Another 5 minutes of life: Downward

14,000: Look left, check, look right, check. I wish this procedure took longer! Lean forward, lean back, and jump. I jump because I was standing on the ledge, there was no room to turn around. Was it fear, fear of something inevitable? Something electric, tense.

13,980: I’m in space, and it’s as if I’ve lost control of my body. I try to arch to stop control the fall, but I don’t know which way in forward, how I should arch. Without gravity, my bearings are gone; I don’t know up from down from left from right, and none of it matters because none seems to change my position. This is freefall, and I’m doing quite badly. The instructor holding on to my left unexpectedly disappears, as if a comrade at arms has been blown away. This is not supposed to happen, but there’s enough time to look and see that the instructor on my right is still there (Ohthankgod!) After the initial confusion, 7 hours of training kicks in: “If one of the two instructors breaks off, continue like a normal jump. Check the altimeter.” I can’t say there’s enough time to enjoy the moment, but there are enough logical seconds to form memories: pure horizon 2 miles above the ground and hurricane force winds.

8,000: Check the altimeter, position seems to be good. Once I drop further I wave off the instructors and by this time I’m feeling very comfortable. I think the adrenaline from the lip of the plane has worn off. Maybe I’m just looking forward to having a parachute on top of me. The chute opens, and I still have no real sense of altitude. I’ve dropped further, but the main chute appears fine, big and square, no twists and no bad news.

4,800: With the chute deployed I timidly move the controls around. Regardless of my natural instinct to put this downward spiral on pause, I am still going towards the ground. Looking down at my feet, and I’m somewhere over the river: not where I wanted to land. Gliding a parachute for the first time is a lonely but exhilarating experience. The entire world I know is below me, while I am suspended by a strange and friendly parachute. I need to make it to that green square the size of my left foot somewhere below, so I should probably get used to controlling this parachute while I still have time.

3,000: “Jonathan, I’d like to see you do a practice landing now. Wait, wait wait, OK position one, position two, and full stop.” Thankfully, the radio below is now talking to me, giving me a practice landing. It is disconcerting to practice landing while still suspended far above my comfort level, but I can’t complain- following directions is easy! After the dry (airborne?) runs, I hear “Ok Jonathan, a little left, a little right.” With Mario guiding me down I don’t have to worry about my total inability to visually gauge altitude or plot a landing pattern.

20: Once the ground becomes more than a distant picture, I stop listening to Mario. Parkour instinct takes over in a strange way. It’s as if I’m making a jump, but I have control of my falling speed, and even a rewind button. I thankfully avoid the plane, and land somehow without falling.

0: Wow. That jump was worth all the money, all the effort, all the wait. Everything.