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"!