Jump

12,000 feet up or 12,000 feet down…depends on how you look at it.

It’s my birthday and my husband and I are driving down a sleepy, country road in Snohomish, Washington. It’s a pretty day, I have my feet up on the dashboard and I’m gazing lazily through the open window at the farmland we are cruising by. I’m assuming we are headed to a Bed and Breakfast, probably in an old victorian. I’m envisioning the big, fluffy down comforters, the polite Pacific Northwest hospitality and abundant freshly baked scones first thing in the morning. Tony, my husband, takes a quick turn into a large parking lot flanked by low square buildings. He turns to me and says “Surprise! You are jumping out of a plane today”. For the record – HE is not jumping our of a plane. I am jumping out of a plane. He hates heights.

I am stunned, then I’m excited, then I become increasingly anxious as I sign release form after release form. They all state that while the company takes every precaution, what I am about to do is completely insane and I am responsible for my own broken neck.

There are two “neck breaking” options. The first is to solo jump from a plane where the parachute is opened for you automatically by a mechanism in the plane. The second option is called a tandem sky dive. In a tandem jump, the instructor is strapped to you and they pull the parachute. The benefit of the tandem sky dive is that you can jump from a higher altitude and actually experience “free fall”, the weightless feeling every sky diver lives for. I choose the tandem option and a young man struts over to me. He’s 5′ 4″, he’s wearing cowboy boots, a bandana, a shark tooth necklace, he’s got a blond pony tail and he reminds me of a Bantam Rooster. He says “Hi, I’m Storm, I’ll be your instructor. There’s just one additional form I need you to sign. If you start to panic and endanger us, I will have to cold cock you”. I sign the form and say “Permission to cold cock granted”. Storm doesn’t laugh. My husband is very quiet.

I meet my fellow plane jumping compadres and we spend about 30 minutes doing drills. Right before we head for the plane and waive goodbye to our loved ones on the ground, Storm suggests “I’d take off any jewelry if I were you. It might fall off”. I hand my husband my wedding rings (his face is a pale green color). I can tell that he is seriously rethinking his decision to launch his perfectly good wife out of a flying object over 12,000 feet in the air.

The plane turns out to be much smaller than I expected. It isn’t tall enough to stand up in so we climb in and kneel. My heart starts to pound immediately. I’m not panicking because I know I’ll be jumping soon, I’m freaking out because I’m REALLY claustrophobic. I’m about to jump out of a plane with a guy named Storm, who I have given permission to punch me in the head, but what I’m really worried about is how much oxygen is in the tiny, metal contraption we are all crammed into. The pilot asks “Who wants to go first?” and my hand shoots up.

The way that Storm and I are “attached” is a kind of sporty S & M look. We get ready by connecting straps on our shoulders, chest, mid section and thighs. The countdown has started when he asks “Want to do some flips?”. I give a thumbs up and the door we are supposed to jump out of, really more of a hatch than a door, opens. I have been instructed to “lean forward and fall out”. Looking out of the hatch and down at the ground, far, far below, every cell in my body screams “NO NO NO NO!!!”. My brain flips the override button and I’m tumbling through the air. Then I’m flying. I laugh hysterically. I’m amazed, it is a beautiful day and the view is stunning. The sensation of floating above it all is remarkable. We land, and I understand how addictive this could be.

However, I have not jumped since. I have a teenager and I sell real estate for a living. Both are enough of an adrenaline rush for now.