I was determined to do this. I had planned it for this very day – my 70th birthday – and I could not back down now. However, as the minutes counted down and the task was imminent, I shut my eyes and wondered what in the world had I been thinking.
Until now, white water rafting was the most exhilarating thing I had ever done. We were on the first run of the year, and the waterfalls ran high and fast. The thrill of it lasted for weeks. In fact, whenever I felt a little down, all I had to do was look at the photograph on my wall of me hanging on for dear life as we bounced and tumbled through Hell’s Kitchen. I was immediately restored.
Sky diving would be different, I suspected. My good friend, Elna, jumped for her 70th. President H.W. Bush jumped for his 70th. It would be fun, I told myself.
I had taken the brief sky-diving lessons offered that morning, before I walked to the plane. The first was to lie on my stomach on something that looked like a “horse” for gymnastics. I lay the length of it, holding my arms out and bending my knees, as instructed. I felt old and fat, since the other person taking a lesson was celebrating her 18th birthday and was cute as a button.
The wind tunnel lesson was next. The guide directed me through a door onto a rubber screen inside a large cylinder. I lay on my stomach, again, and assumed the position of arms and feet in the air. I looked down and saw a dark abyss. Way down.
The giant fan came on, and soon, I was flying. The guide was there, pushing me around so that I did not run into the windows, through which the world could see my ridiculous form.
At one point, he pushed me in the direction of the door. I was trying to keep my balance and stay where I belonged, and ended up flattened against the wall. I guess I was fighting him, because I did not realize that he was trying to get me out the door! Finally, he picked me up by the waist and tossed me out!
Now, it was time to suit up. Flight suit, goggles,wrist altimeter. Check. No helmet, lest I panicked and hit the guide in the head and knocked him out during the flight!
Getting into the flight suit was quite the ordeal. It seemed to have many parts to it. I had to be strapped to my guide – a very tall, young Dane named Jonathan – before we jumped, so I imagine – although I could not see it – that there was an apparatus on my back for joining the two of us later.
The wrist altimeter seemed important. When the guide put it on my arm, he told me that after we jumped I would need to note when we had dropped to 5,000 feet. At that point, I was to pull on the little orange golf ball to release the parachute. Okie Dokie.
The plane taxied to the gate, and four men from Austria, wearing matching, red flight suits, walked ahead of me, followed by the Darling Young Thing coming of age that very day.
The old plane’s propeller – yeah, only one – came to life and we were off. I thought I was really off for doing this at all. We climbed slowly to about 32,000 feet. Was the earth still there?
There was a long, red plastic bench on each side of the cabin, in lieu of seats. We sat facing each other until my guide pulled me in front of him and began joining our torsos. I was loosely strapped to him, as the door opened and my heart sprang to my throat. For a moment, I could not breathe. It was actually the first time I sensed any fear.
The Austrian team went first, sliding down their side of the plane, one by one. Then the photographer for the Blonde One, then the Blonde One. Suddenly, I was at the doorway, and I took a leap of faith. I’m not kidding.
I closed my eyes as I felt the wind hit me. Then I opened them, because I did not want to miss the whole experience. We dropped and dropped, as I concentrated hard on my form. The wind pressed on my face and blew my lips apart. The roar in my ears was deafening.
Jonathan tapped me on the arm and I thought, he’s telling me that I’m doing a good job. Then came another “at-a-girl” tap. The parachute opened abruptly, and I knew that the taps were not compliments after all. We had reached the 5000 feet mark, and I goofed.
Now, we fell silently, legs dangling. The flying part was over. We could converse, and Jonathan turned the parachute first to the left, then to the right, to show me the lakes and other landmarks far below. I began to get air sick.
We made a smooth, standing up landing, and I was glad to get down. It was hot, even in November, and I began to strip off the flight suit immediately, much to the chagrin of Jonathan, who would have to reassemble it for the next patron.
It was something I wanted to do, and I am glad I did. The experience went so quickly, that, unlike the white-water rafting, it took at least a week to absorb the various elements of it…and laugh at myself.
At first, I thought I might like to do it again, and even join a diving team. That thought began to fade when I realized that I had cheated death, and would prefer to wait to go to Heaven at the prescribed time, whenever that may be.
Maybe you should try it. I’ll wave to you.
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Image may be NSFW.Clik here to view.
