Mike's Corner

For years now, my best friend Jimmy and I have talked about going skydiving. No particular reason, other than to be able to say that we had done it, I guess. My father was an Airborne Ranger in the Army, and has made 17 jumps. He still has a black and white 8x10 photo of his first jump on the wall in his office. I figured if he can do it, then so can I.

Two years ago, Tracy (Jimmy's wife) got tired of us talking about it and purchased 2 gift certificates (kind of a "put up or shut up" if you will). So for two years, we've been coming up with excuses not to jump. But the certificates were about to expire, so it was now or never... as in never hear the end of it from Tracy.

Nerves settled in about a week before the jump. I had a few bad dreams: not about the jump, but the landing. But as I counted down the days, my fear turned into excitement and anticipation. By the time Monday morning arrived, nothing could keep me from jumping.

We arrived about 11:15, and after filling out 10 pages of waivers (the first of which included words like DEATH and SERIOUS INJURY), we were ready to begin our class. I figured it would be about a two-hour class, including maybe jumping off of a box for practice or something like that. Boy, was I wrong...

Noah (my new best friend, seeing as he was responsible for getting me back to Earth safely) was my instructor. He harnessed me up, explained how we would exit the plane, and said he would explain everything else "on the way down". I certainly hoped he was a fast talker, just in case. Then he went over and started packing the parachute (while eating a snickers and talking to his friends about a party they were going to that night). Again, the nerves set in.

About 15 minutes later, we headed up to the plane: not a lot of bells and whistles on this baby. Jimmy and I kind of took our time getting on the plane, which we later realized meant one thing: last ones on, first ones off. So instead of being safe and secure in the front of the plane, we were at the back of the plane next to the door (which was left open for the entire flight). We're really having fun now!

It was at this point that I thought Jimmy might throw up. I haven't seen him that pale since the morning after a kegger in college. Lucky for him, he was the first one to jump. I, on the other hand, was doing just fine... until I watched Jimmy roll out of a plane at 14,000 feet and plummet towards the ground at 120 mph. I could have gone all week without that image in my head.

Now it was do or die... wait a minute, bad phrase. Now it was the point of no return. So I just psyched myself up, went to the edge of the plane, glanced down at the ground (even though Noah told me not to), thought "Holy S*** that's a long way down!", counted to 3, then jumped out of a "perfectly good airplane".

The falling sensation only lasted for about 2 seconds for me (Jimmy says he felt it the entire free fall). The free fall lasted for about 70 seconds. There was no fear at that point: why bother? I had committed by then. I decided to just enjoy the ride. I was definitely more comfortable once the chute opened. Noah let me take the handles and steer the parachute for most of the way down. From here on, it was nothing more than a ride at Six Flags (a really high ride at Six Flags).

We watched the videos once we got back inside. The first words out of my mouth when we landed were, "That was awesome. Let's do it again." I'm fairly certain that was the adrenaline talking, as I have no recollection of saying this.

Two questions have been asked: Why did I do it? I've always felt that you must face your fears head-on, rather than let them control you. Would I do it again? Absolutely.