with his parachute collected in his arms. A few minutes later he returned, sans parachute and harness and took me and four other tandem wannabes into the office to "allay" our fears about the safety and security of rig and harness.

As he spoke, a voice in my head kept asking me what the heck I was doing there, so some of what T was saying didn't penetrate. Out at the plane, T went over how we would exit the plane and what we would need to do in order to do so. My anxiety grew - I was actually expected to have functioning legs at 10000 feet!?!

The clouds had set in quite completely by then, and we were left grounded, until the clouds cleared - the plane flew by sight, not instruments so a reasonably cloud-free sky was required. One requirement that sadly remained lacking as I waited and waited. The longer I waited the more my legs shook, but as time wore on I knew they shook more from cold than trepidation.

T and I sat and chatted and he joked about how he was overdue for having to use his reserve parachute; almost as helpful and C last night wanting to know the definition of "Terminal Velocity" - I have such supportive friends.

Two and a half hours later, clearing was little more than a pipe dream and T and I decided I should cut my losses and try again on Tuesday night. All a bit anticlimactic, really.

Feeling like a prisoner on death row who just got a last minute postponement - I rumbled down the dirt road with the grounded aircraft receding in the rear view mirror.

Dread filled me again on the way back down the highway; now, after telling everybody that would listen that I was jumping today, I will have to tell them all I didn't. Unless I'm lucky that they'll all read my blog tonight and not need to ask.

I should be so lucky.

Leap of Faith

Tomorrow I am going to toss myself out of a plane.

Sorry that sounds a bit overly dramatic, and just to allay any fears - no, I am not suicidal.

Truthfully, tomorrow morning, securely strapped to someone I trust and who jumps from planes on a regular basis, I will jump from a plane for my first (and quite likely last) time. I don't imagine I will jump as much as I will stumble on wobbly legs out of the airplane, or if it comes to it, be forcibly removed from the airplane by the friend I shall be strapped to.

You see, though I do this by my own volition, I am completely, utterly and hopelessly terrified of falling from heights. Yet I want to jump tomorrow.

I have been telling everyone I know (and anyone else who'll listen) that I am gong to toss myself out of a plane tomorrow and it has been met with a mixed set of reactions. There are those like my friends C and J who think it is fantastic and are just a bit jealous that I am going and they are not. There are others, like my parents, who have reserved comment and who I imagine think I am nuts but see no point in pointing this fact out to me as I will probably just ignore them. And there are still others, like my friend S - whose blunt and succinct response was "Why the heck would you throw yourself out of a perfectly good airplane?!?"

Why indeed.

The closer the event gets, the more I ask myself that very question. Why?

The best answer I can give myself is that it is because it scares the crap out of me that I feel I have to do it. I only have to do it once, and really all I have to do is allow myself to exit a plane that is just a smidgeon off the ground. Ok, maybe a bit more than a smidgeon.

But this is something I have decided I HAVE to do, not simply because I have told virtually everybody I know that I intend to do it, but because it DOES scare the crap out of me.

Most of my life I have been ruled by fear, limiting myself to that which is safe, that which I know I won't get hurt doing. I don't try many new things, opting instead for the safe and familiar and I don't want to always settle for safe and familiar. I fear being excluded, so I opt to not join groups, I fear looking foolish, so I don't try new things.

I am tired of being ruled by fear.

Every time I think about tomorrow's adventure, I vacillate between excitement and fear; the fact that I wrote my first will ever this past week in no way reflects on how I think tomorrow will go - everyone should have a will, right?

Tomorrow I am going to jump out of a plane.

I don't imagine I will have an epiphany. That, as I hurtle toward the earth that my life will take on some new and greater focus. I expect that when I safely touch ground again my legs will be shaking uncontrollably and I'll be as giddy as a schoolgirl (but hopefully not as giggly). I hope too, that I won't need a change of underwear or a bag of throat lozenges to combat the sore throat brought on by the continual screaming that began shortly after exiting the airplane.

I DO hope I manage the experience with some level of dignity and decorum and that some day in the future, when the road ahead looks a bit scary, I can say - "Meh, I threw myself out of an airplane, how scary can this be!"

Planes and Trains of Thought

As I sat with my fingers hovering over the keys knowing that the topic was wanting writing about, I just couldn’t begin it. I couldn’t think of anything catchy to start off with. I made brief notes about what I wanted to say, and then nothing. Inspiration had left the building. And I sat staring at a white “page” with a flashing black cursor taunting me; flashing like a visual metronome, like the second hand on the clock, ticking off the seconds as I sat and waiting for inspiration to return.

Nothing....

More nothing....

...Writing blog posts are like airplanes. The metaphorical non sequitur popped into my head.

Airplanes, huh, ok, I’ll go with that. And with that non sequitur thought this blog post was born.

I don’t know if it’s a good writing practice, or if it’s just something I think is a good writing practice, but I have always felt that each of my blog posts should have an intriguing introduction and an amusing or poignant conclusion to make it a reasonably good post. If the beginning and ending are good, people might forgive the middle if it’s gets a little out of hand or wanders off on a tangent or stops mid sentence for no apparent reason.

So, by this reasoning, I recon, blog posts are like airplanes; you can forgive a little turbulence if you have a good take-off and landing.

Not that I know the actual statistics, but I would wager a guess that more planes crash during take off and landing than just fall out of the sky mid-flight – if anyone reading this works for Transport Canada or the Federal Aviation Administration feel free to send me stats on this – it would make such comforting reading for me as I prepare for my next airplane adventure. I would imagine that taking offs and landings are more dangerous due to the proximity of the solid and unforgiving presence of the ground (albeit running into the side of the mountain mid flight would also prove somewhat unforgiving).

I think I'm beginning to deviate from my initial flight plan. Let's see if I can get back on course.

I have skipped the occasional post of some of my favourite bloggers because they didn’t grab me right off the bat (and I was reading them at work and the level of guilt outweighed my level or interest).

Maybe having a good beginning is not something simply reserved for blog posts. I have, on occasion, given up on reading a book because it hasn’t piqued my interest within the first 10 pages or so. I also vaguely remember a teacher in school warning us against LDEs – no, not LSD - LDEs (Lame Duck Endings – an ending to a story that leaves you thinking – meh, what was the point), so it can’t simply be a figment of my imagination; this need for a good beginning and a good end to wiring - in general and, more specifically a blog post.

I realize that in my confession of this strange albeit loose analogy, that from now on (or from now until you forget about this blog post) will have you reading all subsequent posts (or previous posts, if you missed a few and need to catch up) of mine with an eye to the take-offs and landings.

Hopefully you will forgive the occasional rough departure and bumpy or sudden (hopefully not fatal) landing as you read my posts, not all days are ideal for flying, but sometimes you still need to take the flight.

I have to confess, this is not the blog post I was planning on writing today. That blog post will have to wait – existing for the time being as little more than random thoughts in the form of short sentences, phrases and single words on an otherwise blank page. I’ll have to save it for another day when my inspiration for it takes flight and my creative plane takes off with that blog post on board, until then it will have to just wait at the gate until all the passengers have safely stored their carry-on bags.