This skydiving adventure was one of the many fruits of a commitment made on a late night in the dead of winter, half (or mostly) wine drunk and desperate to do something with my year/life(?) that would make me happy. Thus, as the rest of the world rang in the New Year by making a resolution to lose weight, eat healthier, go to the gym, start dating someone, stop dating someone or any other number of attainable things that they then promptly forgot or failed at, I made The Resolution to travel. I only set myself one condition: I had to travel at least once a month. No problem, right? And in reality, it hasn't been an issue. I have been able to plan at least one trip every single month, and I have often been able to squeeze in multiple trips. Long car rides don't scare me, and to be honest, if I didn't have a job and things like responsibilities and fur children, I probably would get in my car and never stop. In fact, I had driven seven hours the previous night just to get to Cat's house in the first place, only to turn around and drive four hours with her to go skydive. Give me music and some caffeine in the form of coffee or Pepsi and I can go for hours, stopping only for gas and to excrete the remnants of my drug of choice.
The Resolution has taken on a life of its own in a way that I was unprepared for. I've become obsessed with my travels, planning my adventures several months in advance, figuring out which weekends I don't have to work, and being totally willing to drop plans and go on a trip that sane people wouldn't consider worth the time, hassle and money. If I don't have to work, there is a good chance that I am out of town, often out of the state. I go on a trip, get home, throw the dirty clothes into the wash, and then repack them right away to go on my next trip. I have a set of travel clothes, travel toiletries, travel towels, travel bags and travel totes. There have been a few times where I didn't even bother to put my adventure kit away due to the minimal length of time I spent at home between trips. It's a crazy, hectic, high-speed wobble of a life style, and it's totally for me. I love the planning aspect of a trip, sitting down with my computer on one side and a hard map on the other, figuring out route options, attractions along the way, meals, and places to sleep. A lot of research goes into each adventure, even though I know that once I get there, and maybe even along the way, something happens and my plans go out the car window.
That was what had happened to us with this skydiving trip. Cat and I had hatched our idea the last weekend of May, planned and booked the jump in June and I headed to her house, and from there to the skydiving center, in July. And then Mother Nature decided nope, not gonna happen. We drove home through such a bad storm that I asked Cat to pull up the radar on her phone so that we would be warned if we were heading toward a tornado. No joke. We then rescheduled to the middle of September, but once again our plans were foiled by bad weather. I didn't even bother to leave home that weekend, but stayed in Lincoln on my weekend off for the first time in months. Finally, finally, we had bright blue skies and a cheery yellow sun on our fantastic October Saturday, and had the green light to jump.
We got to the skydiving center right at noon and hung around watching others prep and jump before us, and before we knew it, we were up. Cat and I played Rock-Paper-Scissors to determine who would go first, and as we did so it became painfully obvious that we had spent WAY too much time together. We both threw the same hand four times in a row, until finally on the fifth try Cat won with Scissors. We got our safety talk and brief jump instructions together, then Cat suited up in her harness and absolutely ridiculous helmet and got ready to go. We were told later that the helmets were to protect the tandem instructor's teeth, and also for entertainment value. They turned everybody into weird looking cone-heads.
And then they were off! Cat got on the plane and I watched from the ground as they circled to gain altitude. I heard the plane engine slow down on the fourth pass, and watched as two tiny dots detached from the plane and plummeted toward me. I saw Cat and her instructor's canopy open, and then the videographer's opened, and both floated back down to earth. Cat was treated to fun twists and turns as she made her descent, finally coming to rest on her rear on a field next to the runway. She looked thrilled as she walked over to me, and then, ready or not, it was my turn!
I was helped into my harness and helmet, then was pulled aside for the pre-jump interview part of the video I had paid for. It seemed to take an indecent amount of time and before I could really think about it, I was being led to the plane. Have I mentioned that I don't like airplanes? I don't. I hate flying, I hate takeoff, I hate landing, I hate being stuck in a thin metal cylinder with people I don't know, and most of all I hate the sickness I get from ascending too quickly. Every time I've flown I've taken some sort of altitude/motion sickness drug, which helps, but also makes me very tired. This time, for such a short flight and because I wanted to be conscious when I jumped out of the plane I hated so much, I didn't take a thing. I crammed into the small plane with four other people and watched out the tiny window as the plane taxied down the runway, gathered speed, and in a surprisingly short time I felt my stomach drop out as the wheels left the ground. My thoughts? Shit. No backing out now! I continued watching as we circled, gaining altitude. I felt the first uneasy clench in my stomach around 7,000 feet, but couldn't spare a thought about altitude sickness because the instructor was going through the jump procedure again.
Next thing I knew, we were at 10,000 feet and the jump student who had tagged along had thrown open the door and let a rush of icy air into the cabin. He shouted something along the lines of "see ya on the ground" and flipped off of the platform. The videographer climbed out next and held on to the wing strut as my instructor shouted at me to put my feet on the tiny metal platform that was the only thing between me and planet Earth. As I did what I was told, the most miraculous feeling came over me. I stopped being nervous! I didn't have a single negative, scary, morbid thought in my head as I felt the instructor rock backwards, and then I was tilting forward and suddenly was shoved off the platform, ripped away from the airplane by the force of gravity and the wind, plunging toward the ground at 120 feet per second. Free fall is one of the most amazing, incomparable feelings in the world. We fell for all of 30 seconds or so, but I don't think that I have ever been so instantly in love with something. I've always admired birds, the Bald Eagle is my favorite animal, and now I was getting to plummet toward the ground like a falcon in a dive! Then the instructor opened the parachute and my free fall was brought to an abrupt halt, my body jerked upright and I slammed against the harness as inertia and gravity tried to keep us going down at 120 feet per second. I had bruises on my shoulders, across my chest and on the insides of my thighs for days. Worth it? YOU BET!
The next several minutes were devoted to staring between my feet as the earth got closer to being back in contact with them. The instructor and I chatted about what brought me all the way from Nebraska, what other places I've traveled to so far this year, what my plans for future travels are, if I'll ever skydive again (YES!!!) and if I have or ever would do other extreme sports. Long before I was ready I was told to lift my legs up so we could land safely in the same field that Cat had landed in so gracefully not an hour before. We landed with a soft bounce, and the videographer came running over to help us and to do my post-jump interview. Will I ever skydive again? Let's make this crystal clear now: yes. As a matter of fact, I have every intention of getting certified to jump on my own.
Cat and I hung out for a bit with our new friends while they put the parachutes away, but once the adrenaline finally subsided I realized that I needed something to help my stomach. The damn altitude sickness had caught up with me, and I was in danger of throwing up. We headed back into town and got a soda to calm my stomach, and once we got on the road to home I started to settle. Our drive home was spent reliving our jump, talking about our plans to jump again in the very near future, and discussing how silly it was to be so nervous before we jumped. Of course, we were all talk once we got back on the ground! We got home around dark and I was greeted by my dog, who had clearly thought that I had left him and was never going to come back. Marley travels with me as often as I can swing it, and he does just as well on our adventures as I do! Cat and I turned in early that night, and I was up before dawn the next morning to pack up and head home.
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I like to think I've lived all year following this diction. My travels have been all about trying new things, stepping out of my comfort zone, taking the leap. Usually I get a huge payoff by taking my risks. Sometimes I come out even. Sometimes I fail miserably. But every time I sit down to plan another trip I realize that I've learned something from my last trip about myself, my limits, my likes and dislikes, my good (and bad) qualities, and I've come to love the person I am.
2-04-15 *EDIT: I was informed that my quote about doing one thing every day that scares you is from the 1999 song by Baz Lurhmann "Everybody's Free to Wear Sunscreen."*
If you're on the edge, thinking about doing something amazing but aren't sure if you can, take the risk. It'll be worth it. Take the leap.
What I'm listening to: Flight of the Valkyries by Wilhelm Richard Wagner
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