After years and years of putting it off, it finally happened. I jumped out of a burning airplane. (Well, that sentence is only partly true.) My cousin, Eduardo, and I jumped out of a plane in early June with the help of the lovely people at Skydive Toronto.
My instructor was an Eastern Europen fella by the name of Oleg. I liked the fact that he's been jumping since before my older brother was born. That was very comforting.
I asked if I could drink a shot of rum before the jump to psyche myself up, as well as after the jump to celebrate still being alive, but he said to put the bottle away before we got in trouble. I even offered to give him the bottle as a thank you for keeping me alive, but he refused me the whole way through. Oh well, more for me.
Three things that surprised me about the experience:
1) Training was a joke. I expected to spend the morning going through simulations, but the morning was actually spent watching a 20+ year old video for 20 minutes, and then sitting around and waiting for hours. The only training necessary was how to do the proper "banana" position in the air, which is basically just arching your back and putting your legs and arms back. (And yet, I forgot to do even this simple act while free falling. Thanks, Oleg.)
2) My ears hurt for weeks after because of the pressure.
3) No butterfly sensation at all. It's not like riding a rollercoaster. The feeling is indescribable. I can see why people get addicted to it.
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| "It's a trap!" |
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| My last meal |
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| The look of fear |
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| ohmanohmaohmanohmanohmanohmanohmanohman |
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| I love you, Oleg |
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| Not my best angle |
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| GIMME THAT RUM! |
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| "You do the banana...or you GET the banana." - an instructor |
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